clinking my mug against the vase in the middle of the table. After breakfast, I don black trousers, a white blouse, a long jacket, and then put my winter coat and scarf on over that. I have a pair of cream fluffy ear muffs that Adrian nicknamed Princess Leia. He didn’t like them. When I took them off last winter because he kept tormenting me I developed an earache that lasted a week, so today I wear them with defiance. Checking I’ve placed the key-card for the apartment in the back pocket of my handbag, I head downstairs.
I’m five minutes early for the meeting, but there are already several people there, including Celine, the Tour Guide. ‘Hey, you settle in okay?’
I smile at her. ‘I absolutely adore it. Had to force myself to come out and brave the weather today. That view is mesmerising.’
‘Wait until you see it up close.’
She starts the meeting on time and my gaze sweeps around the other fifteen or so people standing or sitting around. We are cramped up in the reception. She says we’re doing it as a walking tour as the Tower is only a fifteen-minute walk away. She hands out a card with her number on it and sets a meeting point at the main entrance should we get separated. We’re advised to keep someone from the trip in sight so we all stick together. It's like being a nursery school child and I wonder if she wants me to put on a luminous apron. There is no sign of the man I had been dreading seeing and my shoulders loosen. Good, I’m free to make the most of my day.
We begin the walk and although it is bitterly cold, everyone is smiling. A few people attempt bits of conversation, but I don’t join in. Maybe I’ll relax later, but right now I don’t want to find myself saddled with friends I don’t want or need. This trip is about exploration, seeing some of the world that’s been within reach all this time. A catching up on time I believe I’ve wasted, rotting at home when I could have been taking in these sights and smells.
It becomes obvious as we near the Tower; suddenly there are Salesmen everywhere, with replica Eiffel Towers laid out on blankets. People stop to browse and buy, meaning we are constantly jostled. I have sympathy for the families with small children who have to attempt to get prams round the path. You wouldn’t dare step out into the road when the Paris traffic hurtles past. I pass a man who has four white rabbits. I don’t know the purpose of the rabbits. To perform magic tricks? To distract parents and children while they’re pickpocketed? My Top Ten book warned me that Paris was notorious for the light of finger.
With the entrance in sight, more official looking pop-up shops line the roadside, selling even more Parisian paraphernalia. There are also crepes for sale and the smell of them makes my mouth water. I make a mental note to sample some while I am here, though from a restaurant or cafe.
We wait at the entrance for everyone to catch up and examine the structure. It reminds me of a large electricity pylon up close, which of course is what I expected. I’ve seen many pictures, but it’s hard to visualise how this vast structure was ever assembled.
The queues to go up stretch for kilometres and I worry about how long we will have to wait outside in the cold. I see one section that has less of a queue and stifle a smile when I see it’s for the stairs. Not as much time to wait if you take the stairs. I imagine you would have to be fit or foolish to attempt them, though.
Celine waves our party tickets and informs us we can go through the Group Bookings entrance. We all grin, thinking we’re skipping the queues as we walk past the waiting public who hold hot cups of coffee and chocolate to try to keep their hands warm. A man walks past me wearing a huge black coat and carries a baguette as long as he is—and he is tall. He looks like a French caricature, a stereotype. I can’t believe he’s real. Wow. I’ve seen a glimpse of real France now. My stomach
I’m five minutes early for the meeting, but there are already several people there, including Celine, the Tour Guide. ‘Hey, you settle in okay?’
I smile at her. ‘I absolutely adore it. Had to force myself to come out and brave the weather today. That view is mesmerising.’
‘Wait until you see it up close.’
She starts the meeting on time and my gaze sweeps around the other fifteen or so people standing or sitting around. We are cramped up in the reception. She says we’re doing it as a walking tour as the Tower is only a fifteen-minute walk away. She hands out a card with her number on it and sets a meeting point at the main entrance should we get separated. We’re advised to keep someone from the trip in sight so we all stick together. It's like being a nursery school child and I wonder if she wants me to put on a luminous apron. There is no sign of the man I had been dreading seeing and my shoulders loosen. Good, I’m free to make the most of my day.
We begin the walk and although it is bitterly cold, everyone is smiling. A few people attempt bits of conversation, but I don’t join in. Maybe I’ll relax later, but right now I don’t want to find myself saddled with friends I don’t want or need. This trip is about exploration, seeing some of the world that’s been within reach all this time. A catching up on time I believe I’ve wasted, rotting at home when I could have been taking in these sights and smells.
It becomes obvious as we near the Tower; suddenly there are Salesmen everywhere, with replica Eiffel Towers laid out on blankets. People stop to browse and buy, meaning we are constantly jostled. I have sympathy for the families with small children who have to attempt to get prams round the path. You wouldn’t dare step out into the road when the Paris traffic hurtles past. I pass a man who has four white rabbits. I don’t know the purpose of the rabbits. To perform magic tricks? To distract parents and children while they’re pickpocketed? My Top Ten book warned me that Paris was notorious for the light of finger.
With the entrance in sight, more official looking pop-up shops line the roadside, selling even more Parisian paraphernalia. There are also crepes for sale and the smell of them makes my mouth water. I make a mental note to sample some while I am here, though from a restaurant or cafe.
We wait at the entrance for everyone to catch up and examine the structure. It reminds me of a large electricity pylon up close, which of course is what I expected. I’ve seen many pictures, but it’s hard to visualise how this vast structure was ever assembled.
The queues to go up stretch for kilometres and I worry about how long we will have to wait outside in the cold. I see one section that has less of a queue and stifle a smile when I see it’s for the stairs. Not as much time to wait if you take the stairs. I imagine you would have to be fit or foolish to attempt them, though.
Celine waves our party tickets and informs us we can go through the Group Bookings entrance. We all grin, thinking we’re skipping the queues as we walk past the waiting public who hold hot cups of coffee and chocolate to try to keep their hands warm. A man walks past me wearing a huge black coat and carries a baguette as long as he is—and he is tall. He looks like a French caricature, a stereotype. I can’t believe he’s real. Wow. I’ve seen a glimpse of real France now. My stomach
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