Conquering the Eiffel Tower
Side note for anybody who doesn't know: Ethan is still afraid of heights.
My love affair with France started on my first day there, when I walked out of my hostel, turned the corner and found myself staring at the Eiffel Tower. All the years I've spent shunning France, claiming it "wasn't really that grand," disappeared when I cane face-to-face with that monumental thing. From a distance, it looks so graceful. But, as you get closer, the damn thing gets big. And fast. Terrifyingly big.
However, in Paris, one must ascend the tower. And, if one is living on a backpacker's budget, that means that you climb.
I decided that my last evening in France would be on the Eiffel Tower, probably because the idea of ascending all those stairs is not my idea of a good time. Seriously, folks, the Statue of Liberty was tough enough and, in that case, you couldn't feel the breeze through her body. I spent an evening in the shadow of the tower, sipping red wine and making the obligatory oohs and aahs when the strobe lights started going at 23:00 and 0:00, praying that that would be it. But, finally, the frightful moment came. I finished my dinner at a delightful little Rick Steves-endorsed bistro and made my way to the tower, determined not to be the only visitor to Paris who returns home saying "I didn't go up the tower." Down onto the ticket platform went €3 and up into my throat went my heart. Here we go.
For those who may not know (because I certainly didn't), the Eiffel Tower has three levels, of which two can be reached by foot. The tippy top is reserved mostly for people who have €11 to burn (which means that all the Asian tourists go there); it seems that almost everybody else either pays for the stairs or takes the more expensive elevator ride to the lower floors. With my issues with height, floors one and two would be my destination.
Getting to the first level was OK, until the wind picked up. While I have complete faith in the structural integrity of the building, I am still a little unsure of the stairs. They swayed. Not much, but enough to send my nerves into overdrive. I clung to the handrail, stared at the steps and pulled myself to the landing. While the first floor doesn't offer much of a view, the overpriced coffee and the spotless bathroom were a welcome relief and helped calm me enough to make it the rest of the way.
Level two was much better. The fencing between you and the edge is thicker, the building barely sways at this level and there is a nice, thick, wooden hand rail between the edge and atmosphere. Plus, the views are spectacular. I stared out at the Arc de Triumph, glowing in the night, and felt very, very small. A perfect crescent moon reflected on the Seine as boats sailed below. Romantics went into overdrive at the cafe, with more saliva exchanged than I have seen in a while (besides at the Picasso Museum; ask me about that one when I get home.) To say that Paris is captivating from this vantage is aunderstatementnt; it is in itself a work of art.
The trip down fine. I actually looked out at the sights, jumped down a few stairs at a time and didn't flinch when the midnight strobes started going. Heck, I conquered the tower! A miniscule step in the scheme of things, but I was proud. To celebrate my achievement, I decided to get a tiny Eiffel Tower keychain and, after a significant bargaining session with one of the hawkers (he started at €5 which, based on what I've seen, is probably what he usually gets), managed one for €.50. Pride in my accomplishments and pride in my souvenirs; all-in-all, a great night!
My love affair with France started on my first day there, when I walked out of my hostel, turned the corner and found myself staring at the Eiffel Tower. All the years I've spent shunning France, claiming it "wasn't really that grand," disappeared when I cane face-to-face with that monumental thing. From a distance, it looks so graceful. But, as you get closer, the damn thing gets big. And fast. Terrifyingly big.
However, in Paris, one must ascend the tower. And, if one is living on a backpacker's budget, that means that you climb.
I decided that my last evening in France would be on the Eiffel Tower, probably because the idea of ascending all those stairs is not my idea of a good time. Seriously, folks, the Statue of Liberty was tough enough and, in that case, you couldn't feel the breeze through her body. I spent an evening in the shadow of the tower, sipping red wine and making the obligatory oohs and aahs when the strobe lights started going at 23:00 and 0:00, praying that that would be it. But, finally, the frightful moment came. I finished my dinner at a delightful little Rick Steves-endorsed bistro and made my way to the tower, determined not to be the only visitor to Paris who returns home saying "I didn't go up the tower." Down onto the ticket platform went €3 and up into my throat went my heart. Here we go.
For those who may not know (because I certainly didn't), the Eiffel Tower has three levels, of which two can be reached by foot. The tippy top is reserved mostly for people who have €11 to burn (which means that all the Asian tourists go there); it seems that almost everybody else either pays for the stairs or takes the more expensive elevator ride to the lower floors. With my issues with height, floors one and two would be my destination.
Getting to the first level was OK, until the wind picked up. While I have complete faith in the structural integrity of the building, I am still a little unsure of the stairs. They swayed. Not much, but enough to send my nerves into overdrive. I clung to the handrail, stared at the steps and pulled myself to the landing. While the first floor doesn't offer much of a view, the overpriced coffee and the spotless bathroom were a welcome relief and helped calm me enough to make it the rest of the way.
Level two was much better. The fencing between you and the edge is thicker, the building barely sways at this level and there is a nice, thick, wooden hand rail between the edge and atmosphere. Plus, the views are spectacular. I stared out at the Arc de Triumph, glowing in the night, and felt very, very small. A perfect crescent moon reflected on the Seine as boats sailed below. Romantics went into overdrive at the cafe, with more saliva exchanged than I have seen in a while (besides at the Picasso Museum; ask me about that one when I get home.) To say that Paris is captivating from this vantage is aunderstatementnt; it is in itself a work of art.
The trip down fine. I actually looked out at the sights, jumped down a few stairs at a time and didn't flinch when the midnight strobes started going. Heck, I conquered the tower! A miniscule step in the scheme of things, but I was proud. To celebrate my achievement, I decided to get a tiny Eiffel Tower keychain and, after a significant bargaining session with one of the hawkers (he started at €5 which, based on what I've seen, is probably what he usually gets), managed one for €.50. Pride in my accomplishments and pride in my souvenirs; all-in-all, a great night!
posted by Ethan at 2:16 PM
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