Love is everywhere in Paris. Everywhere. Even written in the grout between tiles of the grungy bathroom stall in the Arc de Triumph.
I’d never choose a random bathroom stall to permanently leave “Janae and (Name) Forever.” So dirty. So germy. So occupied by random strangers and gross acts. Placement is everything. It’s also why I look at bridges with the love locks and question sometimes what the thought process was behind the lock on the worst part of the bridge – on the side rail, near the bottom corner, out of the sunlight where barely has the bridge begun to arch over water…
Nancy and I went to the Grevin Wax Museum this morning. The first room you enter is a circular room with mirrors surrounding you. The entire group enters and the doors close. The lights turn off and scenes begin to surround you as music and sounds begin to play. You’re in a Medieval Palace, then deep in a jungle… And across the way, in a not very crowded room, a couple was making out.
Nancy and I had the giggles the entire time. It was time to go have fun with some famous friends, and some ones we just thought were funny.
The wax museum was so much fun. We took the bus to the Arch de Triumph next and climbed 284 steps. Nancy got a taste of my last three months this week. The bus ride was beautiful as Paris is all lit up for Christmas, the stairs were tough and dizzying, and the view was entirely worth it.
A little while later, we were standing in line for the Towers of Notre Dame. A couple edged in front of us. It was a forty minute wait and this girl made it unbearable. The neediest girl we’ve ever seen, she must have leaned in and kissed her boyfriend’s cheek 200 times, each with a big smooch sound accompanying it. They weren’t making out, they weren’t holding hands, but these loud pecks were endless. Hysterical at first, uncomfortable after awhile, and the guy didn’t seem to be loving it. He seemed annoyed. They were speaking Spanish and at one point, something he said made her mad. Her eyes darkened and her arms crossed. The line behind them had a few minutes without the sounds of these cheek smooches.
And then they returned.
What we were thinking –
Nancy: Hi um, can you say whatever you said to her before that made her mad?
Me: He’s thinking… Get. Off. My. Face.
The security guard, as though trying to prove his job was necessary, would come up to us every few minutes telling the line to squeeze together. Squeeze closer. Get closer to the kissing couple.
Nancy didn’t want to be any closer. This smile was fake.
After waiting in line for forty minutes, we climbed a few hundred stairs and ended up at a… Gift shop?
Wait, really? A few guests around us look confused as well. Nothing higher seems open, access is restricted… Is this it?
Nancy let out an anguished “Nooo” that bounced off the walls of the tower, echoing loudly and causing me to dissolve in a puddle of laughter in the corner with the postcard rack. This can’t be it. Why.
It wasn’t. The stairs (387 in all) were opened a few minutes later, and up we went.
It was another great day in Paris. We finished our night with a boat tour on the Seine, which was absolutely stunning. Nancy leaves tomorrow, and I’m back on my own for two and a half more weeks.
I can’t believe it’s almost over.