The Iron Lady

No trip to Paris would ever be complete without visiting one of the world’s most recognisable symbols.

Every time we drive through Crofton Downs or on the way to Karori someone in the car spots the Eiffel Tower. Most parents would have the sense to correct their children and constructively, gently inform them that what they see is in fact an electrical pylon. But then my passion for Paris is not a rational, constructive thing.

Imagine then, standing at the foot of the real thing. The prelude was as had been imagined in my head: Arrive at Trocadero for that incredible vista to La Tour Eiffel and beyond to Champs de Mars, a quick photo shoot followed by a wander down across the Seine and a turn on the carousel (to banish all memory of the ride on the Disneyland one yesterday, no offence but who could really relish the plastic fake when the real deal is still available in romantic settings).

We had arrived.

All the build up. All the dinner-time discussions. The children’s books read at home to prep small children. The learning of statistics and history surrounding such an iconic monument. The tantalising glimpses throughout Paris for the past week. We really had made it.

We are becoming quite adept at queuing. Usually the younger two outdo any of us in patience and tolerance for standing like sheep in never-ending stock pens awaiting their fate in the woodshed. The queues for the Eiffel Tower really could dampen one’s spirits - especially once combined with temperatures in the single figures (yes, we are getting a little tired of wearing the same outfits every day which involve most items plucked from our suitcases warn in layers in an effort to compensate for the fact they are all summer clothes).  But we were undeterred. We waited for at least two hours to reach the top and it was worth every minute.

While being incredibly French and a must-do outing, the Eiffel Tower is definitely no chic, elegant Parisian woman. Iron lady she certainly is. I can appreciate her engineering, her structure and the sheer daring it took to design and build her in her day. And Paris would certainly not be Paris without her. But she does afford an incredible view not just off Paris’ many monuments but of the internal courtyards which I think give a glimpse in to Parisian lifestyles: A behind-the-scenes look at how their beautiful lives play out behind the also beautiful facades.

The pylons straddling Ian Galloway Park will probably still be the Eiffel Tower on our return. And I probably still won’t correct it.  But now we have the photos to keep the family legend alive of the day we conquered the queues and the Tower.  Yesterday Disneyland, today the Eiffel Tower - now both ticked off the list. Tomorrow we can get back to pretending we are a wee Parisian family. A shame I forgot to pack the scarves.