Insensibilities
Photo by Jorge Gascón on Unsplash
PARIS Wednesday, November 24, 2004
In most things in life, I tend to be sensible, or at the very least, I like to think that I am. But on occasion, I have been known to do some very insensible things. This is usually owed to the fact that I get a harebrained idea and am insistent about doing it right then and there with little or no thought. Like the time I died my hair butter blonde, or ordered the "Make $2 million a week by stuffing envelopes" kit. What seems irrational to most people usually makes absolute sense to me.
Last night, after a delicious dinner of confit de canard (basically, duck cooked in its own fat), home fries (not freedom fries), and wine (of course), I felt the Eiffel Tower call to me. Never mind that it was 11 PM, that I have seen the Tower at least 37 times already (including twice this afternoon) and that I still have 5 more days in which to gaze at it during normal business hours. I had to see it, and I had to see it right then and there.
I cannot explain the pull and the force this enormous piece of metal has exerted on my soul. It has never failed to make me gasp, to smile, to dream. I hoped it hadn't lost its luster, or worse yet, that I no longer found myself impressed by its imposing presence. In eager anticipation, I boarded the Metro – destination, Eiffel Tower. Quite a few others were boarding this train with me, most of whom didn't get the memo that Paris is one of the fashion meccas of the world. The guy in front of me wore a baggy periwinkle sweatsuit, with a pattern of black squares. He looked like a walking pastel chessboard. And the girl next to him wore black stockings and red leg warmers (are these back in style now??) with red pumps. Oh, Louis Vitton, where are you when we need you?
I decided to give up my dreams of becoming a fashion critic and refocused again on the task at hand – finding the Eiffel Tower. You would think the Eiffel Tower would be impossible to miss given its size and the fact that it is lit up at night with more lights than Chevy Chase's family Christmas tree. But the French must have thought it would be funny to play a joke on all the tourists of the world, and indeed, their plan works day after day. For when you step out of the Metro, the Eiffel Tower is nowhere in sight. Befuddled tourists scratch their heads and crane their necks, trying to find the infamous landmark. Their confusion then turns to frustration as they mutter words their mothers told them never to say. Ah, but I was not to be fooled. For once in my directionally challenged life, I took the right turn, and there she stood before me, magnificent as I remembered her to be. I only had a few moments to admire her, for I did not wish to miss the last Metro and be forced to walk all the way home. Given my propensity for directions, I probably would have ended up in Germany! Before I worry my mother any further with stories of being lost in Paris, I must now say adieu.
Stay insensible!