The perfect romantic moment

Known to me through history’s most romantic films, sepia Instagram scenes and many a Facebook picture of grinning couples in a passionate embrace after an accepted marriage proposal. In the background, the Eiffel Tower was always there, watching on, smiling too. Those celebrated arches seemed to represent life, growth, comfort and a timeless elegance that people crave.

But the day I first met it face to face, this beloved cultural treasure seemed tired and lifeless.

Expectation - Gorgeous!

I’ll never know what happened to make it so forlorn, when the grass in the recent photos was such a rich green, the structure was so striking, and the iron lattice still glistening after all these years. As I approached from whole blocks away, the tip of the triangle already in sight, my excitement built as I dragged along my tired boyfriend, plagued by laryngitis and a severe dislike of crowds. 

This is it, I told myself, he and I will be able to experience a perfect romantic moment like so many before us, the tower watching over warmly, extending its approval, like some kind of love deity.

When I finally got to the base, however, I saw no glisten, nor felt the invigoration I had anticipated. Before us stood an hour’s wait of people lined up to visit the top, to breathe in Paris at 1,000 feet.  Fast food vans peppered the site. People were shoving, impatient to take their place in the growing queue.

Not defeated, my lover and I decided the most picturesque view must be from the champs de mars side, on the lush minty green of the surrounding lawns where others had picnicked for generations, the sunlight winking through the trellis, as if to say ‘you’ve got the best spot in town’.

As we wondered on, my heart sank. The deep green blades had given way to browning stems, with scattered patches of bare earth. Locals and tourists compressed together like sardines, with no air or intimacy to speak of. Spaces left uncovered were reserved for empty chip packets and cans of coca cola, dancing and rolling in the breeze.

What is this? I asked myself, almost tearing up at the sight. Where is the magic and the romance? Did it ever really exist? My poor ill boyfriend stood beside me, unable to offer words of comfort, exhausted.

In my chagrin I stormed away from the crowds, and found a small area unmarred by garbage or a million footsteps, the view of the tower blocked behind nearby trees. My devoted partner at my side still, despite our mutual exasperation, made worse by his “told you so” eyes. Still he held me until my sadness subsided.

We eventually moved on to a nearby spot, uninhabited but for one passerby – a homeless man whom, while we took our first and only photograph, began urinating 10 feet from where we stood. At least he had the decency to face away from us.

We laughed at the obscenity of it all, the aggressive disillusionment, and the rotten fortune at having been here at such a bleak and teeming moment in time.

Through the crushing reality and subsequent emotional outbursts, my poor mute partner stuck with me. And there, with our dappled views, even with the slip of my rosy glasses, he looked lovely.

Perhaps we did get to experience the perfect and memorable romantic moment after all. And it involved swollen larynx, public urination, and crushed dreams. In the background of our one photograph, maybe the Eiffel Tower is winking.