Dizzying Heights

However cliché it may be, if you don’t go up the Eiffel Tower when in Paris, you’re an idiot.

Because there’s been over 30 replicas around the world so they must be being made for a good reason? I can hand-on-heart say that they are, as the original is spectacular.

Every corner you turn in Paris you won’t be far from a clear view of the grand silhouette; it’s almost a little reminder from France of where in the world you are. At night the tower becomes a golden disco ball, putting on a crazy show of flashing lights for the whole country and probably it’s neighbors to enjoy. Amongst the skyline of Paris it looks like a glamorous piece of engineer work.

However, standing right below it was a very different experience. To me, a giant skeleton of ironwork planted for a reason you’re not quite sure of* is not something I can appreciate in quite the same way as maybe the Arc de Triomphe. Maybe I just have an iron-phobia.

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If you can understand what I mean, please comment saying so, I need to know I’ not alone on this.

Being the poor university students we are, we took the €4 ticket to 2nd floor, by stairs of course. 704 steps later (and totally worth it for the booty workout it gives you) you are met by the incredible bird’s-eye views of Paris.

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Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elysées, Paris Stock Exchange, Invalides, Montparnasse Tower and a whole load of other places that I’ve just had to look up the names of. There’s a lot to see up there.

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It’s almost like taking a step back from the city streets, looking down on the life, history and culture of it all. I don’t want to seem blasphemous but I did feel like I was sat next to God. Except God could probably afford the lift to the third level.

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After a massive fencing club photoshoot from great heights and a few recreations of Jack and Rose sailing on the Eiffel (before it hit the Louvre) we made our way back down 704 steps and landed dizzily on concrete earth again, ready to make a sharp exit from the giant iron frame and hop back on the Eurostar.

Au revoir, oolala, bon apetit, je suis une salope, mwah mwah Paris.** Until next year! 

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*I’ve Wikipedia-ed it so I know now…it’s still scary.

**In no way did my French improve, however I will forever be fluent in Frenglish.

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One response to “Dizzying Heights

  1. Pingback: Drunk on London | Flissfest·

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