22 hours of the Eiffel Tower

We arrived in Paris at 11:30pm on Friday night. We knew that it was going to be a tight squeeze getting to the City of Light before Christmas but to make it work there was a 24 hour window with reasonably priced train tickets. As luck would have it, we actually found ourselves in first class (which just means a free drink but hey, we're still up for probably anything edible that's free) on the way there so hello, perk!

As we walked along the streets to our hotel, aside from all the street signs and restaurant awnings written in French, I found myself being reminded of New York City and London every few steps. (Please don't kill me yet, Paris-lovers, read on) When we approached Pont Neuf to cross the Seine I looked up and in spite of myself, drew in a quick breath with a small "oh!" We were officially in Paris, and at that moment it became real because there it was, seemingly small off in the distance and all lit up, the Eiffel Tower.

A few weeks before I'd been getting nervous that all the hype of beautiful, wonderful, romantic Paris and all the people I've heard about falling in love with the city at first sight was all a farce. It's this stubborn feeling I get when I hear over and over again that I need to see this movie or go to this restaurant...for some reason I want to defy any and all of these suggestions or "shoulds" that people give me and just refuse to do it. There's no real theory that I have about all of that, I wasn't particularly rebellious as a teen, but the more something is brought to my attention, the less I want to experience or agree with it.

But Paris. I agree, you're beautiful and I love you, too.