THE IRON LADY

We emerged from the metro station, out of breath from scaling the steps with the push chair in tow. We took a moment to get our bearings, though it wasn't difficult to figure out which way to go since every pedestrian seemed to be heading in the same direction. We walked past stalls selling the most delicious smelling pastries smothered in hot fruit coulis, and vendors holding their giant rings of miniature Eiffel Towers; We bustled past them, telling them 'no' as politely as we could. It was difficult to pause since there were people everywhere- drama groups running through the crowd dressed in white from head to toe, their faces masked by helmets, tourists who all seemed to be racing to get there first, and Parisians, clutching their coffee, frustrated that we were all there in the first place- but, pause we did, since there it was in front of us: the Iron Lady, the Iron Monster, the Eiffel Tower.



The Tower stands on the Champ de Mars, a so called public greenspace where you can sit on the lawn and have your pic-nic in the towers shadow. From where we were standing, we were looking down on the lawns and as we negotiated making our way to the grass and the base of the tower, we were reminded once again that there's a reason for Paris being known as one of the most romantic cities on earth, and not the most child friendly city in the world. Whilst it might be terribly lovely to walk down the (at least 100) steps that overlook the Champ de Mars at dusk, arm in arm with your beau, try and do the same thing with a push chair and a baby and a nappy bag that weighs more than your head and the romance of it all dies just a little. We looked around convinced that somewhere there simply had to be a ramp, but our search was futile so we gave up and just braced ourselves for the steps. Mum took the nappy bag that was at least as heavy as Charlotte, since it had to be packed for every possible eventuality, and I began the bumpy task of making my way down the steps with the push chair, and Charlotte, who at least seemed to enjoy the bumps.

A little asian guy and his friend bombed past us, and I was relieved when one of them turned around and made his way back to where we were struggling. He didn't speak English, and I didn't speak Mandarin, and we were both pretty rubbish at French but he managed to offer help and I gratefully accepted it. Three flights of steps later, he set down the front of the push chair, we exchanged puddled thanks and good bye's, and our kind little helper walked off into the evening.

We approached the Tower slowly, taking in its details from our new vantage point. Its bronzish colour, the narrow antenna you could see reaching skyward from its tip, the tiny elevators moving up and down its framework, the various landings where we could see the miniature forms of tourists looking down at us. Our guidebook described the Eiffel Tower as 'a rocket of steel lacework shooting up into the sky,' and I can't think of a better way to describe it. Standing beneath it and looking up, its open framework seemed, indeed, to morph into an intricate pattern of steel lace.



I think that the Towers surroundings render it more beautiful than it would otherwise be. It was never intended to be a permanent fixture, and maybe before all of the greenery rose up around it, I can see why people weren't thrilled with it; its not exactly in keeping with the characteristic Parisian architecture. But, as it is, the tremendous lawns of the Champ de Mars stretch out around it, lined like the Champs Elysees with perfectly coiffed trees. It is flanked by gardens, gothic and baroque inspired buildings, and where we chose to sit, stunning fountains. I think all of this makes the Tower less industrial looking somehow. I imagine if it was standing beside the River Tees in 'Borough, it wouldn't have the same charm that Paris lends it. We sat for a while, enjoying the fountains and just looking at the Eiffel Tower, fixing its image in my brain so that this time I would remember it.



Finally sitting down, it dawned on us how tired we were. Charlotte had been a little champion all day and I just wished there was some way that she would remember this afternoon forever, like I knew my Mum and I would. Champion or not though, we were all ready for bed!