A direct flight from San Francisco - on Air France, which meant an aperitif before dinner, wine during, and a cognac after...and subsequently a nice long nap - a decent trip into the city on the RER, a short walk along cobblestone streets and here we were, gazing out the windows of our apartment, at the rooftops of Paris.
This was our third trip to the City of Light. We were here for two reasons: one, as a fulfillment of a promise to my niece, Heidi. The promise? That we would take her to Germany once she graduated from college. And where should a 21 year old woman go as part of her first trip to Europe? Paris, of course. Second reason? Our 18th wedding anniversary.
We arrived a day earlier than the rest of our party, so Marissa and I had the evening to ourselves. What do, what to do... why, wander the city, of course.
So we grabbed a quick bite to eat and set off. We shopped - a new bag and a necklace for her, from a nice little place called L'atelier Onaya, and a great looking scarf for me, from Agnès B.,trés French - and explored, ending up in the Canal St. Martin neighborhood. There aren't any tourist destinations there, just Parisians being Parisian, lots of good restaurants, bars, and shops...and the illusion that we were residents of this beautiful city.
But as evening wore on we knew where we had to end up: down on the Seine.
Notre Dame at night. In the daytime, it is a massive wall of saints and gargoyles, an imposing, glorious expression of European and Christian history. At night it is completely transformed, all stillness and light, the flying buttresses delicate and ghostly. The quiet settles on you gently.
The bridge we crossed, like most of the bridges crossing the Seine, particularly pedestrian ones, had its railings covered by thousands of padlocks, each with two names and a date written on them. There seemed to be as many types of locks as there are people and names from all over the world: Raquel, Olga, James, Rashid, Akiko, Steven, and on and on. What are these? They are the latest French trend in romance, they are the the locks of lovers.
Here's what you do: write your names on a lock. Bring it to Paris. Attach it to the hand rail of your favorite little bridge. Maybe it is the first one you walked across with your love, maybe it has a great view of the river and the Eiffel Tower, maybe it is closest to your favorite creperie. Whatever your reason, fasten your lock to the railing and throw away the key. Your love has now been secured.
As we made our way home, in the cool damp of a Paris night, I wondered about the names on all of those locks. "How are they doing?" I thought. "Are Vadim and Olga still in love? Does Felipe still get excited when he sees Raquel after a long day at work? Can Manu and Sylvie still travel together, get lost together, say dumb things to each and forgive each other without even asking, even after 18 years?" I hope so, because it sure is nice.
