Why I Love The Eiffel Tower
The Eiffel Tower--Touristic Icon or Counterculture Heroine?
Madame
The
Eiffel Tower is the most recognizable landmark of Paris. It is a
destination to which every sightseeing pilgrim must go, to be checked
off the list of must-see places in Paris along with the Arc de Triomph,
the Champs-Elysées, and the Louvre--check, check, check. And while most
people might visit the Eiffel Tower once, and never go back (moving on
to other must-see attractions), I continue to go back each time I visit
Paris.
My first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower on arrival to Paris seems to validate my presence there; I really am in Paris. Spying the tip, peering at me over zinc rooftops, turning a corner and finding it suddenly, greeting me, arms akimbo (if indeed there were "arms"), feet planted wide, is one of my secret pleasures. Unlike the modern Tour Montparnasse, which asserts its monstrous phallic authority over the modest 18th and 19th century buildings of the left bank, omnipresent and unpopular, the Eiffel Tower, monolith of the Belle-Epoque, feminine in form with its frou-frou delicacy, resplendently yields to the Neo-Classical and Beaux-Arts buildings of the seventh arrondissement, cherished and pampered, a regal and ensorcelling courtesan.
My first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower on arrival to Paris seems to validate my presence there; I really am in Paris. Spying the tip, peering at me over zinc rooftops, turning a corner and finding it suddenly, greeting me, arms akimbo (if indeed there were "arms"), feet planted wide, is one of my secret pleasures. Unlike the modern Tour Montparnasse, which asserts its monstrous phallic authority over the modest 18th and 19th century buildings of the left bank, omnipresent and unpopular, the Eiffel Tower, monolith of the Belle-Epoque, feminine in form with its frou-frou delicacy, resplendently yields to the Neo-Classical and Beaux-Arts buildings of the seventh arrondissement, cherished and pampered, a regal and ensorcelling courtesan.
Queen
of Paris, standing tall, sturdy legs planted deep into the soil of the
left bank, her Cyclops eye keeping watch, circling over Paris at night,
she lures tourists worldwide like some sort of Gargantuan Siren; her
mythological beauty and astounding carriage destroying the most fervid
Francophobe's resistance to Paris and her charms, for indeed, is there
anyone who can say that they do not like the Eiffel Tower? Paris
without the Eiffel Tower would be as absurd a proposition as New York
without its Empire State Building, San Francisco without its Golden
Gate Bridge, Rome without its ancient Roman Forum--one cannot imagine
one without the other. It is, in fact, the first image conjured when
one says "Paris."
The power of
her majesty, last reigning queen of France, la Tour Eiffel, is, it
seems, boundless. Her effigy, her portrait in miniature, bestows an
immediate cachet to all manner of product, consumers bewitched by her
image and her promise: key-chains, t-shirts, decorative pillows, tote
bags. I myself am not immune; at home we've a small still-life
arrangement of Eiffel Towers small and large, a bit of her majesty's
potent power contained in each one. Lending an air of cosmopolitan
sophistication, of taste and style, they proclaim to all visitors who
would listen, "These fine people have traveled; they've worldly, urbane
tastes." And though this kind of statement is something I'd like to
muzzle, there is another magic that I welcome from my talismanic icons;
these miniature Eiffel Towers are my rosary, succor and a bit of
Popeye's spinach on days filled with crying children, crowded buses,
and burnt dinners. They're an odd bit of comfort, a portable piece of
Paris if you will, tiny icons, poupées for a girl who longs for the
real thing.
Monsieur
Built
in 1889 for the International Exhibition of Paris, it was in its day,
by such luminaries as Zola, Maupassant, Verlaine, and Dumas fils,
called "useless," "monstrous," "disgraceful," "hateful," and "ignoble,"
among other insults. As a Francophile and fledgling writer, I like to
imagine rubbing elbows with my literary heroes in Zola's salon. But as
a fervent admirer of this splendid monument, my endless platitudes
would have been met with universal derision among the prominent
fin-de-siècle artists and intellectuals who signed the petition against
its erection. For at the time of its début, the Eiffel Tower was a
symbol of France's technological prowess, of everything my romantic
heroes were against.
Try as I might to see the tower through their eyes, stripped of all its symbolism and associations, I still can't help but find the massive iron structure utterly charming. I now live in a time where we are unwilling or incapable of manufacturing anything of beauty (see la Grande Arche and la Tour Montparnasse, to my eyes truly monstrous) not to mention the modern architectural disasters of my own country. Whenever I am walking about Paris, and I spy the tower on the horizon, I cannot fail to acknowledge it. "Regardez-là, c'est la Tour Eiffel!" I exclaim gleefully to my wife, who responds in kind, our attention momentarily diverted from whatever wonderful thing at which we had been looking. My favorite view is from the end of the rue l'Université after having just turned from the avenue de La Bourdonnais--the tower looms suddenly overhead, the effect of which is as remarkable as if Mount Fuji had materialized before one from thin air.
Try as I might to see the tower through their eyes, stripped of all its symbolism and associations, I still can't help but find the massive iron structure utterly charming. I now live in a time where we are unwilling or incapable of manufacturing anything of beauty (see la Grande Arche and la Tour Montparnasse, to my eyes truly monstrous) not to mention the modern architectural disasters of my own country. Whenever I am walking about Paris, and I spy the tower on the horizon, I cannot fail to acknowledge it. "Regardez-là, c'est la Tour Eiffel!" I exclaim gleefully to my wife, who responds in kind, our attention momentarily diverted from whatever wonderful thing at which we had been looking. My favorite view is from the end of the rue l'Université after having just turned from the avenue de La Bourdonnais--the tower looms suddenly overhead, the effect of which is as remarkable as if Mount Fuji had materialized before one from thin air.
I must also find an
excuse to mention in this article the view we had of the tower from our
attic apartment on the Île-St-Louis. We could see just the upper
quarter of it, and I remember watching the sun set behind it while the
spotlight rotated on top. Thirty minutes later it would be dark but I
would still be staring at the light as if hypnotized, wondering if any
Parisian were at the same moment doing likewise, or if I were behaving
as only a tourist would. Surely Paris must be tired of it by now; as
early as 1909 they wanted to tear it down because it was "no longer
useful".
But there are many uses for it now. It is, besides being a lucrative tourist attraction, a handy prop for telecommunications antennae. I cannot overstate its usefulness to me as a venerated totem; it has become a beacon of hope in a world turned ugly (the very world that Zola et al. feared in 1889). As long as it stands, I know I can always hop on a plane and in ten miserable hours I can be standing at its base, clutching one of its legs as a child would its mommy. You may read this and think me irrational, but I'm not the only person I know with dozens of miniature Eiffel Towers in his home and office, although I am the only person I know with a four-foot cardboard display Eiffel Tower, found discarded in a box by the curb one morning. I couldn't believe it then and I still cannot believe it now, that someone could so carelessly have tossed it aside in an act one may almost regard as blasphemy. All Eiffel Towers represent to me, if nothing else, Paris, my spiritual home.
But there are many uses for it now. It is, besides being a lucrative tourist attraction, a handy prop for telecommunications antennae. I cannot overstate its usefulness to me as a venerated totem; it has become a beacon of hope in a world turned ugly (the very world that Zola et al. feared in 1889). As long as it stands, I know I can always hop on a plane and in ten miserable hours I can be standing at its base, clutching one of its legs as a child would its mommy. You may read this and think me irrational, but I'm not the only person I know with dozens of miniature Eiffel Towers in his home and office, although I am the only person I know with a four-foot cardboard display Eiffel Tower, found discarded in a box by the curb one morning. I couldn't believe it then and I still cannot believe it now, that someone could so carelessly have tossed it aside in an act one may almost regard as blasphemy. All Eiffel Towers represent to me, if nothing else, Paris, my spiritual home.
