Finding Mordor in Paris: The Eiffel Tower, Me, and My Precious

Paris. The city of love, lights, and far too many people who look better in scarves than you do. It’s the place that promises romance, sophistication, and an endless parade of bread that somehow tastes better than the stuff you get at home.

You know, Mordor from The Lord of the Rings? The land of darkness, despair, and the occasional giant flaming eye? That’s what came to mind as I stood beneath the Eiffel Tower, clutching my coat and wondering if Sauron himself was going to peek out from behind a baguette stand. Because that’s the thing about Paris: it’s beautiful, sure, but it’s also deeply, deeply intimidating. And not just because the pigeons look like they could form their own union and demand better crumbs (go pigeons go!)


First Encounter: The Iron Beast of Paris

The Eiffel Tower is a marvel. That much is undeniable. But seeing it in real life is an entirely different experience. It’s one thing to look at pictures of it on Instagram, where influencers pose with their tiny coffees and perfectly curated outfits, and another thing entirely to stand beneath its massive iron arches and feel like Frodo staring up at Mount Doom. Except instead of destroying a ring, my quest was to take a decent selfie in the rain, a task equally impossible, as it turns out.

Let me set the scene. The sky was dark, the kind of gray that Tolkien would’ve described as “ominous” while Galadriel whispered cryptic warnings in Elvish. The rain? Relentless. My umbrella? Broken, because of course it was. And there I stood, soaked and shivering, trying to capture a moment that felt more cinematic in my head. My friends phone camera refused to cooperate, giving us a series of blurry, thumb-filled shots that made me question every decision I’d ever made.

At some point, a passing photographer offered to take my photo, which was kind but ultimately pointless. I’d imagine they’ll capture the Eiffel Tower, sure, but they’ll also capture me looking like a drowned hobbit who’d just been told that the journey to Mordor was uphill both ways. Still, it was a nice gesture.


A City of Magic and Misery

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to trash Paris. It’s a stunning city, full of history and culture and bread so good it could probably end wars. But there’s something deeply thought provoking about it, too. Maybe it’s the weight of its reputation, or the sheer number of tourists all trying to live out their Amélie fantasies at the same time. Whatever it is, Paris has a way of making you feel both inspired and deeply inadequate, like you’re auditioning for a role you’re not quite qualified for.

Take the Eiffel Tower, for example. It’s not just a monument, it’s a symbol, a beacon, a literal iron giant standing tall and proud while you fumble with Google Maps and try not to cry. It’s awe-inspiring in a way that reminds you how small you are, which is humbling but also kind of depressing if you think about it for too long. And trust me, when you’re sober in a city that practically invented wine, you have a lot of time to think.


The Journey to Mordor (Also Known as the Eiffel Tower’s Summit)

For the brave (or deeply misguided), there’s the option to climb the Eiffel Tower. Now, I’d like to say I took the stairs because I’m a fan of physical challenges or because I wanted to “earn” the view. But the truth is, the elevator line was too long, and I’m impatient. So up I went, step by step, cursing my life choices and silently praying that the guy in front of me, who smelled strongly of garlic, would pick up the pace.

The climb itself felt like something straight out of The Lord of the Rings. Each step was a reminder of my mortality, and by the time I reached the first platform, I was convinced I’d pulled at least three muscles I didn’t know I had. But the view? Worth it. Paris stretched out before me like a miniature kingdom, complete with tiny cars and even tinier people who probably weren’t struggling as much as I was.

I took a moment to catch my breath, leaning against the railing and pretending I wasn’t on the verge of collapsing. Around me, couples took selfies, families posed awkwardly, and a child screamed something in French that I can only assume was an insult. It was chaotic and beautiful and overwhelming all at once, like the city itself.


Rain, Regret, and Redemption

By the time I made it back down, the rain had turned into a full-blown downpour, and my shoes were officially soaked. I ducked into a nearby café, desperate for warmth and caffeine, and ordered a cappuccino that cost roughly the same as a small car. But as I sat there, watching the rain blur the city outside, I realized something: Paris isn’t about perfection. It’s about moments. Tiny, imperfect, magical moments that remind you why you’re here in the first place.

Sure, I wasn’t having the quintessential Parisian experience. I wasn’t strolling along the Seine with a beret perched jauntily on my head. I wasn’t sipping wine at a candlelit bistro or reciting poetry in a smoky jazz club. I was wet, cold, and slightly bitter, sitting alone in a café with a cappuccino that tasted suspiciously like instant coffee. And yet, it was enough. It was more than enough.


Reflections from Mordor (Or Maybe Rivendell)

As we left the café and made my way back to the hostel, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The Eiffel Tower, the rain, the climb, the overpriced coffee—it was ridiculous and wonderful and exactly what I needed. Sobriety has a way of sharpening your perspective, of making you appreciate the strange and unexpected moments that make life worth living.

Paris isn’t Mordor, no matter how dramatic I like to be. It’s more like Rivendell, a place of beauty and wonder, where you can rest and recharge before heading back out into the world. And the Eiffel Tower? It’s not Mount Doom. It’s just a really big, really impressive hunk of iron that reminds you how far humans will go to create something extraordinary.

So, would I do it all again? Probably not.


Your Own Parisian Quest

If you’ve ever dreamed of visiting Paris, do it. But don’t go expecting perfection. Go for the rain, the chaos, the overpriced cappuccinos, and the moments that make you feel alive. And when you find yourself standing beneath the Eiffel Tower, soaked and shivering, remember this: even Frodo had bad days.

So grab your camera, embrace the imperfections, and start your own quest. Whether you’re climbing the stairs or just taking it all in from the ground, the journey is always worth it. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even find your own version of Mordor, or at least a really good croissant.

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