This time around in Paris, I didn’t go up the Eiffel Tower, meh.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But that’s, like, the whole point of the Eiffel Tower!” True, but when you see the size of that queue, trust me, you start re-evaluating your life choices. Plus, a few years ago I realized something… I get proper freaked out by heights.
Like, that gut-wrenching feeling that whatever you’re on is just going to crumble beneath you. Mad, right? So, I decided to skip it altogether this time. I’ve been up it before anyway.
Instead, I chilled on a bench outside while A, who was full of enthusiasm, was ready to tackle the monster queue. I just sparked up a cigarette, yes, right in front of the Eiffel Tower, felt très Parisian—and waited. But it turns out, A came back down not long after, looking defeated. “Queue’s too long,” he said. Mate, I could’ve told you that before you started.
As I sat there puffing away, my mind wandered to some strange places. Like, seriously, how on Earth did they even build this thing?
It’s just metal beams, but somehow it’s still standing all these years later. And also, here’s where the questionable thoughts come in, how would I go about getting one of those assault shotgun off the guards down below? Not that I would, obviously. But, you know, you get lost in your own head sometimes.
The tower’s still impressive though, from down here. That view of Paris in the background, tourists taking selfies, and me… well, contemplating both the wonders of architecture and how terrible I am with queues.