16: It's So Big!

I had expected both lines and crowds at the Eiffel Tower—but only the lines showed up. The weather had turned chilly, and a strong wind now swept across the Champ de Mars. The entrance leads directly beneath the tower’s four immense legs, and aside from a scattering of visitors, the space was nearly deserted. The food and souvenir stands sat mostly empty. The only exception? Two long, heavily populated lines stretching from opposite ends of the plaza.
The lines moved slowly, and I just needed to find the right one. My first guess led me into the queue for the restaurant. After a quick “Pardon,” I slipped out and joined the line on the other side. I pulled my ticket from my jacket and showed it to the first official-looking person I could find.
“You're an hour early,” they said.
“Sacre bleu.”
With no time to leave and return, I was stuck with little to do but wander aimlessly. I browsed the snack bar, glanced at the souvenir stands, and checked out the restrooms. That killed a grand total of ten minutes.
At the snack bar, I managed to drop my wallet on the concrete. In most parts of Paris, that would have been a disaster. But here—at the ghost town that was the base of the Eiffel Tower—no one even noticed. I could have yelled, “Free wallet!” and I doubt anyone would’ve cared.
I sipped my coffee and nibbled at a pastry as slowly as I could manage. When enough time had passed, I made my way back to the proper line and waited for the elevator.
Now, for those with stronger hearts and younger knees, there's always the option to climb the stairs to the top. Fifty years ago, I might have attempted it myself. But today, the elevator was definitely the way to go—and I wasn’t alone in that decision.
The first elevator holds more people than you’d expect and travels diagonally up the side of the tower to the first landing, about halfway up. From there, a series of steps leads you to a second elevator that carries you most of the rest of the way.
It was at this second platform that I exchanged my ticket for a glass of champagne—an overpriced indulgence that cost me several hundred euros. But it came with a view.
The observation deck was stunning. A couple from the States offered to take my photo with my champagne, and we returned the favor. Everything went smoothly, and with photo in hand and bubbles in my glass, I made my way to the final elevator—to the spire at the very top.
 One more elevator, one more view—and despite the gentle swaying of a tower exposed to wind and sky, the panorama was absolutely phenomenal.
From here, you could see all of Paris: both the historic and the modern. In the distance stood clusters of towering skyscrapers—a part of the city I hadn’t yet explored. Closer in, the classic Paris unfolded before me: the winding Seine, tiled rooftops, manicured parks, and every landmark I’d visited so far. All of it laid out like a perfectly crafted miniature, equal parts toy set and masterpiece.
I had planned to stay until nightfall, hoping to see the city light up beneath me. But as the wind picked up and the cold settled deeper into my bones, my resolve began to thaw. I stayed as long as I could, soaking in the view, until I began to feel like Chevy Chase at the Grand Canyon—just enough of a nod before hurrying everyone back to the car.
Still, swaying or not, it was a glorious visit. One I’ll never forget. And once my feet were firmly back on terra firma, I appreciated it even more.