For Ruthie and me the title says it all.

                                    Loving the City of Light

            It was after dark in Paris with Ruthie, me, and hundreds of others enjoying a night-time picnic on the grass near the Eiffel Tower. Thousands of lights strung on its immense structure was a brilliant array sweeping a thousand feet high toward the stars.

            Snapping photos like crazy, Ruthie exclaimed, “So gorgeous! I can’t believe the size of it!” Indeed, this place isn’t called The City of Light for nothing.

            Earlier this morning was day-three of the five we’d spend here. We had crossed the Pont Neuf Bridge spanning the Seine River and started toward what many claimed was the world’s most wondrous boulevard, the Champs-Elysees. Except…we stopped dead in our tracks to stare at a gigantic 3500-hundred year-old Egyptian Obelisk. Had this not grabbed us, the scene in front of it would have; a gorgeous young model in a white wedding gown posing for a camera crew.

           

            Ruthie laughed, “Are we in the world’s fashion capital or what!”

            The largest of our greatest cities had done nothing to prepare us for the sheer magnificence of the Avenue des Champs-Elysees. Starting from the mighty Arch of Triumph a mile away and stretching toward us on both sides were cafes, cinemas, and luxury stores beyond count. Lined along its whole length by ornate lampposts and tall chestnut trees, it provided plenty of benches on which to collapse after all the shopping.

            Speaking of which, my all-out shopper spouse tugged me toward an ATM. “Come on, dear, we’ll need more Euros!”

            After merely window shopping at stores like Louis Vuitton and Loreal we were in sticker shock. So we ducked into one not so upscale but who’d refused to be left out- McDonald’s, who else? The day had grown hot and we carried our coffees to a bench that was shaded. Having talked for years about seeing Paris, we were two kids who’d magically arrived (with the help of free air tickets from our kids) in Toyland.

            Trying to take it all in, Ruthie said wonderingly, “Pinch me-I’m dreaming!”

            I pointed at the Arch now close-by. “Me, too…and climbing up that huge thing will give us something else to dream about! Let’s do it!”  

            Its lift was out of order, so we actually did climb the two-hundred stairs to the top. Originally commissioned by Napoleon and standing 162 feet above the Champs it gave us a splendid view of the ancient heart of the city. High above its far edge the modern day skyscrapers seemed intruders.

            Ruthie shook her head. “With two days left, seeing it all is impossible!”

            We did our best and on our last night in Paris we did what was possible; toss the budget and splurge on the most haute cuisine on the menu. A short walk from our rental place, the restaurant was smack in the middle of the Rue Cler Market, one of travel expert Rick Steves’ favorite spots.

            Now it was ours’, too, and how could it not? Restricted to pedestrians the Market keeps calling us, tourists and locals alike, to come back and be part of all that goes on. A riot of colors, sounds, and smells, its bustling stores and vendors’ stalls offer everything from bakery goods and trinkets to fresh produce, meats, and a huge variety of cheeses and wines. Somehow it also squeezes in a few quaint eateries like ours.

            We drank in the wonderful ambience; the neighborliness of the French couple at the next table, Edith Piaf’s tuneful rendition of “La Vie En Rose” playing in the background, and perfect strangers strolling by who smiled at us- “Bon soir!” (Good evening!)-and we back at them, “Bon soir!” So much for that old saw the French are rude and unfriendly.

            Her fork of elegantly prepared poisson (fish) halfway to her mouth, Ruthie beamed, “Nothing against you honey, but…I love Paris!”

            Walking away from our place the next day, we looked back.

            I said, “I’m already homesick!”

            Ruthie smiled, “Well dear, we’ll save our nickels and dimes, and then…” She added (like Arnold) “…we’ll be back!”