Paris: The Sad Truth

Stepping out into the sun, he pointed. “There it is,” he said, as I followed his finger to the very top iron spike. Walking in the direction of the spike, we rounded a corner; little ants scattered under The Eiffel Tower. A bitter disappointment set in at the realisation that the world we now live in is a very different place. An oxymoron in its prime; basking in the glowing sunshine yet trapped in a cage of metal fencing for its own desired protection, The Eiffel Tower no longer exudes wonderment but instead, uncertainty and fear.

What was before a tranquil wander up the River Seine is now a brisk walk, interweaving concrete bollards set in place to stop uncontrollable vans ploughing through the city’s most picturesque landmarks. Tourists were lost in a dark cloud of hesitation. Shall we visit the Louvre? Is a small backstreet café a better option? Tube or bus?

The renowned Catacombs allowed for a welcome and ironic distraction. Buried underground, six million ancient Parisians lie; bones upon bones, the youngest rested above the eldest. A serene quiet echoed throughout the tunnels, the whispers of visitors the loudest sound. There was an ease when wrapped in this calmness that forgot the war raging on above the ground. How easy it must be, to be so blissfully unaware of the nature of today.

Catapulted back through the centuries, a mobile phone sounded. “Are you all okay?”, read the message. Breaking news warned of a weapon-wielder and an evacuation. An abyss of dread. Despite the armed police, however, admiration still resonated in me from memories of seeing this impressive city as a child. As an adult, however, I know that the City of Love is now a city attempting to supress the hate.