Two years ago, my wife and I boarded a plane on Christmas Eve and fulfilled a life-long fantasy of hers. No, neither of us are in the Mile High Club, as far as I know. Besides, that would be my lifelong fantasy, not hers. Christmas morning we landed in Paris. The only thing we did to spoil the fantasy glow was to take along our surly, moody teenager. I know, those adjectives are redundant when describing teenagers.
We arrived early Christmas morning Paris-time to a nearly deserted Charles DeGaulle Airport and took a shuttle service to our hotel in Arrondissement Seven. To say that our room was small would be to say that the Louvre has a few paintings. Our triple room, which was hard to find in this hotel class (further discouraging any future of taking teenagers along), was a skinny double bed with about 1 foot clear on each side and a roll-away bed blocking the door to the bathroom. Still, we were in Paris.
Since we still had most of the day ahead of us we decided to walk the few blocks to the Eiffel Tower just to have a look at it. The Eiffel Tower does not disappoint. I don’t know what fake partial scale replicas you may have seen in Vegas or at Kings Dominion, the real thing is just plain huge. We swooned and gawked and then noticed there were people in line at the base.
Travel Tip: The Eiffel Tower is open Christmas Day.
We spent most of the afternoon going all the way to the top and slowly descending the tower. We took picture and wandered and just soaked in the atmosphere. At dusk, we took a water boat tour up and down the Seine, just like in Before Sunset, and took more picture of the Eiffel Tower. In all I think I took over three dozen picture of the Eiffel Tower or parts therof that trip. The one on the right is from the only clear sunny day we had that trip.
The weather was cold and usually gray, but nothing can take away that magic of having been in Paris on Christmas Day.