What a Huge Turn ON!
What is it with humans and our “sky scraping,” towers? WE crave heights! PEAK experience(s), which should be, theoretically, mired by the fact that everyone else on the planet seems to agree about the arch significance of the ever present, “Bucket List,” a standard compendium of minor glories, subtitled, “Travel Triumphs That Must be Experienced by All Humanity.” Every nation’s monuments appear to be made to be seen, recorded, and spun into Profile Pictures, galore! Take for example, visiting the Great Wall of China or the Egyptian Pyramids… If you make it either of those important sites, you will want to celebrate by taking pictures and posting them to the zippiest internet site available so your “friends,” will ogle and envy your good fortune. Right?
The same is the case with a virgin visit to famed Paris, petty travel glory ignites envy. Just yesterday an on-line friend confessed to being “jealous,” that Frau Kolb is in Paris, the famous City of Lights. Who can blame anyone for a pang of jelly-feelings when faced with another’s APEX moment, a glorious moment during which time stands still and we appreciate reality? Yet, there is nothing to envy. We’ve all had such moments and looking around I could see countless others having their photo opportunity, memorable moment, a golden instant pressed like a butterfly between book pages, a preserved out-of-breath, orgasmic arrival. However, those that know my secret… are aware that when life-threatening advanced breast cancer returned last year… there was no guarantee that I’d live long enough to hold hands with my husband to climb UP and UP and UP to the SUMMIT Level, to this immortal PEAK, a magical point, from which you can see far and wide over all of grand and intricate, studied and admired, cherished and enjoyable, Paris. To envy my ticket, which is an ongoing relationship with mortal illness, a grand motivator, indeed, a spur toward worldly milestone counting, daily writing, and well…no one really envies the price I’ve paid, for the life I live, because that would be insane.
You get on line, to pay, and wait your turn to start going up,up, up… everyone is more than happy for the privilege of scaling France’s mo
st prominent national symbol, a monumentally scaled architectural art object, and space-age cash cow (the tower is the world’s most visited paid monument). My husband and I are sporty people and despite my swollen foot, I am faster than most tourists, bellies bulging, and all that jiggly jazz, but NOT faster than the fascinating Tattooed French Lady. She was very thin and had very short hair. Tattoos in the pattern of leopard skin and high-end Fashion brand logos (CoCo Chanel, Givenchy, and so on…) covered her arms in permanent sleeves. Her Lover, perhaps her husband, an adoring pierced man, a few inches shorter than her (and she was not tall) was one step, just, behind her. They waited on line with us and climbed at almost exactly the same rate. By the time we reached the first platform level I felt as though I knew her, them, a little. Perhaps… this feeling was illusionary. But, I was feeling connected with humanity as we reached higher levels, together.
The couple, I observed, without thinking if they noticed me noticing them. It seemed to me that they were Parisians. They were among the few locals among the mostly international tourists. She was more emotionally reserved than him and kept quiet as he nibbled on her neck and we all waited to buy our tickets. I noted how much more demonstrative couples in Paris are, not only were the pair behind us on line comfortable engaging in loving touch while waiting to race us up to the first and then to the SUMMIT Level, near top, where a little room, houses a funky little instillation of dummies dressed up in period costumes representing Monsieur Eiffel and his big hat wearing corseted daughter and a phonograph bestowing mustached and tweed wearing mannequin representing the celebrated American businessman, Thomas Edison.
We looked in, along with everybody else. We took our pictures, perhaps no different than any others, perhaps better. Who knows? Who cares? We marveled at the expansive views and the gathering crowds behind us. We were ecstatic to be there, having climbed The Eiffel tower along with thousands upon thousands of others and still feeling special to be there. (It doesn’t matter that almost seven million others, per year, make the same secular pilgrimage, to the heart of Romantic Ideation, The Eiffel tower is impressive and I now consider it my favorite national symbol.) This blissful “special,” feeling is replicated over and over, day in and out, each group of people, individuals, routinely loud Americans, every type of Asian combination and permutation, Europeans, lots of determined Germans, focused Russians… all the people of the world, except perhaps Australian Aboriginals and Native Amazon dwellers, were in redundant evidence. All gawking, photographing, and snatching at a moment so significant that it blurs into utter meaningless imagery bought and sold all over the world, little trinket Eiffel tower totes, tee-shirts, towels… every possible object can be bought with Eiffel Tower or Mona Lisa print on them, at Walmart, I am sure. I’ve seen such things. You have seen the same junk for sale. You may have Paris, Eiffel Tower, Wallpaperin your bathroom, perhaps.
So… do I, feel that it cheapens me or The Tower, that everyone agrees it is a place to kiss a beloved, pop-the-question, and bask in the absolute Must See emblem of the much visited and celebrated city of Paris? No, not at all! The Eiffel Tower is perfect. It is a dazzling structure, “after all these years.” Its capacity to withstand the onslaught of projection, massive idealization, dreams, and desire projected upon it. La Tour amazes me by standing up to all the attention! I’m convinced: The Eiffel Tower must be a LOVE Magnet. It must be catching and emitting all the waves of lust and desire that circulate the world’s streets, channeling all that flirty energy to France, the WORLD’s (Erotic) Fantasy (Romantic) Capital!
I’m convinced that The Tower is emitting a special frequency which excites in humans a sexy turned ON, feeling. You will note its effect particularly in and around Paris. The closer one is to the Tower in the 7th arrondissement of Paris, in either location or sentiment, then the more likely one is to feel this BUZZ, this sacred electricity which radiates from the groin, the head, the heart… it is entirely human. It is: concentrated Romance, in its purest form. To prove my theory, I observed and counted and photographed countless couples kissing, curled up together, a pile of arms and legs mingling on lawns park benches all over pretty Paris. I would post my records, findings, but I fear that such action might result in trouble for someone that doesn’t want to be identified on their afternoon stroll and make-out session with someone else’s main squeeze. So… I demonstrate self control.
Whatever the reason, it is plain to see, that “Romance and Conquest,” are in every tourist’s eager eye as they climb or ride the elevator up to the summit of the world’s most celebrated and replicated radio tower and phallus symbol since The Tower of Babel was leveled by punishing confusion, dispensed in a sudden gaggle of new tongues. Just as, the post-coital looks of satisfaction etched on the faces of the fortunate visitors as they exit the monument in droves is easy to decipher. The code of conquest, over the desired object, in this case imaged as a woman, built to be explored, endures.
