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have ended. Even though I’ve already seen it light up once,
I’m hooked, and I want to see it again if I can.

We get lucky. When we arrive at our destination, I can
already see from the window of our train that the Eiffel Tower
is lighting up once again. When we reach street level, it
continues to greet us with its sparkle.

Armed with cameras, we meander our way to the tower, a
few blocks away, trying to balance capturing the lights with
our lenses and with our eyes. Toward the back of the pack, I
suddenly remember that though we had already been to the
Eiffel Tower yesterday afternoon, I have not yet had my
picture taken in front of the tower—to prove that I really was
there. I ask my fellow group member Tim, who has also fallen
behind, to take my picture—and to hurry, because I sense that
it’s almost done lighting up for the hour. Tim, however, fails
to grasp my urgency, and takes his time setting up my camera
to get the perfect shot. The moment he presses the button to
snap the picture, the lights stop.

“I’m sorry for being a greedy photographer,” he says, a
little embarrassed. “I was trying to get the best shot.”

I’m more amused than disappointed by the fact that the
lights went away right as the camera went off. I know that I’ll
remember the moment a lot better than if the picture had
happened without a hitch.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I’m just glad to have any
picture of me in front of the Eiffel Tower at all.”

⁂

Much of the next hour is spent waiting. First, we wait to
buy tickets for the elevator to the second floor of the tower.
(The very top is off limits, at least while we’re in Paris, but the
second floor is good enough for us.) Fortunately, it’s actually
quite balmy out, as it has been throughout our time in the
city, but our patience is tested by the occasional line cutter.

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