City of Light: Rivets, Hitler, Boney

We could hardly come to Paris without visiting France's mightiest shortarse (no, not Asterix) but first we went up the Eiffel Tower. The views are spectacular of course, but there's real steam punk magic in watching all those levers and coils move; they clunk and then they flow. Hurrah for Victorian over-engineering! Rivets, I tell you, we need more rivets!

( propaganda and the army museum )

And then; Boney's tomb.

This is just so vulgar. No really. Now, we passed the tomb his remains lay in while on St Helena, and this was sweet enough; why they couldn't leave him in it, bring the tomb to Paris, and tend his grave in the Eglise garden, with the tiny violets he is reputed to have loved, I can't understand. But no, no, in the middle of this gilded church, surrounded by mournful caryatids, lies this over sized chunky marble varnished thing which matches the church in neither style, nor colour, nor any aspect at all. I mean, I just don't get it. They stuffed his horse, they stuffed his dog, and they buried him in a roll-top desk. There's a fine line between love and madness...

City of Light: Thursday

We did nothing all day except sit in a cafe, eat, drink and watch people go by. It was perfect.

That night, we went down to the Eiffel tower again, to watch the enormous fireworks display put on by the City of Paris to celebrate my birthday. Obviously they were a bit late, but it's the thought that counts, and it coincided with some business about Bastille day, so they clearly decided to kill two birds with one stone.

Magnificent fireworks, beyond the dreams of Gandalf. Vive La France!

City of light: the Louvre and goodbye

Friday came and the Louvre loomed; I could never do it justice so I will not talk about the art within, incredible though it is. Instead, I will just mention that the Louvre's upside down pyramid is far funkier than the upright one, and that I am convinced that this building is taking over the world. It already has Paris in its thrall. Look for a long building along the Seine. No, longer than that. If it just keeps going, it's probably the Louvre. It eats other buildings for breakfast and fills the place where they once sat. You go to the metro station next to it, and you think you're safe, but you're not; everything just spirals inwards and before you know it, you are in its massive maw.

After the art came the boat dinner down the river in the afternoon light, serene, watching the people chill out by the river, sunlight sparkling on the waves...

We wandered through the Garden of Tuileries; people played in the fountains and cooled their feet; a concert was being set up next to the park cafe, and guitar riffs echoed out over the horse-chestnuts. Men played boules. The waiter, an expert in deadpan flirting, asked me what my pleasure was, with a kind of masculine gravitas/gallantry that reminded me of how nice it is to be a girl. Then a pigeon shat on my head. They say it brings good luck you know.

We passed the Place de la Concorde, where once the guillotine stood. Impossible to imagine that time. And we walked our last walk in Paris, city of light, city of ideas. How lucky I am to be given such a gift as this last week has been. Don't know how I end up in these situations, why I am always there when the light changes and the world displays its passion and its beauty, but somehow, for all my clumsiness, I always get to see the angel revealed. I am happy.

Thank you larians my love.