SK: The Last Days: Day 232: Eiffel Tower, Eiffel Tower, I feel

The coach parked and our teacher-leader retested the microphone. Oh! that feedback noise piercing the ears. She then proceeded to enumerate the instructions, as we were at the London sites. She wasn’t over yet so I slid my point-and-shoot in its case, and trying to keep my wildly heart in its cage. In a few while she said for the nth time, “Okay? Don’t leave the group!”, and she finally signaled us off.

Guess now it’s official, I’m heading to that tower! Feeling my pockets for things I should not miss, a lump slowly grew in my throat as the cheers that swung here and there inside the coach, all noise, were silenced in my ears. The front seat people rose first. I'm grabbing whichever handle fits my position to lift me afoot. Quite jumpy but with conscious constraint, I raised myself from my seat heading out off the coach. It was still really hard to believe.

Closing the landmark, I was stomped. The tower confronted me singularly with its display of beauty and wonder. A cold tide overcomes me and weighed my jaw down, and open. I know it was hanging for some time until that tender summer gust awakened each weakened muscle. The sounds of people passing, chatting, of cars beeping, cranking, of cameras ticking, started to creep in my ears. Gradually, my acoustics came back from its stripped vitality. “It’s real. I’m here!” My hearing could have been deafened with such outbursts from the inside, and have been numbed from an effort to express calmness on the outside.

I saw crowds, patches of them, gather assuredly below those mighty legs . Some muster around dancing teens, mascots, marionettes, players; other train on food stalls, booths, cafés and restaurants. Yes! under it homes all of these. That is, you will have to walk for minutes straight to go across the grounds, east to west, as I can modestly approximate.

So, our group was on queue for the elevator and stairs. Thick rustic steel supported the base of the structure. I glided my sight around and a boastful air of strength poked my nape. Its overwhelming canopy has long traffics of metals and cables stretching from and to all four sides, soldered with grave pacts of metals, so erected the tower made.

Entering the slanted elevator I opportunely gripped a slate of steel where pegs are punctured and held together the bands and layers. This was my kinder expression of desire, instead of embracing a part of the tower’s base wholly, as large I can, at least. I chided the latter thought. “At least I’ll have reason’s to go back” – and be crazy!

Pulleys cringed and the elevator gave shakes. We are being raised. In every ascent of the elevator a fresher sight is seen. Vast interspersed chicken wire, which can become finger-thick, supported the congregation of races and colors.

Finally we got up to the farthest deck. The view was more than breath-taking. The circuitry of streets and divisions below were thoughtfully orchestrated, given that they seem to all lower themselves in recognition of the preeminence of the landmark, especially on the view facing Champ de Mars.

Which that followed were delights and surprises, and a song of praise to the ever living God!