Paris--a tricky first date

The chunnel. 
Our plan was to get there early, unrushed, eat breakfast and then relax 4 hours as the train went under the channel and we popped up in Paris.  So we schlepped our suitcases through the tube stations to the chunnel where a security agent suggested it was too early to check in, go get a bite to eat and then come back.  There was a charming French bakery across the way, so we waited in line, then stacked our bags around our table like a barricade, and leisurely ordered eggs, Belgian waffles, orange juice.  Then I decided to look at my watch.  It was like we had been sucked into a vortex.  Somehow whole hours had passed in some black hole and our train was less than 30 min. from departure.  So we alerted our waitress, dismantled our barricade, paid for a breakfast we had yet to see, and waited nervously in the corridor between the restaurant and the chunnel check in.  I watched as the minutes seemed to flip by at an ever increasing pace and was ready to chuck the whole meal--what is one overpriced breakfast to a trip to Paris?  But at the last second, our intrepid waiter came out with 6 to-go boxes piled neatly in a sack.  We raced through security and ran to our train, then took the 4 hours to recover...and eat a surprisingly good boxed breakfast.
The subway system in Paris turned out to be even less user friendly than London.  While London had wheelchair accessible doors that facilitated big suitcases and some tube stops even had elevators, we could find neither in Paris.  (Of course, it may our lack of experience more than anything).  There seemed to be a never ending labyrinth of stairs going up and down, with no elevators or escalators, that we had to navigate to get to our connections and then the turnstiles were too narrow for our big American suitcases and we had to lift them up and over to get them through.  The station smelt like urine and a big, well-dressed black man decided to acquaint himself with the younger boys as we rode the first of two metro trains to our flat.  He had a big booming voice and he spoke French to the kids.  When that didn't work, he spoke heavily accented English, asking them where they were from and were they having fun.  The kids would answer in quiet uncertainty, mainly because they couldn't quite understand what he said, but also I think because he was so loud and jolly.  He would laugh at everything they said and turn to the other commuters and comment in French and then laugh again like we were all great friends having a good laugh on our way home from work.  I nodded and smiled because I felt like his aggressive joviality could just as easily turn nasty and mean and watched and waited for him to grab one of our suitcases and run with it or demand money from these obviously tired and naive tourists.  But maybe I was being unfair, because after two more stops he said "au revior" and got off.  Maybe it's sad we have to be so wary of friendly people.
Once we were finally out of the metro, we spent a good hour walking up and down the same streets looking for our hotel.  We asked several people, handed them the paper with the address, but mostly they just shook their heads.  Even google maps on Brian's phone seemed to be perplexed.  After a few more circles, we found them--an actual hotel, small but clean--the "double bed" being two single mattress pushed together.  We had to rent two rooms for the six of us, but they were consecutive, so we floated between the two.
It was a hot, sunny day so we decided to walk the Rue de Cler, which is like a permanent farmer's market and see the Eiffel Tower and the park surrounding it, the Champs de Mars.  When we emerged from the metro this time, the sun had been replaced with dark clouds and a fierce wind had picked up.  So we grabbed a quiche from a bistro ( I could eat a quiche in France every day) and marched to the Eiffel Tower.  It was too cold to browse the street shops that day.
By the time we approached the tower, rising up out of the green Champs de Mars like a beacon, like a great iron protector standing firmly defiant against the gathering black and green clouds, rain was pelting down, driven sideways by the frigid wind.  Where did the afternoon sun that beat down on us as we drove our suitcases in circles run off to?  But you know me and schedules.  This was the afternoon to see the Eiffel Tower, and we were going to see it.  One of the elevators going up to the top of the Tower was out of order, and they anticipated at least a two hour wait.  You could whittle that down to an hour wait if you climbed the stairs.  But with the wicked weather, the line to the stairs had dwindled to only 20 min.  We stood under the towers girders--I felt like I was standing under a great lady's skirts--and it helped temper the weather a bit.  The 347 steps to the first landing helped warm us up.  And in the time it took us to shuffle up that far, coaxing Athena and Apollo who got vertigo, the sun came out and it was a beautiful view.

Then we took an elevator all the way to the top.

I really loved the Eiffel Tower.  It was gorgeous.  It's an iron structure, but every angle, every decorative swirl, was beautiful.  It is elegant and strong at the same time.  No wonder Mr. Eiffel built himself an office here.

After a few tries we found a bistro willing to take in 6 tourists without a reservation and had the best meal of our trip to Paris.  I had Pot au feu which is basically beef stew but served with mustard, gherkins, and salt it was divine.  Apollo had a Nutella sandwich and searched in vain ever after for "chocolate sandwiches".  We got done 5 minutes before 9 so we raced back to the Eiffel to see them light it up for the first 10 min. of every hour.

The lights shimmered and danced up and down the tower and it was so beautiful, you felt a lump in your throat.  That's when you say, I am in Paris, looking at the Eiffel Tower and you pinch yourself and you love your family and everyone and everything.  Paris may not have been love at first sight, but the Eiffel Tower surely was.