Ten minutes later—the Louvre is huge, if you’ve never been—we emerged into the atrium where the Marly Horses reside.
“Oh my gosh,” said Lou, her mouth slightly open as she took in the vastness. Yes, I’d been before, but I had to agree.
Glass diamonds, almost as tall as a person, had been pieced together to form the impressive roof, and marble was ubiquitous. It formed the archways, window casements, stairs, walls, and floors. With slats of morning sunlight beaming down on the smooth, milky surfaces, the whole atrium looked like the inside of a vanilla cupcake. It was accented with topiary trees, which were dotted about for pops of green, and then there were the statues.
The Marly Horses are my favourite pieces in the Louvre, but really, any marble statue with that much detail impresses me. How does a person start with an enormous block of stone and work their way in to something like that? I can’t even carve a pre-roasted chicken from Sainsbury’s without hacking it to pieces.
We found an unoccupied bench and sat for a moment, taking it all in.
“It’s just so beautiful,” said Lou after a few minutes.
“I completely agree.”
“And I don’t just mean this—I mean, yeah, this is gorgeous—but the whole city. You know how you see a place in photos or in movies and you’ve wanted to go there for so long you can’t remember a time when you didn’t, and then you go and it’s way more … well, just more than you could ever have imagined? It’s that.”
“You said Paris was the main reason you booked the tour.”
She looked down at her sneakers and rubbed the toes together, then sighed. “Yeah. Jackson—my husband, well, maybe he’s my ex-husband now—he never really wanted to travel. And I mean, anywhere. Even for our honeymoon we just went to Whistler and that was a big deal for him, an hour’s drive from Vancouver. And all he did the whole time was complain about missing home.”
Her gaze shifted to the glass panes above us, then fixed on the wall across from us. “And I knew, even then, I’d made a mistake, that for all the things I loved about him—and he’s not a bad guy when he’s not drinking, which at the moment is almost never—him not drinking, I mean … sorry, I’m getting off-track.
“Anyway, I used to say all the time how I wanted to go to Paris. It was number one on my list, you know? And he’d always make out like we would go for our tenth anniversary—Paris, Venice, maybe even Florence, ’cause they were on the list too. But I guess, for him, ten years was so far into the future, he didn’t think he’d ever have to make good on his promise.
“And then when the drinking started to get really bad and he lost his job—when he kept refusing my help, or anyone’s help—I knew we weren’t going to make it to ten years. And I made the decision to leave …” Her voice cracked, and I didn’t have to look at her to know she was tearing up. I reached out for her hand, not turning my head in case she was embarrassed by her tears. She grasped mine tightly.
“After that, I thought, ‘Screw it.’” She started laughing through her tears. I looked at her, and she smiled as she said, “‘I’m taking myself to Europe—I’m gonna see Paris and Venice and Florence.’ And then I booked this trip.” I smiled back at her. “Now here I am sitting in an incredible place, and I’ve met you and the girls and Craig. And …” She trailed off.
I let go of her hand to pull her in for a side hug, letting her know she didn’t have to finish the thought.
Sometimes you meet people not only because of what they will mean to you, but because of what you will mean to them.
Louvre
We moved on with time for a leisurely walk through the Jardin de Tuileries, the rough stones crunching under our feet. Then we crossed the vast and scarily busy Place de la Concorde and strolled up the Champs-Elysées.
“Do you think we’ll run into Dani and Jaelee?” Lou asked after we passed the fiftieth designer shop.
“Unlikely. They were going straight to the Marais. It’s supposed to be better for serious shoppers.” A perfectly timed group of American retirees filed out of Chanel babbling at each other in their thick accents, nary a Chanel shopping bag in sight.
“Rather than for window shopping?” asked Lou as we detoured around them.
“Exactly.”
Champs-Elysées
***
“Close your eyes,” I commanded. Lou did as she was told, which was trusting, because people were milling all around us. I led the way, keeping her close to me, until we were standing with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower—straight through the middle of the Trocadero Fountains and along Pont d’Iéna. I positioned her in front of me and said, “Now.”
“Oh my gosh!” Giddy with glee, she jumped up and down on the spot, her hands waving as she made a sound something like, “Eeoieooeio.”
I fell in line beside her. I’d seen that exact view once before. Scott had planned it just like I had for Lou, only I’d been a little distracted by our impending break-up. But being there with Lou, being able to give her that moment, swept the ghost of boyfriend past back where he belonged.
“I just can’t believe I’m really here. And it’s gold! How did I not know it was gold? I always thought it was grey, but it’s not! I mean, when we saw it last night, all lit up, it looked golden, but I thought it was just the lights. Oh my gosh, Cat!” She was giggling as she dug her phone out of her bag. “Here.” She thrust it at me. “I need proof—proper proof.”
I took the photo, then tucked in close to her so we could take a selfie. “And how cool, you lining it up like that? Thank you. Thank you so much. I mean it.”
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I replied with a lilting laugh. “You’re welcome. Now let’s go, so we don’t miss our window.”
By luck, we’d landed a perfectly blue sky and visibility for miles, and one of the incredible things about seeing Paris from that high up was the city’s symmetry. Looking south-east down the Champ de Mars to the military school, or back towards Palais de Chaillot, across to the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Elysées to the Louvre—every view was remarkable.
It’s also the one place in the city that’s higher than Sacré-Cœur, which sat perched on Montmartre hill across the way. What a stunning city. I already knew I needed to return—and not for one of those boozy girls’ weekends that would pass in a blur, but for a proper holiday where I could take my time to savour the city.
Eiffel Tower
***
Several hours and some incredibly sore feet later, Lou and I perched on the edge of a fountain at Place de la Concorde waiting for the coach with some others from our group. The plan—well, Georgina’s plan—was to go back to the campsite, shower and change, then return to the city for a group dinner and free time to explore. Lou and I had already decided to skip the dinner.
“I can’t believe how much we saw today,” said Lou, inspecting the beginnings of a blister on the back of her left foot.
We’d left the Eiffel Tower and caught the Metro over to Musée d’Orsay, grabbing a couple of ham and cheese baguettes from a street vendor and eating them on the forecourt of the museum. I’d even used my terrible French to buy them, which—to my amusement—had impressed Lou.