It is a crisp 63 degree day in late fall. The brown, red, orange, and yellow leaves are still descending off the trees and plunging into the streets where they make a loud “crackle” as my black leather boots step on top of them. The sky is a crystalline, perfect baby blue, without a cloud in the sky. It seems as though if I were to reach up, I would be able to snatch anything in the sky that I desired. The air is bracing and clean with a slight breeze that pushes my light blonde hair out of my face, which allows me to see clearly. Even though there are countless amounts of people touring all around me, the atmosphere is so remarkably peaceful and quiet that I can just barely hear the Seine River flowing underneath my feet as I stand on the Iéna Bridge. While the world around me keeps racing by, I stand still, blown away, not believing where I am. With the sun beating down on my face, I have to pinch myself to make sure that I am not in a complete muse. I have dreamt of touring this widely known landmark since I was a little girl and now I am finally here, admiring this establishment, with a radiant smile plastered across my face as chills bolt down my spine.

Surrounding the beautiful structure are parks with large open areas of freshly cut grass and stunning pink and purple flowers that are just beginning to fade out of season. Behind me is a giant palace famously named Palais de Chaillot. The striking construction is made up of two sizeable towers, which were used as concert halls. The sounds I am listening to are beautiful singsong birds, chirping an effervescent tune, the sirens of ambulances and officer cars zooming by, the yapping of foreign languages, and my favorite sound of all, natives playing a cheerful melody on their accordions for others to be thankful for as they walk by.

From every direction I am hit with a different succulent smell; there is the aroma of fresh cut flowers, all kinds of contrasting perfumes that are flowing out of perfumarias such as Fragonard, roasting chestnuts that are set upon an open fire, and my favorite smell of all- the dulcet smell of just made crepes – each made with different ingredients such as sugar, tangy lemon juice, butter, and loads of hazelnut nutella.

There are numerous amounts of people of all different nationalities; Russian, French, German, Chinese, African, and American. They all are here to visit and see the various monuments, art galleries, famous hotels, and the couture fashion this majestic city has to offer. Hundreds are leisurely waiting beneath the structure in lines to purchase vouchers from one of the four ticket booths. To my right is a boxy souvenir shop where I will make my way over to eventually to buy post cards, t-shirts, and bracelets for my family and friends back home. I see women modeling scarves and berets. To my surprise, I even notice men sporting these same fashion choices, which I found peculiar. Monitoring the area are several Police Officers who are dressed in formal uniforms that are navy and red with a hint of gold here and there. They seem to be particularly watching the gypsies, who attempt to distract you and run off with your money and your valuables.

As I take a few steps closer, I finally become conscious of the fact that I am thousands of miles away from home and that I am no more than 15 feet away from the magnificent and prominent tower I have only seen in my dreams. With butterflies fluttering off the walls of my stomach, I take in a deep breath of fresh air and gaze up at the jaw-dropping, sky-high structure that was built by a man with the name of Gustave in 1887 for the 1889’s World Fair. Standing still, voiceless, I take pleasure in my assessment and block out the world from my thoughts. In my silence I stand up straight, star struck, absorbing every little sensational detail, as if I were a sponge absorbing water.

Finding no words to describe the allure my gaze is fixated on, I can only think to myself: this is everything I had envisioned of in my dreams, and so much more. At the very top of this 984 foot, chocolate brown tower, I can just barely distinguish a simple blue, white, and red solid stripped flag, waving back and fourth in beat with the gentle breeze. I tilt my head to my right a tad and see an enormous cube shaped elevator creeping slowly up the side of the monument, as if it were a spider creeping up a wall. I can tell that it has been packed tightly, and is transporting up at least 40 people and will relinquish the passengers on the first, second, and third levels of the tower. Taking in a keen look, I can scarcely see a small restaurant and another even smaller souvenir shop.

While I am deep rooted in my thoughts, unexpectedly there comes a bright, blinding, flash of light from a camera that suddenly throws all my thoughts into the air and are gone in a heart beat. Irritated with my brother, he makes me aware that I have to get my head out of the clouds if I wanted to go up to the top with the rest of the family. Excitedly, I tell myself that it was finally my turn to get on the spider like elevator and creep my way up to the very top. From just standing at the base and observing from that perceptive, I could tell that the views from the Eiffel Towers highest point, looking down on to all of Paris wouldn’t only be something superb, outstanding, and marvelous, but also a memory that I would keep close to my heart and also never forget for as long as I live.