Saturday, April 28, 2012

Locked In Love

Fair warning, y'all, Paris has turned me into a sappy romantic.  All my lovely cynicism is mush.  (Possibly because I have found the point at which cynicism will dissolve in water.  It is still raining.  Which should not surprise me since it always rains on me in Paris.)

So there's this bridge, right?  Okay, it's Paris, so there are about three hundred bridges, but if you're walking along the Seine just past Notre Dame, between Pont Neuf and the Left Bank, there's a particular bridge.  With locks.  Hundreds and hundreds of shiny locks.  And on each lock is written the name of a pair of lovers.




Now maybe I was just slow on the uptake last time I was in Paris, or I didn't walk past that particular bridge, or maybe this is a new trend, but can I just say, for the record, awwww.  How sweet is that?  I know it's just a gesture, writing your names on a lock and locking it to the bridge and then probably tossing the key into the Seine (littering! for shame!) and essentially telling the world that your love is here to stay.  But it's such a cute gesture.

What do you think?  Adorable or silly?  Both?

And, in unrelated news, I'd forgotten how good Paris is for my ego.  Then men here will hit on anything that moves.  Case in point - yesterday a random guy chats me up in a park.  Normal, right?  Then today, it's raining (again) and I've tucked my shoulder bag underneath my jacket to keep it dry (dude, my Kindle is in there, I have priorities) and I swear to God it makes me look about six months pregnant.  I'm walking through the cemetery (so not exactly a high romance venue) in Montmartre and this French guy starts trying to chat me up.  I am not in the mood for company, so I (feeling particularly clever) invent a boyfriend, then upgrade him to fiance when that doesn't discourage Frenchie.  He persists in trying to get me to take his arm, let him put his arm around me, give me "just a little kiss", and show me Picasso's house (at which point I'm not sure whether he's trying to be my tour guide or my date, but okay then).  When I refuse, he asks why and I resurrect the fiance-waiting-for-me story at which point my French Would-Be-Date tells me I need to be more open-minded.  The Americans, we are so closed off about these things.  Yep.  Repressed.  That's me.  But then, wasn't it Rodin who loved both his mistress and his wife?  What do I know?  Clearly, we Americans are doing it wrong.  So, for the record, you can be soaking wet, in a cemetery, look pregnant, have a fake fiance, and express no interest whatsoever and the French men still want you.  You gotta love Paris.

1 comment:

Kali Robaina said...

I like it when your cynicism turns to mush.

I didn't see the locks when I was in Paris either. I think I like the idea of it being new. It means that romanticism isn't dead. People are starting all new romantic traditions and not just following old ones out of habit. Active romance. Awww.