The Eiffel Tower

It wasn't my first time there; I had gone up the Eiffel Tower with my family when I was a kid. I remembered the elevators, the metal, the lines, and the view. When I was nineteen, I didn't feel the need to go up again

Instead, when my Study Abroad friends experienced this marvel from the inner depths of its skeleton, I chose to experience it from the outside.  Yes, this was in part an excuse to feed my passion for carousels. I'm not sure how many times I went on the merry-go-round in the Eiffel Tower's shadow, but I can tell you that I loved every minute.  However, more impactful than the carnival music and dancing ponies was an encounter I had while waiting on a bench for my travel buddies. 

There I was, alone on a bench, when an elderly couple holding hands came and sat next to me.  He was balding and his round head glowed in the lights.  She had a certain air about her that emanated Culture without being snobby.  I pushed past my shyness to start up a conversation.

His name was Abdelkaber Bouderbala, and she was his wife, Elisabeth.  He had been a doctor for many years, and she was a retired teacher.  In their later years, they decided to pursue multiple masters degrees together: anthropology, linguistics, literature and more. I believe they told me they had each completed eight degrees since retirement.  What is more: every mild night, they took a walk down the Champs d'Elysees. Sometimes they met tourists like me. Sometimes they just took in the scenery. Always, or so they said, they enjoyed each other's company.

Abdelkaber was born in Algeria and had moved to France during wartime.  He remained culturally Algerian while celebrating French culture and world cultures. Both he and his wife were true intellectuals, and they never let their learning interfere with their optimism and love for life.

My evening with them was brief, but our handwritten correspondence continued for years.  Every letter was filled with ideas and reasons to hope, even though the world news could sometimes be burdening.

Today, when I arrived at the airport, I received an email from Mom: "Paris is a mad mess." I received an email from my younger sister: "Don't go" (followed by loving reassurances that she knows I'll be fine. I worry for the people of France and for the people of the world.

Abdelkaber and his wife have passed away, but I wonder who else was strolling down the Champs d'Elysees last night. I sense that we are no longer in an era when an intimate friendship can suddenly be sparked by strangers from different cultures meeting at major landmarks.  Nonetheless, I believe my contribution to the world is, in part, making these genuine connections.

Today, our flight plan changed. We were going to fly over Europe. Instead we flew over Northern Africa, Abdelkaber's origins. (Come on, say his full name; you know you want to! Abdelkaber Bouderbala....). Now the sun is rising on the US while fly over deserts in midday. 

May there be peace on earth and healing for all in need.

May we feel safe to walk with people we love and make friends across the world.

May the power of love trump the power of hatred and fear.

May we live learned lives and never lose hope.