I fell in love in Paris.
I know, what a cliché – guy goes to Paris, and falls in love. But I couldn’t help it. Falling in love isn’t really something that you do. It’s something that happens to you.
The year was 2008, and this was my first trip ever outside of North America. It was also the first time I had ever travelled on my own, and with my inexperience and terrible planning, I ended up with a 23-hour layover in the French Capital. My budget was too low to pay for a hotel, so my plan was to spend that time at the airport… but after one hour of doing Sudoku, I was bored.
Courageously, I took the train to the city — where I managed to get stuck overnight, because I was under the mistaken impression that Paris was a 24-hour city, with 24-hour trains. Remember, smartphones didn’t exist at that time, so travelling was much more difficult than it is today. Without these modern tools, I wasn’t able to find accommodation that didn’t cost hundreds of Euros. So, I spent the night outside, half-sleeping, freezing, and scared, at the Champ-de-Mars park overlooking the Eiffel Tower — but that’s a story for another day.
Before I got stuck overnight without a hotel, I found myself roaming through the various neighbourhoods of Paris, with a heavy backpack and beautiful shoes that left my feet full of blisters. I walked all over the city, admiring its riverside banks, it’s palaces, and parks. I saw the Eiffel Tower, and the Notre-Dame Cathedral, and I had a subpar coffee with one of the best pain au chocolat I’ve ever tasted. And then, I made it all the way to the Montmartre neighbourhood, and there she was.
Beautiful and grand, tall and statuesque — commanding the attention of everyone around her. She stood there, looking out over a picture-perfect panorama of Paris from the top of the hill of Montmartre. The late afternoon sun reflected off her flawless fair skin, illuminating every one of her features so beautifully, that they seemed to come to life. Her curves, perfectly symmetrical, made to be admired. She was ageless, despite having been 94 years old at the time.
By now you probably have realized, I hope, that I’m speaking about a building. But not just any building: The Sacré-Cœur Basilica, the most beautiful piece of architecture I’ve ever laid my eyes on. It was love at first sight, and from that moment on, I told —half jokingly— to everyone that would listen, that if anyone ever proposed to me, I wanted it to be there, at the Sacré-Cœur.
Fast forward to 2019, more than a decade after I first laid eyes on her, and three visits later. By then, I had been with my partner Eamonn for four years, and we were in the midst of planning a trip to the Balkans when he suggested: “Why don’t we do a stopover in Paris on the way there?” Just a quick one night stop, to see the sights, and visit friends.
“Oh my god,” I thought to myself. “This. is. it!”
To be perfectly honest, I had never really cared about marriage before. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get married. I simply didn’t care either way. But at that moment, I actually started to think, “he is the right person, so why not?”
We stayed with our friends, who conveniently lived in the Montmartre district. On our first night, we enjoyed dinner and a couple of bottles of red on the patio of a wine bar with them. The next day, Eamonn and I set off to wander alone. We walked along the cobbled stone streets of Montmartre, through alleys filled with cafés and boulangeries, and finally, to my old Parisian fling: the stunning Sacré-Cœur Basilica, looking as beautiful as she had one decade earlier.
It was the middle of summer and the crowds of tourists were thick around us. Eamonn led the way, as we circled the basilica. This way, then that. We walked down the steps to the bottom of the hill, the Sacré-Cœur looking down at us from its summit, her white domes resplendent under the August sun. Eamonn was clearly looking for the perfect spot to propose. He looked nervous. I was nervous, too, wondering how I should react when the moment finally came — should I act surprised? Should I admit that I was expecting it? Or would an unplanned emotion take over?
After some time, a selfie or 10 later, Eamonn suggested we grab a beer with a side of espresso (the Paris way) at the Café des Deux Moulins, famous for appearing in the film Amélie. We sat at the café, and the whole time, in the back of my mind, I kept wondering when the moment would come. And finally, after paying for our beers (with a side of espresso), Eamonn finally said: “We should get going, we have a train to catch.”
And so, we left Paris —and the Sacré-Cœur— behind. The romanticized idea of our imaginary engagement dissolving as the train pulled further away from the city.
But worry not, dear listeners, because this story has a happy ending.
Less than two weeks later, in Slovenia, we planned a day trip from Lubljana to Lake Bled. After spending the morning walking around the lake, admiring the stunning scenery that surrounded us, Eamonn suggested we hiked up a hill to what he described as a “famous bench.” I was surprised, as I am the more-enthusiastic hiker of the two of us.
It was a hot day, in the mid 30s, when we embarked on an uphill trajectory through a dusty path in search of this bench. The vegetation was too sparse to provide us any shade, but I persevered, unsure of what our final destination was, and completely unaware of what was coming next.
Finally, we got there. The bench: meh. A standard park bench with no redeeming features. But the view. I’m not exaggerating when I say it is one of the most beautiful vistas I’ve ever seen, to this day. The expansive Lake Bled below us, with its many shades of turquoise, and blue, and green. An island in the middle of the lake with a church rising from it. The mountains all around us, lush with vegetation, extending as far as the eye could see. And atop one of the mountains, on the opposite side of the lake, a castle. A view taken right out of a fairytale, made all the more beautiful under a blue sky splattered with white cotton clouds, and the love of my life by my side.
We caught our breath from the hike (and lost our breath to the views), and after some time, we sat on the so-called-famous bench. And suddenly, the words fumbled out of Eamonn’s mouth: a not-so-romantic speech that included something about “finalizing the contract” and “this seems as good a time as any.”
In his hands, a silver ring. An Irish Claddagh, with its iconic design featuring two hands, symbolizing friendship. A heart, for love. And a crown, for loyalty.
And around the length of the ring, a Celtic knot, to represent eternity.
I fell in love in Paris, and the Sacré-Cœur will always have a special place in my heart. But nothing could compare to the perfect moment that had me saying a resounding “yes, yes, yes,” before Eamonn could even ask the question.
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