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May 3rd, 2008, 4:09.33 in the afternoon.
It was a historical moment for the Joconde. She, caught her first glance of me, in the flesh. Two seconds later, I met her expectant gaze.
I had to muster all my willpower to stop my heart from skipping a beat, but I still couldn't stop it from floating toward my throat.
Faking composure, I first wandered to the paintings on the side walls. but I couldn't hold my facade for long. No more than two minutes later, I was in front of the rope in front of the Jaconde on her sinister side. (That would be her left.)
Like all admirers, I gave her a once over. I couldn't help but wince slightly at her rather fleshy manly hands. But her reserved smile, behind which she held so much charm and many untold secrets, soon dispelled my very little dissatisfaction.
Our eyes now locked, I made the decision to find out whether her gaze would really follow me as I moved. Slowly I walked toward her right, adamantly staying right against the rope.
All around me people were busy taking pictures of this mysterious beauty. Click, click, click. Flashlights went off. I snickered to myself, "Tourists, how shallow. That's why I dont bring a digital camera to Paris." They were only there to take pictures, not to appreciate her beauty. No wonder there was a tinge of frustration in her eyes. She looked forlorn.
Thirty-minutes later, I made it to the center of the rope. We were now face-to-face, except we were also at our farthest.
Now, even more determined to make it through the 180, I inched along the rope ever so slowly, being elbowed, shoved and even asked a couple of times to help take pictures.
Ten more minutes went by and I was three-quarters of the way. Click, click, click. How many people's pictures now featured the top of my head, the tip of my nose, the crook of my arm or the back of my neck?
I was getting impatient with the slow progress. The Joconde now sneered down at me from behind the glass, "you wanted to do this..." "Argh, I'll show you," I met her mocking smile with renewed spirit and increased impatience.
Finally, I did it. I took one last meaningful look at the Joconde. She looked less sardonic. But we both knew we didn't want to see each other again for a very long time.
Ah, the luxury of being in Paris for 3 months. The luxury of free museum entry. How else can a tourist walk into the Louvre, spend an entire hour just in front of the Mona Lisa, and walk right back out?
What a deliciously decadent trip to Louvre.
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