Paris High and Low: Climbing the Eiffel Tower, Descending into the Catacombs

The Eiffel Tower rose above us like a pyramid, its size more massive than what I’d imagined. I stood underneath the tower and gazed up at its symmetrical iron lattice work, its elegance and grace beckoning us to view the City of Light from its summit.

“Ready to climb?” asked my husband, Dan.

“I’m ready,” I said with strained cheerfulness, “but look at that ridiculous line!”

The line in front of the entrance seemed to stretch as high as the tower, 1,083 feet (330 meters). We soon learned at the information booth that the extensive line was for ticket holders waiting to ride the elevator to the top.

The shorter one was for those without advance tickets climbing on foot. But for safety reasons, all visitors must take an elevator from the second floor to the summit. Whether due to steep, narrow stairs or emergency evacuation plans, we could only speculate on the risks.

“We’ve got this,” said Dan. “It’s only 674 steps. I promise, it’ll be unforgettable.”

Planning to climb? Book a guided stair climb on Viator and skip the ticket line entirely.

Climbing The Eiffel Tower

Only 674 steps, but the Eiffel’s immensity and open-air structure was daunting to me and my fear of heights. No wonder this icon could be seen from every corner of Paris. But feeling the spirit of adventure, I followed Dan’s lead.

We moved as one unit; our eyes fixed on the tip of the Tower. The 90-degree heat and humidity didn’t deter us or others from making the ascent. We soon merged into a mob of climbers ranging in age from lively 10-year-olds to spry septuagenarians, and all fitness levels.

We spiraled up the staircase amid a whir of accents and locomotion of limbs. There were exuberant young athletes passing others on their way up, as well as a middle-aged man with a wrapped knee limping down the staircase.

A young woman with a baby strapped to her chest gracefully mounted the stairs while recording her journey. I forged ahead, recalling how James Bond, in “A View to a Kill,” chased a thug up the tower’s steps.

After completing the first 327 steps at a brisk pace, I stopped at the edge of the first floor to catch my breath and wipe my brow.

“You good?” asked a 30ish man with curly blond hair and a roguish smile. He paused while winding around the staircase.

I looked over my shoulder to be sure this attractive young guy was talking to me and not to someone else.

“I’m doing great, thanks,” I said. “Just taking in the fabulous view of Paris. You can see the golden dome of Les Invalides from here.”

“Yes,” he gave me a thumbs up. “Where Napoleon is buried.”

If you’re planning a trip to Paris, check out our Paris Travel Guide, where you’ll find a curated selection of articles to inspire you and help plan your trip.

Camaraderie On The Stairs

“Right,” I smiled. I remembered passing this affable soul at the outset. He’d coaxed on a lagging friend by promising him a champagne toast at the top. They both spoke with Eastern European accents. Now he waved me in to ascend the next level with his group.

I fell in rhythm behind the blond climber, Jan, and his friends, pulling Dan into formation as he looped the stairs. This was one of the joys of travel! The synergy of shared moments with fellow adventurers bonds us and makes the experience more meaningful than going it alone.

Pushing To The Summit

I learned that Jan and his gang were from the Czech Republic. Once they heard Dan and I were Americans, they fist-bumped us and, together, we channeled our energy and spirit to the top.

We exchanged names and spurred on fellow group members, one by one, to the next level. Jan imitated the way I pumped my arms for increased momentum, making me feel like a strong contender.

As we climbed higher, the heat generated by the crowd, along with the muggy temperature and humidity, was suffocating. I also felt shaky seeing the ground straight through the tower’s iron lattice work. I focused on my feet, the stairs, and steady breathing.

I climbed faster. Jan and his buddies were steps behind, rallying the group with backslapping, words of encouragement and enthusiasm. Their exuberance heartened me, as I visualized the summit.

The cadenced beat of shoes against cast-iron stairs kept our steps synchronized. Some participants soaked through T-shirts and sported ruddy glows. But our newfound friends didn’t break a sweat, maintaining the pace and exuding musky-clean scents. Perhaps they were soirée-bound.

Sunset Champagne At The Top

Dan and I squeezed into the elevator with the group and shared high-fives. We were two minutes from the top! When Jan asked if we’d join them for a champagne toast, we readily accepted.

About 15 of us stepped into a glass-enclosed space with floor-to-ceiling windows for a bird’s-eye view of Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Seine and other landmarks framed by the sunset’s golden glow.

Our e-tickets were exchanged for complimentary flutes of bubbly at The Champagne Bar. I raised a glass to Jan and friends for sweetening the thrill of the climb.

As Dan and I waited for an empty window spot to enjoy the broad panorama beyond the glass, we were inadvertently pushed to a sweeping, wide-angle view of the City of Light.

Paris twinkled under the lights of the Eiffel Tower. Dan and I clinked glasses and savored our last drops of champagne. Our eyes met, and then we looked towards the horizon. “Adventure and beyond!” I toasted.

Descending Into The Catacombs

Two days after viewing Paris from one of its highest points, Dan and I explored the underside of the city: the Catacombs. I anticipated a dark gothic setting with secret passageways, trapdoors, and a sense of gloom.

We crept down 131 steps of a spiral staircase so worn and narrow, we could’ve stumbled all the way down. The dizzying descent led us 65 feet below the streets of Paris to shadowy, dank tunnels once used for limestone quarries.

During the late 18th century, Paris underwent rapid population growth and urban development and built much of the city above these limestone quarries. This created ground instability and sinkholes.

At the same time, overpacked burial grounds and contaminated air from open communal graves led to the demise of Parisian cemeteries. In December of 1785, bodies were exhumed from Holy Innocents’ Cemetery—Paris’s largest and oldest cemetery for over 500 years—and carted to the Catacombs.

This was the first of many cemeteries, places of worship, monasteries, and convents to store approximately six million skeletal remains in this ossuary.

Echoes In The Ossuary

Unlike the busy staircase at the Eiffel Tower, this passageway was nearly empty. Maybe because we had booked our tickets for mid-week and had arrived at 8:30 a.m., when there were fewer people.

As expected, it was deathly quiet… as quiet as the grave. Overhead, a sign read: “Stop, this is Death’s Empire.” I shuddered at the thought of being surrounded by the skulls and bones of millions of deceased Parisians.

We wandered through a network of low tunnels easily traversable for visitors like myself, who are 5’3” or shorter. I imagined anyone over 5’8” would feel claustrophobic.

Dan grabbed my hand and led me farther down the tight corridor. The echo of dripping water was haunting, as it filtered through the ground above and down the walls of this cavernous space after last night’s storm. A sudden drop in temperature made the back of my neck tingle.

The Watchful Dead

As we moved deeper into the tunnel, I heard Rod Serling in the back of my mind welcoming us, “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension, a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind…” It felt like The Twilight Zone.

We observed piles of skulls and femur bones arranged in rows on the walls. Some were in the shape of hearts, crosses, and eight-pointed stars, making me feel we were never completely alone. I couldn’t shake the spooky sensation of being watched by hollowed eyes.

I shadowed Dan, resisting the urge to explore on my own. Police reports and newspapers confirm people have gotten lost for days, sometimes years, in the Catacombs’ vast maze of tunnels.

I recognized the long, curved bones of ribs and vertebrae decorating the ceilings with swirls. In the “Crypt of Passion,” a collection of skulls and tibias encircled a pillar to resemble a barrel.

This unusual structure marked the site of a midnight concert in April 1897 that played Chopin’s “Funeral March” and Saint-Saëns’ “Danse Macabre” for over 100 guests. I listened hard for strains of the bone-shaking staccato of the xylophone.

Equality Beneath Paris

We pressed on to complete the one-mile self-guided tour. The musty earth smell blended in with thoughts of death and decay. Plaques naming the cemetery, church, or monastery from which each stack of bones had originated were found in each chamber.

The walls also displayed carved philosophical quotes: “The catacombs are a space of equality. You have the bones of nobles next to a pauper, and you can’t tell the difference.”

“All distinctions of sex, wealth, and rank have finally disappeared.”

Back To The Light

I contemplated these words as we climbed back up to street level. They promoted a universal, common destiny and, literally, a common ground for all. Bones of Parisians of different educational levels, wealth, and social status were placed side by side into walls and columns.

It was a testament to our shared humanity, no matter what our life’s journey. Dan and I emerged from the murky depths and into the City of Light. The sun’s warm beams felt comforting after roaming the eerie recesses of underground tunnels.

We exhaled, clearing our lungs of the mustiness while welcoming whiffs of roses, lilies, and lavender drifting from a magasin de fleurs. From an épicerie, we picked up a baguette, Brie de Meaux, a bottle of wine, and walked along the Seine to find a picnic spot.

I couldn’t wait for Paris to illuminate new paths to wander after having climbed high above ground, and then to levels deep below.

Need a hand planning your trip? Here are the sites and services we rely on most, from booking tools to travel products we love.

Inspire your next adventure with our articles below:

• Travel Guide to France
• Green Travel in Europe: The Joy of Traveling by Train

Author Bio: Dorothy Maillet is a writer and adventurer from Irvington, NY. Her travels have taken her across Europe, Asia, Africa and North America. She has been a freelance feature writer for Gannett Newspapers, and her stories have appeared in the anthology, A Pink Suitcase: 22 Tales of Women’s Travel, Pembrokeshire Life (Wales), BootsnAll Travel, Westchester Life, and Go World Travel Magazine.

Want to discover more hidden gems and helpful travel tips? Join our free newsletter for the latest travel secrets and travel articles.

We are reader-supported and may earn a commission on purchases made through links in this article.