... notable events : Wife Baiting, Trapping & Capture in Paris

"What a difference.... a day makes." so sang Michael Buble.

The
sun didn't shine any brighter, the trees didn't look any different, the
river didn't bubble any merrier and the birds didn't sing any happier,
I know that intellectually, but in my heart I knew that a perfect day
had just become more... perfect.

It started months before... the scheming that is.

"What's a good spot?" I asked my online buddy jlaporte or Jean.

We went through a whole host of suggestions. The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Hotel des Invalides, Notredame, the Arc de Triomphe, we delibrated them all. "The Hotel des Invalides is a nice place. I recommend it." said Jean. But I didn't like having the word "Invalid" anywhere in such a perfect occasion so that was thrown out. "The Louvre?" Too open and commercialised. Finally I settled on a bridge. What could be better than a beautiful Parisian bridge over the River Seine? There were a total of 13 bridges in the central area providing links to and between the Ile de la Cité and Ile Saint-Louis and they brought out visions of romance and stolen kisses under umbrellas in the rain.

The Pont Marie looked promising. It was built in 1614-35 on the orders of Louis XIII and bears the name of its architect, Christophe Marie. According to Jean and others in the know, the bridge over the river Seine where lovers kiss when passing by boat or barge underneath. It was also the bridge of so many a romantic hollywood comedy. Parfait! Non? Apparently not according to Jean and Francois who had by then, joined in my nefarious scheme. It wasn't a major bridge, nor was it even a nice looking bridge. It didn't have any interesting backdrop behind it to frame a memorable photograph. Besides, as one of them rightly pointed out, you kiss UNDER the bridge, not over it. Sigh, so it was back to the drawing boards we went, grumbling in french.

How about the Pont Neuf? It was built between 1578 and 1607 and despite it's name, was the oldest bridge in the city and spanned both arms of the river at the western
tip of the Ile de la Cité. I scoured the internet for photographs and more descriptions, devouring every bit of information I could get my hands on. It had wrought iron rails and best of all, it had the Notredame de Paris just behind it! But it had one major drawback. It was a major traffic bridge and knowing the intended victim, it would be alas, a little too public a display of affection for her. So accompanied by more cussing in french, we poured back into the maps.

Then we found it. It was a bridge built in 1828. The Pont de L'Archeveche! Oh, merveilleux! It had everything I wanted. It was smack right up by Notredame, it wasn't a bridge with heavy traffic, it had nice wrought iron railings and it was the right spot I could tell right away. So that was that. Jean would go and look over the place and determine camera angles for me while I hoped for fine weather and generally did my best to make sure I arrange travel schedules to get us firstly to Paris, and secondly, to the spot in time before the autumn evening sun set.

The e-mails and PMs flew fast and furious over the 7 hour timezones. Other details were thrown around, some incorporated, others discarded. Flowers? Could I manage hiding flowers somewhere on my person? Probably not. Ring? I needed to get a decent solitaire stone as the actual wife-bait. Ok, check that on my to do list before we fly for London. Which knee was supposed to be on the ground? "The left or the right?" I asked Jean. What would I say? In three languages I thought. It just felt right to do it in three. In English as it would leave no doubt to my intentions. In Cantonese as it was both our mother-tongues and what Waikit and I conversed most comfortably in. In French, for when in Paris the city of Romance, how can we even think of leaving out the lingua-franca of Parisian romance? Jean's help was invaluable as we toyed with the wording until he and I found one that both sounded as well as felt right. He even gave me the pronounciations to the whole phrase in pinyin to help untangle the mangled french words from my mouth. For the whole month leading to the departure date, I practiced it, sneaking peeks at the slip of paper I had written it down on until I could recite it almost effortlessly. I could only hope that my tongue wouldn't fail me when the time came. Jean would be our camera man, capturing the exact moment of proposal, something few ever manage to do and so I was determined to obtain bragging rights for.

We arrived in Paris on the evening of the 29th October 2005. During dinner, our tourguide explained the next day's iternary. We had a morning tour of Notredame and the Ile de la Cité. After that it was free and easy for us to explore until lunch when we would head to Versailles. We should be back in Paris by about 3-4pm, more than enough time to shop a little and then get to Notredame where Jean and I had agreed to meet. After dinner, we found a note left by the hotel from Jean in our room, confirming the meeting at 6pm in front of the Notredame d'Paris. I made a quick call to Jean while the victim was showering and all was set for the next day's event. I was still running the possibilities through my head when I fell asleep that night.

We woke bright and early on the morning of the 30th. I was up at the first ring of the wake-up call and practically jumping up and down in excitement on Waikit's bed to wake her. "Wake up! Wake up! Time to go!" I practically extruded joy and eagerness. Later, coming out of the bathroom after her morning shower, Waikit commented when she saw me already dressed, wearing a long sleeved collared shirt. "Wah", she exclaimed, "You're so well dressed to meet your friend."

I smiled and nodded, "Yeah." Little did she know then, it was all for her benefit. It was all part of my scheme to bait and capture a wife for prosperity.

The tour of Paris started at Notredame, giving me the perfect opportunity to scout out the area and to plan things accordingly. It was good that I managed to get a good feel of the area so as not to be unexpectedly delayed when push came to shove later in the evening. I smiled knowingly, and snapped photos of the area just in case I needed a review. Then came the city bus tour where we were taken around the famous sights of Paris before we were let loose for lunch. Dropped off near the Musee du Louvre where we then walked westward to the Place de la Concorde and peered up the Avenue des Champs-Elysees at the Arc de Triomphe far in the distance. Lunching on a park bench at the Jardin des Tuileries we soon made our way back to the bus which whisked us away to Versailles.

The Versailles excursion was an optional tour which I had delibrated not going for, fearing that it would take us past the meeting time with Jean and my rendezvous with destiny. My main fear was that the sun would set and I would have had the planned event cast in dark shadows and not the least romantic or even remotely nice. The weather had been perfect so far and Jean, who was checking the daily weather for me running up to my arrival was rather amazed at the unseasonally sunny weather. Like I said, parfait!

Versaille was nice, but boring and much of the experience was lost on me as I kept thinking of the coming deed. Waikit kept patting my pants pockets to check if my mobilephone and keys were still with me. A very nice gesture and certainly reassuring to know she's watching out for me, but a darn nuisance when one is desperately trying to hide the bulky box of a diamond ring from being prematurely discovered by the intended recepient! I kept switching the box from pocket to pocket, always trying to keep it on the side furthest from her, sometimes in my pants pocket, sometimes in my jacket pocket, sometimes in my hand as she goes on yet another full body search.

But I made it through the ordeal. The time finally came when we departed Versailles and returned to Paris. The bus dropped us in front of the Opera house as we had opted out of the night cabaret/dinner optional excursion so that I could do my dastardly deed. It was about 4pm.

We descended into the Metro to catch a subway to the Arc De Triomphe where we snapped yet more obligatory photos of the world famous structure. Then after that it was a short hop to Waikit's monument in Paris, the Louis Vutton store along the Avenue des Champs-Elysees. Lining up to go in, I couldn't help but remark that this was the kind of business I would love to get into, one where people would line up and wait patiently just to give you money.

We spent way longer than expected in the LV store, mainly because of a counter error in giving us the wrong bag in the first place, and also because whilst waiting Waikit spied yet another bag to buy so we ended up having to wait for that second bag to be prepared too. When we finally left the place, it was already 30 minutes to the 6pm meeting time. I led the way quickly down the Metro in a hurry.

We stopped off at the Louvre instead of going further and closer to Notredame as I wanted to snap more photos of us in front of the Pyramide Napoleon. I thought that from there it would be a simple short walk to Notredame. Oops. I think I underestimated that walk just a wee bit. It was 6pm and we were still trying to get to Notredame, walking as fast as our legs could take us, and an assumed shortcut turning out to be a long way around didn't help our journey or our moods. I tried calling Jean's mobile number to tell him I would be late but Jean's wife who answered the call with an amused voice told us that he was already waiting for us as he had left very early to look over the place first and he didn't have his phone with him. Nothing else to do but to grit our teeth and walk faster.

We made it 20 minutes past 6pm and I saw Jean almost immediately. He was looking very worried in the middle of a throng of Japanese tourists, looking over what must have been a sea of blackhaired people, trying to recognise me from the photos I'd sent before hand. Smiling widely and apologising profusely I walked up to him and shook his hand. "Bonsoir Jean!"

"This way." Jean motioned after the introductions. We walked down the left side of Notredame, past the staring gargoyles but Waikit needed to use the washroom and so, fretting that we might miss the beautiful waning sunlight so close to the finish line, we quickly found her a toilet to go to, all the while the two of us looking as non-chalant as we could. A quick word to the restaurant keeper in French and off to the toilet went our innocent unsuspecting victim. Jean and I took the opportunity to talk about the arrangements then. He said the bridge location was not suitable. It wasn't as nice as we had imagined, but he had an alternative spot that was really just to die for. Well, ok. This late into the game, my future was in Jean's good hands so when Waikit finally re-emerge after an anxious nail-biting wait, we left with Jean in the lead.

Waikit looked at me quizzically as we followed Jean who walked briskly along the Pont de L'Archeveche, the excitement in Jean's posture and gestures very, very obvious. I was just bursting to reassure Waikit but I just couldn't spoil the surprise now.

At the originally agree spot on the Pont de L'Archeveche, Jean stopped and turned to me. "See." he said. The beautiful wrought iron railing that I was so interested in having, actually blocked out half the view of Notredame, especially when I needed to kneel low onto the ground. "I'll take a photo of the two of you here." he said. Good idea. A quick snap with our digital camera and the preview of the photo showed me exactly what he meant. We nodded our heads in agreement. The railings were simply too high and only the upper spires of Notredame could be seen. "This way." Jean motioned, and started to walk along the opposite bank from Notredame.

I could feel Waikit's agitation now. She must have been very confused and rather alarmed by then, more so when Jean started down the stone steps at the side of the road, down the 4-5m or so river embankment to the deserted lower paved level right by the water's edge. This was the stuff of movies, where gunfights were fought, where damsels were courted and where fugitives would escape into on the silver screen along the Seine, underneath the bridges of Paris. But best of all, it really was much, much better than the original spot. It was perfect!

"We'll just take a quick photo here." I reassured Waikit who was eyeing Jean rather suspiciously by now. Passing the camera to Jean, we found a clear area without boats to mar the photograph. Smiling nervously, I took a deep breath while Jean said a few encouraging words, words that I don't remember exactly now but something to the effect of "Be strong. Go and do it.", anxious as I was at what I was just about to do. I nodded to Jean, palming the jewellery box and turned to walk back to Waikit with a smile.

Standing with Waikit and grinning idiotically for the camera, we both stood with the gentle waters of the Seine lapping at our heels, Notredame basking in the reddish-yellow evening sunlight behind us. Suddenly I dropped to my knee with open jewellery box in hand. It was a quaint marriage proposal custom, learnt from the Far
Western Regions to propose to my future bride. "Wai Kit, je vous aime.
Voulez-vous devenir mon epouse?", "Waikit, kar bei ngor.", "Wai Kit, will you marry me?" so I went in three languages, hand
over heart, solitaire diamond ring in hand, right knee on the ground as
taught by Jean.

Waikit was speechless.

I waited on my knees for her reply while I sensed more than I saw the photographs Jean was taking for posperity. Finally she reached forward to pull me up. "Stand up." she hushed, probably more worried about the prospect of people stopping to watch than anything. Smiling I stood and gave her a hug. Then with my knees feeling like jelly and my hands still a little quivering, I walked over to Jean. "I got you two photos." he said, tears in his eyes.

"Thank you Jean." I said happily, hugging him in gratitude. "Did she say yes?" he asked, his face still raw with emotion. The French REALLY are emotional people, I thought to myself as I nodded my head and said, "I'm not sure..." but knowing Waikit, she wouldn't vocally say yes, for the answer I knew, was already in her heart.

As we walked back towards the staircase to go back up to the road level, we joked lightly with each other, everyone still obviously lost in his or her own thoughts. Holding Waikit's hands I climbed the stone stair feeling rather pleased with myself and Waikit still reeling and feeling a little shellshocked from the sudden gesture. We had a meeting with Francois to make, and Jean was leading us to a nice cafe for a drink.

At the cafe, we sat and chatted, and I introduced the two Parisians to each other as well as handed out gifts from Shanghai and Singapore to the two of them. Francois had two bottles of French wine for me to take home, one for Koi Hin, and the other for me. After Jean had left us, we spent the rest of the evening having a lovely dinner with Francois and his cool black leather jacket at another cozy little restaurant, one which got Waikit a little worried as to where this shifty-eyed Frenchman whom we just met was taking us to. We talked and chatted about CHF and everything else under the sun and I even had roasted French rabbit as my main course, but there was no beating that top of the world feeling of having done what we'd just done and the rest of the evening, while nice, was just a mere suppliment to an amazing experience, one that we will carry with us through the years and will never fail to bring a shy smile to our faces at the audacity of the deed and the brashness of it all.

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