Turtles and Tuileries

My son and his girlfriend spent this past week with us and the most significant thing that came of that visit was the revelation that there are no turtles in the UK.  Sure, the odd sea turtle washes up on the beach from time to time, but snappers, painted turtles and box turtles—nada—which explains the absence of turtle soup.

Now, while this was significant for me, for them, her promotion from girlfriend to fiancée and his accompanying elevation from boyfriend to her intended would more likely be higher on the list.  I give the boy credit; he put a lot of thought into this, unlike my own casual (some might say, offhanded) proposal:

We were having breakfast on the second morning of my first visit to the UK, which was only a month and a half since I had met my future wife while hiking in Ireland.  The discussion turned to how we could possibly conduct a long-distance relationship and I made the suggestion that I could give up my job and move to England.  She then said we might live together if I did that and I, without first engaging my brain, said, "If I give up my job and move over here, I would want you to marry me," to which she responded, "Well, if you did that, I suppose I would."  So my proposal was more of a slip of the tongue than anything else; happy to say, it has solidified considerably in the ensuing years.

But the boy has been planning this for months.  He bought the ring last autumn and even took a day off of work to drive the two and a half hours to his girlfriend's parent's house so he could ask them for her hand in marriage.  His intention was to ask her this coming spring but as their plans for a trip to England firmed up and the day out in Paris was confirmed, he changed his mind.  I can't blame him; Paris is such a mythical city for most Americans, and the idea of being there, in the city of love, and popping the question while strolling along the Seine was too good an opportunity to pass up.  The only catch was, he wanted me to take photos of the event.

My wife and I had several conversations about this, but neither of us could come up with a scenario that would (or should) put us anywhere near the happy couple while this event was taking place.  I mean, I never thought to ask my dad to take photos of my proposal.

So, with this odd request residing uneasily in the back of my mind, we enjoyed a few days touring southeast England, and then boarded the Eurostar for Paris.  It was a cloudy but mild day and when we reached the Tuileries gardens—the Louvre behind us, the Champs-Elysées stretched out before us with the Arc de Triomphe standing nobly at the far end and the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance—the boy leaned over to me and said, "Get ready, I'm going to do it now."  He then led his prospective bride-to-be a few paces away and went down on one knee.  I have to admire his style, but the sight of my son, who I am more accustomed to seeing in juvenile court, suddenly turning into a soppy romantic nearly made me forget my role.

Recovering quickly, I pulled out my camera and began snapping photos like a Parisian fashion photographer, circling the couple, experimenting with different angles and lighting while his girlfriend remained oddly oblivious.  I could only observe the event through my viewfinder, but it seemed to be going well enough.  After it was over—and the affirmative answer confirmed—I tried to get back to the business at hand, which was, in my view, sight-seeing.  My wife, however, lobbied for leaving them on their own a bit, so we wandered off, affording them the opportunity of basking in the glow of their newfound status without me pointing out landmarks.

Therefore, our time in Paris was spent touring the Louvre, which even on this dreary February afternoon was hot, crowded and smelled as if the sewers were backing up, and wandering down the Champs-Elysées to get a closer look at the Arc de Triomphe.  But none of this has anything to do with turtles.

Mostly, I'm chagrined that, for the past six years, this important piece of information has eluded me.  But when my future daughter-in-law brought it up one night during a cider-fueled conversation in our local pub, the answer was readily obvious.  Granted, it's been some time since I've enjoyed a lazy afternoon swimming in the creek or spent any quality time with a woodland pond, but you think I might have noticed their absence by now.

So amazed was I by this bit of trivia that I Googled "Reptiles of Great Britain" at my first opportunity and discovered that, in addition to turtles, the UK suffers from an appalling dearth of amphibious life in general.  All they can boast is a handful of salamanders, a few types of toads and three species of snakes, only one of which is poisonous.  Not a rattler, copper head, gila monster, scorpion or alligator among them.

So with that one quizzical comment, all the mysteries were solved: why I have never seen Frogs Legs on any menu in the past six years, why there were no public service announcements during the recent floods warning people to watch out for water moccasins and why dogs and cats living near waterways don't mysteriously disappear more often.

I did attempt to interest my son and his blushing fiancée in this important discovery, but they remained strangely unconcerned.