Time to ban “love locks” on Paris bridges

When I first saw “love locks” on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, they seemed like a charming folk expression. The metaphor of a lock on a bridge! Symbolizing lovers’ devotion! It spoke to the heart and the mind: transition, a liminal state, a gap between two certainties; a thing as ephemeral as love held firm in the cold steel of a lock. And an ordinary lock like from the hardware store. Lovers write their message of mutual devotion on the lock (initials, names, a pledge forever), attach the lock to the bridge, and throw the key in the water. Is that not beautiful?

This modest jumble of inscribed padlocks hung on an iron ring on the Ponte Vecchio in July 2014.

This modest jumble of inscribed padlocks hung on an iron ring on the Ponte Vecchio in July 2014.

And what of bridges? Bridges span two states — as love does. Bridges enable transition. They  allow one to exist for a time apart, in that liminal zone, belonging to neither side. For certain types of people, or people in certain situations feeling hemmed in by society or by geography, being on a bridge can bring peace. It can be the only place one feels at home. Artists know this well. We gravitate toward the in-between. Lovers too.

A bridge isn’t a place but a movement between spaces, an occasion of strange freedom.

So I was moved by the sight of these emblems of devotion placed in such a charged space.

But then the practice of placing love locks on bridges went viral; vendors on Paris bridges began selling the locks; they proliferated like cancer cells; their sheer weight collapsed a railing on the Pont des Arts. The lovely virus, when it took physical form, became a cancer that destroys its host.

So let’s say goodbye to this charming practice for now.

We all want to visit beautiful places, and Paris is certainly beautiful, and we all want to leave something of ourselves behind, and we all want to inscribe on the world our fleeting love.

But let’s not destroy stuff in the process.

Much might be said about the tourist culture, another kind of metastisis that thinks everything in sight is something to be consumed or interacted with, that assumes everywhere is Disneyland, and all culture is for sale, and the culture of imitation and “trends” …

But let’s not start any fights.

I am in favor of a ban on placing love locks on urban bridges. Vendors can switch to sunglasses or T-shirts.

You can sign a petition here.

p.s. Join us at le Château du Pin in the Loire Valley in September for our week-long writing retreat.


I’m going for it

Write for Advice


Cary’s classic column from

I’m in a passionless marriage and I’m going to have an affair — just thought I’d let you know in case you have some advice.

Dear Cary,

My husband and I have been married for more than 30 years. We love each other more as friends than lovers, although our relationship is also based on respect and on a commitment to our grown children.

When we first married, I was running away from a very abusive first marriage and my husband wanted a wife to further his career. We learned to love each other over the years, but our relationship was never one of equals with the same goals.

He doesn’t like to do anything outside the home and doesn’t care to socialize except with the people he worked with before he retired. He never showed any interest in my work and he didn’t see any need to talk about our marriage or to do anything to help it grow into something other than a pleasant convenience. I was so grateful for the safety net he provided that I didn’t really push for more. He also lost interest in sex about 10 years ago, leaving me stranded with a vibrant libido. We have never been unfaithful to each other.

It took me a long time to let go of my fears and to start to assert myself as an equal, finally realizing that I’m worthy of more than a breadwinner. Now that our children are grown, I am wondering what it would be like to experience a relationship with a man in which we both care for each other as individual human beings, respecting each other’s differences and finding companionship and joy in the things we have in common.

I met a man last year while visiting family in another state. We have continued to correspond through e-mail and have developed a friendship and love that we both treasure.

I don’t know what to do. I care for my husband and wouldn’t want to hurt him; yet I know that if I leave, he would be devastated, not understanding what I’ve been trying to tell him for all these years. The man I’m in love with has asked me to marry him but knows that I’m not ready to go that far, at least not yet.

This is something so new and foreign to me that I can’t find an answer with which I’m comfortable. I do feel that I will go ahead and have an affair. I suppose I’m just asking if anyone else has had an experience like this and how it turned out.



Dear Married,

Good for you. Although I can’t speak specifically of a story like yours, it has a certain universal ring to it, a certain kind of large, inevitable truth, so that it must be something many women have undergone. I applaud you. Life is not to be wasted or dribbled away. I understand your need for safety, how that can motivate you — but you’re safe now, aren’t you? There’s no threat to you except the grief and incomprehension of your husband when you tell him that you’ve got to do this.

So you’ve tried to tell him how the lack of passion is killing you and he hasn’t understood? Or perhaps he has understood, but he’s too frightened to confront it. Perhaps he just pretends not to understand what you’ve been saying. Or perhaps you haven’t said it in a way that he really understands. Either way, it sounds like it’s too late now. You seem to have made up your mind.

Go and have your affair. Well, you don’t need my permission, do you? But I encourage you to go and do it. And read. Well, you don’t want to necessarily read “Madame Bovary” as a case study, but read about women like yourself, trapped in the kind of safe but suffocating bourgeois bargain that men and women all too easily make in difficult, frightening times.

Oh, I wish we could help your husband, too. I feel worst for the husbands in this country, because after the manly power of the muscles begins to fade, what have they got but wealth and clothes? A man can live his 70 years and never learn to speak a single feeling, and a wife can leave him and he’s like a dog set loose in the wilderness that never learned to hunt. They are such weak creatures sometimes; they are so dependent on their wives. And they think all the while that they’re doing the right, sacrificial thing, staying by their wives even when it’s icy between them. And all the while nobody’s doing anybody any favors. It’s so sad.

Does your husband have a best friend? I hope so. I hope he has a buddy and they can go fishing and get drunk and curse their wives bitterly. It’s good for men to express their feelings. We can’t always expect them to express their feelings in a lovely and mature way; sometimes the only way for them to do it is by being ugly. It might be healing. It might do them good.


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