Today was like some many other days for us: a very late start, breakfast involving coffee and a fresh croissant, a very long walk somewhere in the city, a drink at a bar [the Cafe Benjamin on Rue de Rivoli today], back home to scrub up, then out for dinner at a restaurant which has caught our eye, tonight the Cave de Vin on the Ile de la Cite.
So much is good about Paris, much of which has been dealt with in earlier posts to this blog, but here are some additional comments . . .
The city barely misses a beat over Christmas and New Year. Whereas Australia virtually closes down for a week if not two weeks, this city bustles every day during that period. It's true that major department stores and government offices close on the two public holidays, but this hardly makes a dent in the buzz of Paris.
Paris has a long and turbulent history, not all of it to be proud of, but there doesn't seem to be any attempt to hide it or rewrite it. It makes us mad to be reminded of cowardly Sydney politicians who would not retain the even slightly unsavory but historically significant name "Hungry Mile" for a reurbanisation project, while the suburb we are living in in Paris is most unglamorously called "The Swamp".
One glorious little cultural institution we came across (and were invited to participate in) was an apparently singing get-together in the park over Les Halles. There were three muso's, some ladies handing out song books, some "vin chaud" to wet your whistle, and everyone sings together selections from the book. The songs seems to be ancient and old Parisian folk songs. One we sang was about the Paris metro. You hand your book back at the end, so we don't really know who really ran this delightful community activity, but it was a lot of fun on a Saturday afternoon. How great is that? [see photo]
The health media is often preoccupied with how Parisians, with their love of pastries and cheeses, manage to stay so thin, so fit and healthy looking. We have discovered the answer to this. Firstly, it is true - the average Parisian of either gender, and of any age, looks trim, taut and terrific. We think they do it by walking everywhere - they love to stroll. They walk for fun and for exercise, they do it to browse in the shops, they do it to check out the restaurant menus, they do it to see and be seen. There are really not so many taxis cruising about, and it's obvious that the locals are more than happy to walk from one location to the next. Bicycles are very popular, and you see a lot of very well dressed people cycling the streets. Of course, if you really have to go a long way, there are taxis, buses and the incredible metro.
Paris is unaccountably filthy, not with or from air pollution, because vehicles are fed with very clean fuels, and dirty industry is either elsewhere or well controlled. No, it's litter in the streets! Garbage bins are everywhere: they are all clear plastic in this post September 11 age, and there are numerous City workers emptying them, as well as sweeping the streets, but it's a neverending task. Parisians don't use the bins, or not enough of them do anyway. It's common to be walking behind someone and to see them throw a tissue or a lolly-paper down on the ground. This can happen anywhere in the world, of course, but it's so common here, and so sad. There are obviously no anti-littering laws, or no enforcement of them.
The street litter is made much worse by the advertising leafets which are left en masse under car windscreens, then totally ignored by the car owners who drive away, and the leaflets flutter away.
The streets are also blessed with dog droppings. These are very bad, and frankly you've got to be very careful walking around. Parisians seem to have a special radar to help them avoid these messy spots. The truth is, the frequency of dog droppings is not as bad as we feared. There are plenty of dogs being walked or carried, but maybe they've trained owners to be responsible - there are signs all around with pictures of dogs being walked saying "I love my arrondissement, I clean up!".
And then there's the cigarette butts. These never quite get cleaned up because they accumulate in the cast iron grills which are installed around trees. The poor trees must have to adapt to a steady diet of dissolved nicotine. This source of uglyness in Paris will probably get worse before it gets better now that the no smoking rules have come into force in cafes and bars.
We have been very pleasantly surprised to see how easily these new rules seem to have settled in. On New Year's Eve, Paris's bars and cafes seemed choked with very determined heavy smokers. From the very next day, the same places are still packed, but no-one is smoking. You can actually breathe inside, and see rather than feel your way to the toilets. Many places are actually marketing the benefits of a smoke free environment, usually using humourous cartoons (e.g. Now I can see and taste what I'm eating!), but they've all got new no smoking signs up. Regardless, it's now a pleasure to call in for a drink or a meal in Paris. If you want to smoke, you now have to sit in the open air "terraces". The terraces are not so crowded in winter, but in summer, we'd expect a lot of competition for these outdoor people-watching and sun-catching locations.
Paris' public toilets are the stuff of legends, but they really have no idea with them. We can grumble in Sydney, but it's really a public loo paradise compared to Paris. There are some high-tech free access toilets in the streets, but they are not very appealing, and not often used by our observation. Mike used one once, but they seem to be dirty, dark and not vey comforting at all. You would always be on edge that the door would swing open at any time and flush you out into the street in the cleaning cycle.
There are no toilets in the Metro (amazing), some at the major railway stations (but you've got to pay to use them). Toilets in some places (such as Department Stores, in the gardens at Versailles, near the Place de la Concorde) are proof that French architects all skipped classes on bathroom design. They are cramped, illogical, and are never, ever big enough.
The best bet if you need to go in Paris, is to call into a bar for a coffee or a drink. We've not found one which didn't have a loo, but sometimes you have to go up or down a very scary and maybe dark set of stairs. And as for the variety of loos themselves in cafes, this could be the topic of a PhD thesis. Some even charge half a Euro, but most are free. Points can be allocated on the state of the urinals (for the guys), and whether there are separate cubicles for ladies and gents, toilet paper, a toilet seat, a toilet seat cover, a lock on the door, a door at all, a wash basin, soap, and anything to dry your hands on. Most cafes would score low, some actually score very well, but at least they have the loo.
Parisian Bon Mots...
- Black is the new black.
- Magnificent fashions, boots and coats.
- The wonderful bridges over the Seine.
- Water frozen in the fountains.
- The fountains, but most of them are off for the winter.
- The Louvre.
- The bread.
- If you don't eat meat, you must eat cheese!
- The fur coats, no paint throwing here.
- The grates in the church floors, from which hot air rises. The metro? the furnace? or a deeper place?
- The churches themselves.
- Narrow, winding, cobbled streets (lucky to have escaped the boulevard-making process inflicted by Baron Haussmann) [in the photo, compare the quiet Rue Quincampoix with the bustling Rue des Rosiers in an earlier post]
- The patisseries, and fruit and veg shops, all the speciality shops.
- The music, buskers in the metro.
- The buildings and their marvellous rooftops.
- The politeness of the French.
- Gauffres (waffles) and chocolat (which is really Nutella).
- La Tour Eiffel, and its beautiful lights.
- The ice skating rink at the Hotel De Ville.
- The policemen patrolling on roller blades.
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