Whilst Paris swelters in its newfound summer, thousands descend upon the Paris Plage….a few blocks of the Seine where an instant beach has appeared….bars, deck chairs, music, buskers, mini-golf, tai chi, kayaks, pedaloes, umbrellas, the odd illegal topless bather and lots of sand. “Bather” is perhaps an anomaly because whilst it is a beach in central Paris swimming in the Seine is a dangerous pursuit, not because of the quality of the water, but the tides, I am told and there is no place set aside for the pleasure.
Naturalment all the Parisians with houses at the real beach, or in the mountains, have sensibly long since left the city. The beautiful apartment building opposite me keeps its shutters tightly closed on every window. It’s an expensive building: ergo no one is there whilst the heat prevails!
When I lived in Buenos Aires it was called Paris of the South, and I guess to some extent it is, but there is nothing like Paris. To have spent a glorious month here learning the language and really living in this city has been a divine pleasure. Getting up at an unspeakable hour and heading off with the commuters is something I have not done for more than 20 years. But when it’s for pleasure and one is walking to school every morning past the bakeries and street markets and seeing the city spring to life it takes on a different note.
I have learned some French, after speaking Italian for the first week and still getting the odd word in, I am not and probably never will be trilingual or even bilingual but I have made great progress and I have loved it. But even more have I loved being in this place and learning more about it.
When on the first Wednesday of the month there was an almighty siren at noon and again at 10 past we learned that the Pompiers test their equipment at this time every month…and that if there is a real alarm, it will sound and everyone will take refuge in the Metro which sounds very sensible and organised.
Ah, the Metro: comparisons are odious, (and all metros are odoriferous, especially in the summer), but it is faster, cheaper and quieter than the London tube and every bit as good.
However because the City of Light really isn’t all that large, I have found the best way to get around is by foot. I don’t want to miss anything: the architecture, the corner bar I want to rest at and partake of a glass of wine, the next shop offering something irresistible in its sale, a divine view of the river, a fabulous this or a wonderful that. So after more than a month my feet are in sad need of repair and I can almost justify the several pairs of new shoes that will leave with me this weekend. Almost! But not quite, because Italy really is the country for shoes and I will have more sales to contend with there when I get home. (Yes, it’s wonderful to now call Italy home, but that’s another story).
Walking itself is actually quite a hazard. I am yet to determine if the French have absolutely no sensory acuity or whether they have first class honours in arrogance. Whatever, they are beyond unconscious of others as they stand on the pavements chatting to one or two others, with absolutely no regard for people who want to walk past them or else they can be so preoccupied that they walk into you and practically knock you over before being effusive with apology. Still walk I do and I must also be unconscious because I have been known to set out at 2 after class and lunch and not return until midnight. Where did those 10 hours just go?????
But I digress! Paris inhabitants have a mish-mash of origins, mostly they are dark haired. Blondes are either foreign or per courtesy of the coiffeuse! All the places the French colonised are represented here, in all their variety of colours, including more than a sprinkling of Indo-Chinese, and for good measure there are plenty of Indian taxi drivers as there are in Australia.
In the shops, which I have visited many (being sale time), they are incredibly polite, like the Italians, greeting you when you enter and farewelling you when you leave. It makes it a very nice experience and so far I have not experienced what occurs sometimes in Italy when they follow you around to make sure you dont pinch anything.
So living in a city…..it has to be what I love most about being in Paris. I have a pathological hatred of suburbs and people hiding behind high fences and automatic garages. Paris is a city which lives in each block: there are people everywhere and there is action everywhere. My immediate neighbours include 2 opticians, one of the best butchers and one of the best fishmongers in Paris, a discount store selling cheap electrical stuff and cheap wine, 3 shoe shops, 5 women’s clothing shops, a choclatier, an antique shop, an hotel, 2 children’s clothing shops, a shop selling fancy fountain pens and divine writing paper, a manicurist, a florist, a bank, a small supermarket, a Japanese restaurant, 3 French restaurants and 3 bars, an Italian deli, a hairdresser and a pharmacy. That’s all in my small block….so why would I even venture to the next street???? Well because it has the best cheese shop in Paris, two wine shops, a cake shop, a hardware shop and if all else fails I can buy a French icon: a Renault. This is all less than five minutes from home.
This is Paris. This is what I love. This is why I shall return. When I grew up there was a petrol station on every corner with long forgotten logos: the sign of the flying red horse, (or was it white?), the Golden Fleece, Total, and others that have remained. But here there is a bar on every corner and it is part of life to go and sit, have a coffee, have a glass of vin, and sit for an hour or so with just one drink, watching life passing. Now of course there are many tourists but you can see the locals; the businessman on his way home from the office, businesswomen meeting each other after work, young lovers always dressed in jeans, clearly here the universal language of the young (and the older) that defy economic status. It’s easy to go sit in a bar and not feel judged. It’s fun to watch the waiters. It’s a profession here…not an occasional job for the youngies to pay their uni fees or living expenses like in the UK or Australia. Mostly they are men, and almost without exception they are grumpy. Hugo, a waiter in London, very keenly observed his fellows in our peregrinations around this city.
There are more pharmacies than I have ever seen anywhere in the world indicating that the French must be a nation of hypochondriacs but their shops are fascinating. Almost without exception the windows are crammed full of Mason and Pearson hairbrushes, and assorted mirrors and combs such as you would buy at Priceline. I dont understand it!
Paris has always been considered the home of thought and I am delighted to see bookshops in every street. Very nice looking books too, and some exceptional bookshops with foreign books that await my return.
Despite all the people Paris is a very clean city. The rubbish collectors (always black as the ace of spades) are out on the job morning, noon and night and the piles of rubbish just in my block are beyond description. Police sirens are a part of daily life but I don’t see a speed camera or police putting fines on cars however I have a secret wish that they would bring in the smoking police. Londoners eat in the streets, as I commented earlier, French smoke in the streets….and still in eating places! That has not been outlawed yet….quelle dommage!!!
And so to language. When in Turkey I discovered there were 40 different verb tenses (including one for gossip which I think is a real bonus) but thank heaven there are not 40 French tense. After 3 ½ weeks we have just skipped over the imperative and launched into the simple past tense. Knowing Italian and knowing the structure is the same, it has felt odd speaking in the present all the time, but first things first, and not all the class has the benefit of another Romance language. After embarrassments subsided, we have had immense fun: Jill a lawyer from Minnesota, Miquel alias Michel from Pamplona, also a lawyer, Karina a cook from Venezuela, Costanza a student from Milano, Katrina, a student of 16 from Slovakia, Raweyal, a nun from Egypt with the most beautiful smile, which I’m sure shines a big light on her flock in Palestine, Elisana a doctor from Salvatore in Brazil, Pierre a South African gent who just joined us last week, and myself, Madam Buzz 007-Miss….my latest name! As a visual learner it has been interesting and at times frustrating but I have no doubt learned much more than I give myself credit for. Our teacher, Lydie, has been fabulous … she has a deep guttural laugh when something is very funny, and she has egged us on in spite of all the Portuguese, Spanish and Italian words that have left our lips. Now she threatens a tax if we speak English, but having lunch today, as a sort of finale, we spoke French badly but all understood each other. And that is it really. Communication is all about being understood…it does not have to be perfect!!
So it’s almost Au Revoir Paris. Sadly. But I will be back. For more of the same and something different too. I have hardly seen a museum or an art gallery in more than 4 weeks, but I have seen many friends and wined and dined in many street cafes, and some beautiful restaurants. I’ve lived the life, not seen the relics and I know which is more important.
Thank you to friends and family who have made this experience so wonderful: especially Ellen, my son Hugo, Cynthia and Deb who visited out of the blue from the US and Australia, Veronique who came from Hong Kong, and friends I have made here in this beautiful city and my fun classmates. Merci bien. I will return.
And so for a complete contrast….. I fly to Denmark on Sunday. And after that? Another complete contrast and a change of pace. But no secrets out of the bag yet!
Until next time, with heart
Buzz
