Paris: the city of loathe.

Not quite the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Paris is a gorgeous city. There is a reason that it was romanticised by a horde of writers. The narrow, partly lit streets full of gothic architecture and gobbled stones were exactly how I pictured it. However, there is one fundamental problem with Paris: it is full of Parisians. There have always been preconceptions about French people being arrogant. I can declare to you that is it absolutely true. Their rudeness extends much more widely then their demeanor. Upon discovering you are not a French speaker, not only do they think you are some genus far below Homo Sapiens, but what's worse, in my opinion, you get extremely bad table service. I agree with Bill Bryson’s sentiments (in his book, "Neither Here nor There") that a waiter should never get snobby, considering they are fetching you stuff. The waiters were generally unfriendly, we always got served after French people and one time our Burgundy Beef came out less than lukewarm on a cold plate. It is hard to be positive about a place that is unwelcoming as Paris is. It is even more of a strain to enjoy yourself when a coffee costs you 4.4 Euros. Okay, I don’t regard myself as tight with money, but 8.8 Australian Dollars for a flat white is simply outrageous. Alternately, an espresso only cost 2 Euros. Therefore, the adding of milk to a shot of coffee costs 2.4 Euros. WHAT THE HELL? What are they doing? Milking the cow themselves? How can they justify charging that much? You can probably discern the tone of this blog from the opening paragraph. Paris is hyped up to be a great city, of fantastic café life and trend setting shopping. But all we found was disappointment.

I just know that some reading this blog will find it offensive. But they will probably be French themselves or have a French background, so that doesn't really matter. Anyway, I am allowed to be affronted when, upon arriving at Gard De Nord train station, we asked (and in French I might add) for directions to our flat. Not only did the person give us the wrong direction, but sent us the opposite way, when the street we wanted was literally 20 metres from the point of inquiry. I am sure they found it funny, but that little detour cost us 30 min. And if the needless shoving and bumping on the Metropolitan train line was not enough, when walking down a street, some awful Parisian creature flicked ash on me. I hope she knew English, because I gave her a dish of it for that little incident. I thought these people were supposed to be refined and eloquent? And, despite the glamourisation of the French in novels and films, they have to be one of the most unattractive and miserable specimens on the face of the planet. Just sit on a train You can justify such a claim by examining the people they chose to admire, like Gerald Depardieu and Jean-Paul Sartre. If these too people don't epitomise, ugly, then who does, I ask you.

Jean-Paul Sartre. A.k.a ugly bastard.

There are a lot of great things about the city, despite my rather passionate rant and I will get to them: eventually. For now, let me vent a few more things to you, dear readers. The Eiffel Tower. What a piece of shit. Gustave Eiffel was the unfortunate soul that brought this so called masterpiece of modern architecture in existence. Anouska and I have renamed it the tacky tower for not only does it look like an large radio antenna or an abandoned oil rig, but some genius decided to place large, gold-neon stars on the front of it and install thousands of lights to go off at night - every hour, on the hour, for 5 minutes. Epileptics must love it. It was nearly torn down at that start of the twentieth century, when major protests against this mental asparagus was made by a number of prominent French artists: "this truly tragic street lamp" (Léon Bloy), "this belfry skeleton" (Paul Verlaine), "this mast of iron gymnasium apparatus, incomplete, confused and deformed" (François Coppée), "this high and skinny pyramid of iron ladders, this giant ungainly skeleton upon a base that looks built to carry a colossal monument of Cyclops, but which just peters out into a ridiculous thin shape like a factory chimney" (Maupassant), "a half-built factory pipe, a carcass waiting to be fleshed out with freestone or brick, a funnel-shaped grill, a hole-riddled suppository" (Joris-Karl Huysmans). (http://www.tour-eiffel.fr/teiffel/uk/documentation/dossiers/page/debats.html) The tower was saved because it was discovered it made a fantastic antenna. I swear I am not making this up. This catastrophe, which will forever taint the Paris skyline, is now considered the most iconic building in the world. The Parisians are supposedly known for their good taste, but if they admire the tacky tower, perhaps that is questionable. If their abhorrent choice in clothing is anything to go by, maybe what they say about them is wrong. We had already learned a number of myths about the French were untrue. The only one that seemed to hold mustard was that they were assholes that ate a lot of bread. Okay, not all French people are bread munching jerks. We met some nice French people. Three in total. Our landlady, a guy selling crepes on the street and the French man who lives in London.

I am showing my disapproval.

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You are probably appalled with me. I am too. I had such high expectations for Paris and they crashed like the Icelandic economy. The thing is I really wanted to fall in love with Paris, but there was just too much that struck me as inconsistent with a bubbling, democratic metropolis. We saw homeless people and beggars much more often then expected. Army personnel carrying Clarion machine guns patrolled the train stations and trains themselves. Trash cans do not exist because of the 'threat' of terrorism. Instead they have plastic bags attach to metal rings. Does this sound like the home of the first modern democracy? I became conscious of a disturbing mood prevailing throughout the city and it made me very uncomfortable. However, there were many things about the city I genuinely liked and enjoyed experiencing. Firstly, the Seine River is beautiful. Much more so than the Thames. You only have to walk by the banks to realise it is probably the most beautiful river in the world and when the sun goes down and the neon lights appear, it's breath-taking. Anouska and I were continually drawn to the gentle meander of the Seine, either to watch a small band of American buskers play some great rock tunes on a bridge, to have some terrible Rose we purchased from the Monoprix, or just to take a relaxing stroll. Secondly, the Musee de Orsay and Lourve are cultural giants. The de Orsay has some brilliant Rodin sculptures and many fine examples of impressionist and naturalist art. My favourite thing about the Lourve is the ancient antiquities. After feeling somewhat obligated to see people take photographs of the Mona Lisa, thinking they will never see that image again, or muscle for room to eye the Venus De Milo, I spent most of the day looking at the sculptures of a foregone era.

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Buskers on the Seine.
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If you're searching for the macabre, Paris is the right place to be. The whole city encompasses the gothic spirit. From a distance the Cathedral of Notre Dame just looks like a typical gothic church. Up close, you see the detailed work that covers the huge expanse of the building. There are sculptures of saints, devils and gargoyles all over it. It dawns on you why it took over two centuries to build. In the 14th century it would have been made such a presence over those who saw it. It must have been as if God built it himself. In keeping with the gothic mood, we took a train out to the Pere LaChaise Graveyard on a overcast Sunday. Being fall, leaves covered the streets, further adding to the atmosphere. Here we saw the final resting places of many great spirits including; Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Proust and someone called 'Sextoy'. Jim Morrison's grave was littered with flowers and packets of cigarettes, in case he needed a smoke, which I thought was a kind gesture. Wilde's gravestone was covered in lipstick kisses. I don't think he would have appreciated that much attention from females. There were also some fitting tributes to fallen soldiers and victims of Auschwitz. Amongst all the reminders of death, there was a lot of beauty about the graveyard. I think all graveyards should be as charming as this, because in the face of death, don't we need some confirmation of life? I am not sure that the Catacombs are such a thing, but it was definitely worth a visit. In the 19th century, a plague ripped through Les Halles, killing many inhabitants. As a result, their graveyard became too full. So, they exhumed the bodies already there and decoratively placed them inside an abandoned stone mine. Walking the one and a bit kilometre walk underground, you pass the bones of millions of deceased Parisians. It was very bizarre to say the least.

Memento mori.

I cannot discuss Paris, without in some way, mentioning the food. A lot of the meals we had were quite decent and not too expensive, despite the Parisian trend to charge a lot for very little. They are very big on baguettes, filled to the brim with meat and with as much cheese as they can safely pack into it. Pastries of every size and description, naturally. I personally liked the spinach and goat cheese quiche. On their meat, they do fantastic sauces and I fondly remember a particular pepper sauce that accompanied a steak extremely well. There were food vendors on the street as well, which was a surprising discovery. Most of them sold Crepes in delectable chestnut spread. Others sold grilled corn, which tasted just like popcorn. Oh, and who could forget the bread. With everything meal, anytime of the day. And I am a celiac. Damn them! Anouska and I are of the opinion (and this may sound blasphemous) that although the food was pretty good, you could get the same quality at one of the better French restaurants in Perth, especially the "Loose Box". And the pastries were definitely on par with the famous stand at the Subiaco markets, run of course by French people (but polite). It is a shame to say that when our week had expired, we were actually happy to move on to our next destination: Amsterdam. Paris became the first major disappointment of our trip. But when you are travelling, you don't always know what to expect. Half the time you are thrown into a culture very different to the one you have grown up in and the way people live can often surprise and even shock you. But, that, in essence is what travelling is for. Not marking off what destinations you have been to, but learning what life is like outside your very small backyard.

Outside Gard De Nord, near to our apartment.