enfin, l'été est arrivé !

Summer appears to have finally landed in fair Paris, where we lay our scene. Daytime highs in the mid-20's, bright blue skies, and - let us not forget - tourists. May marks the start of the "shoulder", or "mid-season" for tourists, and even though we're still quite a ways away from the high season (wherein small armies of foreign nationals descend for days at a time), the key congestion areas are already starting to fill up. The information kiosks in the métro and light rail stations, for instance, are now finding themselves hidden behind ersatz walls made of wheeled luggage and cargo shorts.

Of course, tourism is an important industry for France, which receives some 75 to 80 million tourists annually, many of whom spend some or all of that time in Paris (as an aside, consider that the entire French republic - overseas holdings and all - has a population of about 64 million). There is scarcely a block in Paris that doesn't have something which caters to tourists, be it a hotel, an ex-pat bar, or a tacky souvenir store. That said, Paris is not France in the same way that Toronto is not Canada: while Paris is undoubtedly the most "important" city of the republic, it's not necessarily representative of the nation as a whole.

In other words, it's not as if the entire country is geared towards accepting tourists - Paris is the exception, rather than the rule. Living, as i do, in the metropolis, i sometimes forget that France is a functioning, self-sustaining country, with socially and economically diverse population spread across an equally varied geographical base. There are other large cities (such as Lyon and Marseille), small cities (such as Strasbourg and Bordeaux), towns, villages, hamlets, and even the occasional solitary farmhouse. There are wide coastal plains, enormous mountain ranges, verdant rolling hills, river valleys, forests, and even the occasional canyon or gorge (including some rather impressive ones in the Massif Central area). There are, in effect, an abundance of things to see, people to meet, and areas to explore which are not Paris - and which are often left un-seen by people who don't happen to live near them.

No trip to France is complete without (at least) spending a day or two in the metropole, and there's certainly lots to see and do here in the capital - but there's a lot to see and do in the rest of the country, too. Luckily, France has an exceptional rail network which, strikes aside, is efficient and reasonably priced. This allows both tourists and Parisians alike to explore the country at large, and return to the 75th at their leisure - myself included. :)

Happy Holidays, from the Métro

This afternoon I was weaving through the Opéra métro station, trying to find the most efficient exit to get to l'Avenue de l'Opéra. The station is currently under renovation, and the signange is having a hard time keeping up with the changes in navigation. I got a bit lost, ended up on another train platform, but eventually made my way towards an exit. Before I took the stairs to get above ground, I found a table with coffee machines and mini crossaints being handed out by RATP (Régle Autonome de Transports Parisiens) employees. There was a sign that said that the staff of métro line 8 invited you to have a coffee with them, as a celebration of conviviality or something like that... It was the nicest gesture the métro has made to me all year, and almost made me forget about the grève. Almost.

presidential drama

From Emily, our resident Arizonan living in Paris:

From today's NY Times story about Sarkozy and his new supermodel girlfriend, whom he took to Disneyland Paris.

"LCI, the all-news television channel, devoted much of Monday morning to the story, largely ignoring the international donors' conference for the Palestinians, for which Mr. Sarkozy was the host. During a call-in period, a number of French callers expressed delight that their president may have found love again. One female caller named Claudine said it was a "good Christmas tale." But other commentators were less kind. "I have to say the news shocked me deeply," wrote Pascal Riché, an editor of the political Web site rue89.com. "What shocked me wasn't Carla Bruni, but the pathways of Disneyland Paris."

I got kind of a kick out of this. You have to love France, where the scandal lies not int the president getting divorced in October, or getting involved two months later with a supermodel/pop star but in the fact that they went to Disneyland. :)

The NYTimes article in question: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/18/world/europe/18france.html?_r=1&ref=todayspaper&oref=slogin

reflections from the city of lights

Every once in a while when i'm walking around the city, the realisation that i live in Paris hits me like a wave of awesome. I realise that for people who have lived and worked here their whole lives, it's not that special; but for a Great Canadian Prairie kid like me, Paris is a wonderful, magical place. Around every corner lurks something of enormous cultural or historical significance. Under each street - each cobblestone - lies the essence of some two thousand years of human habitation. Ah, Paris; the epicentre of all that is French, and by definition, one of the cornerstones of western civilization.

I am astounded daily by how this city works. How it moves and hums and beats to a rhythm that is entirely its own. In many ways, life here moves much faster than it did any where i've ever lived - and in others, it plods along at speeds that could only be described with adjectives like "epic" and "mythic". Yes, Paris is a good place to be, as long as you don't actually need to do anything. But that's not why i'm here - if i wanted to invest in businesses and advance my career, i would never have left North America.

But i did leave, and each day that i'm gone is a re-affirmation of my reasons for doing so. Even now, as the season the locals affectionately refer to as "winter" is setting in, i still find myself in absolutely no hurry to be anywhere, or do anything, ever. That isn't to say that i'm lethargic - quite the opposite, in fact! It's just that i'm not pressured anymore. Getting to work before nine is unthinkable. Lunch takes at least an hour - and there's usually a lovely side of fish involved. Yes, fish! Oh god, the food here is incredible. Montréal is easily the gastronomic capital of Canada, but so far, it doesn't quite measure up to its Old World counterpart.

Yes, life here is good - no, it's great - and i there's precious little i would trade it for at this very moment... well, i suppose i could probably be convinced if there were palm trees and little umbrella drinks involved, but only after very serious consideration.

Paris on Strike

Many people around the world wonder how it is possible that the transport system of a powerful European country could, at the drop of a hat, go on strike. They wonder how the beautiful metropolitan city could still pulse, how the workers could continue to work, how the economy could survive.

When the strike begins, the city is injected with a rush of adrenaline. Everyone finds a solution, or takes a vacation day to stay home. Carpooling (or co-voiturage) is à la mode during a transit strike and motorless wheels become all the rage. Sporting goods stores sell out of bicycles and their accessories, cityzens pick up old rollerblades they haven’t used since the supreme vacation month of August. The camaraderie associated with the beginning of a strike (or a single-day strike) is not unlike that which follows a natural disaster: a hurricane, a flood, maybe some wildfires or twisters. A handful of people are even thrilled by the challenge of finding an alternative route to work, and happily email their coworkers requesting or offering rides to the office.

The hum of the city’s métroless wheels slows little by little in the following few days of the strike. For me, it was when the November cold started creeping into the holes of my hand-knit scarf, and my thin Gap gloves wore out along the handles of my bicycle. Desperation ensues for those packed onto a sardine-like métro platform. They may even fight one another to be the first ones to get into the train, to make sure they’re going to get home as soon as they can.

As I sit here in my apartment writing this article, I am midly bemoaning the fact that we couldn’t go out to the cinema this evening. Every option for going out was ruined: we didn’t want to wait 20 or 30 minutes for a métro; it was raining out hardly enough to deter us from taking our bikes; and we could have taken the car but the traffic outside was roaring loudly enough that we didn’t dare.

The only consolation for this stranded young American in a modern Parisian world is some hot chocolate, made with fresh (not high temp pasteurized) milk, which, yes, is a rarity.