Let’s start with the ugly (because I always like to end on a good note). But let me be clear, nothing could actually be called ugly in Paris. Not the sights, not the food, the wonderful people or experiences to be had. Paris should be accordingly adored and revered by all. I love her.
But if you’re a tourist, there is some ugly and bad to be had….
The Palace of Versailles. Not, in itself, ugly at all! The
Palace is so gorgeous and sumptuous, with stories singing out from every corner
and bouncing off the gold walls. Here is history if not personified, then made
real in architecture. Here it should be easy to recall the extravagance of
Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette and picture the struggling masses outside starving
and baying for blood. Every ornately painted ceiling, every vast and sweeping
marble staircase, and every lavishly furnished room should transport you to
another time and place. You should be able to picture yourself strolling in the
gardens, entertaining fellow aristocrats and generally living a selfish and
indulgent life.
But in fact what you’re most concerned about, right from the
outset, is being in the right line and then fiercely guarding your place in it,
careful not to let through any sneaky line hoppers who might get in
approximately 30 seconds before you (you’re going to spend hours there, but
still!). You approach the imposing, gilded frontage of Versailles with a sense
of awe and wonder but before you’ve bought your ticket you’re defensive and
antagonistic.
You get worse. You start elbowing your way through crowds,
mocking umbrella wielding tour guides, and rolling your eyes in disdain at
those arrogant prats who insist on taking flash photography even though, very
clearly, the signs say ‘no flash photography’. Normally you’re benign and easy
going, but now you glare menacingly at the back of the head of the person who
just squeezed into the tiny slice of free space in front of you. People lose
their senses – they push in, they push you over and they push your limits of
patience and decency.
The Palace of Versailles with tourists edited out. |
Fellow tourists are ugly. Yes, yes, I was one of them. But
somehow, others are always worse. Right?
The Bad
Stairs and urine. It’s a cliché I know, but endless metro
stairs and the overwhelming smell of urine together are the undeniable ‘bad’ of
Paris. A small price to pay, but none the less, it must be paid. The metro
itself is excellent – quick, convenient and reasonably priced. But there were
rarely escalators going up and never going down and so, at the end of a long
day of endless walking, facing a long winding stair case made one sigh and
frown just a little bit. In some metro stations the sour rancid smell of urine
was overpowering. There seemed to be a little run off area against each wall –
just wide enough to fit your foot inside. This was often the damp and
undeniable source of the urine smell. Imagine then, my horror when I stumbled a
little and stuck my scantily sandalled foot into one of these gutters. Had you
witnessed this event, you would have seen my face silently transformed into the painting The Scream and my graceful but frantic backwards pirouette across the
platform, arms windmilling, whimpering pitifully. A tentative examination
confirmed that this was, mercifully, a dry gutter and that a soak in a disinfectant
bath for 24 hours would probably suffice. Maybe.
But oftentimes our forbearance of urine and stairs was
rewarded with an amazing busking performances – a middle aged duo delighted a
crowded, tourist-laden train with every hokey wedding reception song
imaginable, complete with accordion and guitar. Then there were the funky hip
hop artists who turned the carriage into an instant nightclub, and who pole
danced and made people smile and take photos. Worth it.
The Good
Where do I begin? There are so many very good things about
Paris. Here is a city in which you have a moment to remember the special little
things in life. And they’re simple. We
spent an afternoon sitting by the Seine with fresh pastries and a bottle of
wine. We strolled through the Tuileries Garden, soaking up the early summer
sunshine, and we meandered through the grand apartments and boutiques of the
historically significant Marais area. There we found a fresh food market and we
admired the luscious colours and smells, unable to resist some sweet peaches. Paris
is a city in which you can just be. Full stop. Good. Very good.The streets of Marais |
We left the Trocadero and wandered down the street in search of the Victor Hugo metro and it took us forever because we constantly stopped to peer through the most amazing window scenes of wealth and excess. The streets were getting dark and the chandeliers shone brightly. The buildings were impossibly lush and ornate and we wondered how people lived their lives in there. Did they think of their lives as extraordinary, I wondered? Or simply, wonderfully, just Parisian.