Open Writing

Avoid Paris like the plague during the Renault burning season. And when there’s a garbage strike. July and August can be hot, so avoid the place then too. If the students are restless and the cops are out in force, I’d give it a miss as well.

Paris, like the weather, gives you something to whinge about and everybody who has visited there seems to have their favourite tale of woe about the French capital; whether it’s the prices, traffic, never ending sirens, cab drivers or the crowds. But I have to admit, I can’t wait to get back there. It’s that sort of place.

There are a couple of ways of seeing Paris. The first is from the top of Montparnasse. It’s the tallest building in France and the elevator screams up the 210 metres in about 30 seconds and drops you on the observation deck. They say you can see for about 40 kilometres. So you should be able to check out any Renault burning or student unrest and plan your day accordingly. It can be crowded, but there’s a bistro and a few extra flights of stairs takes you to the roof where the view is fantastic. There are also plenty of tours available but there’s usually a bit of a time thing with tours unless they’re personalised and therefore more expensive, so I’d suggest you ask at the hotel for directions and do it yourself.

The other way of seeing Paris is better. Take the Metro to Place de Clichy, then follow the crowds up to the big carousel at the bottom of the stairway to Sacre Coeur. From there either grab the Funicular railway which climbs up to Montmartre or take the stairs. But there are a lot of them and just after they start you might have to fight your way through about five thousand Moroccan guys selling trinkets.

And try not to visit during weekends or public holidays. The road up from the Metro will be really busy and the stairs leading up to Sacre Coeur will be saturated with tourists and young Parisians desperately trying to look cool.

The village of Montmartre sits beside Sacre Coeur, which was finally finished in 1914. Although if I was a local and had an urge for peace and solitude on a Sunday, I wouldn’t count on any quality prayer time in Sacre Coeur. There’s an endless stream of tourists shuffling through the place as the locals just sit there wondering what happened to their suburb. Or if they’d be better off in Bierut or Kabul where it’s quieter.

Montmartre needs time. There are lots of little winding streets, staircases that go on and on, and in the main square, dozens of artists doing instant sketches or working on becoming famous. There are places all round the square where you can grab a meal, sit on a coffee, or just watch the never ending flow of tourists and listen to the sounds of Montmartre. The day we were there, a young woman was doing all the Edith Piaf numbers and winding out the backing music on a sort of organ grinder. Only in Montmartre.

If you can, fight your way to the front of Sacre Coeur, then spend a few minutes taking in the rooftops of Paris, all bathed in that magical pink and white. If you don’t want to go down with the railway or run the Moroccan gauntlet, take the road that winds down the side of the hill on which Montmartre and Sacre Coeur are situated. It runs through a few laneways and there’s the occasional plaque that tells you that Monet or Picasso or whoever lived in this or that house. There’s also a guided walking tour that shows you things you’d never find for yourself and anecdotes that show what an exciting place Montmartre must have been.

Then there’s the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Arc de Triomphe and of course the Seine. For a lot of people the Seine is Paris. You can either stroll along its banks or take one of the bateaux mouches, or river boats and sit back and listen to the commentary. The trip takes you under all the bridges and back through history describing the origins of Paris and detailing the history of various buildings along the way. The Alexandre Trois Bridge has to one of, or perhaps the most, beautiful bridge in Paris. The day tours are more for sightseeing while the evening cruises are probably best when love is in the air.

What can I say about the Tower? It’s brilliant, the focal point of Paris. But when you visit, get there early as the queues can be scary. The trip up to the observation section is maybe not as fast as Montparnasse but a lot more exciting. We were told that originally it wasn’t supposed to be permanent, but was retained as it was so popular. Yeah maybe, but I can’t see that a team of guys would have been able to unbolt the thing and stick it into a storage unit somewhere, until next time.

As for the Louvre, well, I’ve been to Paris a few times and have yet to get in as queues and I are not compatible. But I believe that if you’re with a tour group it’s a lot easier. A couple of people I’ve spoken with say that before you visit, work out exactly what it is you want to see as the place is so huge you can’t possibly cover everything. Next time maybe.

The Arc de Triomphe is another must as is a stroll along the Champs Elysee. A stroll is certainly a lot less expensive than some of the shops where the prices are not displayed. Any sort of enquiry is met with a laser look that says you must be kidding. There is also the slightest implication that perhaps Monsieur is a loser. But there are other types of hustles going on along the Champs Elysee as well.

Twice when I’ve been there a young guy has bent down in front of where I was standing, and said, “Monsieur, you’ve dropped your ring.” What a Samaritan. I told him it wasn’t mine. He said it must have been, he saw it fall. He checks it out, like he’s Paris’s number one goldsmith and tells me that it has to be worth big bucks. So I tell him he’s had a win.

He gives me the practiced French shrug of resignation and says he hasn’t the time to try and sell it, but that I could probably do a deal somewhere. “If Monsieur can perhaps give me a few Euros…” I check my forehead to make sure the dummy sign is switched off and wave adieu. At dinner that night, an English guy from Liverpool tells me he’s had a massive win, a definite result. Seems he was outside McDonalds when this young guy comes up …C’est la vie.

Try to get to the Arc just after sunrise and catch the sun racing up the Champs Elysee. Then go and have coffee and croissants afterwards. There are worse ways to spend a couple of hours. But do not under any circumstances try to cross the road to the Arc. Not unless the accountant’s emailed news of your impending bankruptcy, the affair has just ended for good or the tax office want to send you to Devil’s Island. Apart from being illegal, it’s suicidal, so use the underground access.

Every hour thousands of motorists converge on the roundabout and the Arc is on the island in the middle. There are no lanes and it’s French driving at its most creative, where everyone has to merge at a million miles an hour. Usually the loudest horn wins. But no one gets the finger and there are no shouted threats. C’est normale. There may be a small break in the traffic during the middle of winter between three a.m. and five past when it’s quieter, but I wouldn’t count on it. And come to think of it, I don’t recall any instances of road rage in all the times I’ve visited the place. Oh sure, there’s animated conversations and obscure gesticulations that probably imply that your mother’s name is on half the toilet walls in Paris, but even that is done with a certain amount of flair.

In Paris, don’t even think about your diet. Cast a loving and expansive arm around all the cholesterol, sugar and fat and just enjoy the moment. If you’re on a budget, have an enormous breakfast at your hotel, throw a baguette, some cheese and a cheap bottle of red into a backpack and have a late lunch when you’re close to collapse.

Finally, don’t try to speak French unless you know what you’re doing. You can end up looking like a goose. Most waiters don’t have the time to stand round listening to your attempts to murder their beautiful language. They’re going to short-change you anyway as a matter of course, so why make things worse?

Yeah, the place is a rip-off. The French are arrogant, there’s dog poo everywhere and you have to pay to go to the toilet. Still, I might give it one more try. Find a cheap hotel, wander back up towards the Champs Elysee. But I’ll watch where I tread this time. And I won’t ask the prices either.

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