The Beauty (Paris, and anything Parisian) and the Beast (me!) – Paris

By: Arvind S

The Beauty (Paris, and anything Parisian) and the Beast (me!)
Paris

Paris is probably the most romanticized and fantasized about city in the world. That translates into practice too, for it is also the most visited city in the world as well. Deeply rich in history, art, and today – fashion, lifestyle, the city has been a trendsetter for the rest of the world for centuries. Think art, and you think of Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo. Think buildings, and you think of Notre Dame cathedral in Paris and Eiffel tower. I can go on, but I am already sounding like I a reading out Paris tourism promotional guide. Its practically impossible to talk about Paris without going overboard in praising her!

No, I am not in the position to give a first hand report on the head-scarf controversy, though it didn’t seem to be a big issue there. I could be wrong though. The first thing that struck me when I got here from Amsterdam was the lack of English speaking skills – Amsterdam spoiled me into believing that all Europeans speak better English than I myself. Another barrier, with those that spoke English or when asking about places, is the very different pronunciation in French. A lot of alphabets sound so similar in French – I wonder who designed a language that uses so little of their vocal facilities!

I have been told that many French who know English well refuse to speak it in France. Soon after I landed, a French non-English speaker attempted to give me the subway directions to my destination – he had to write down “RER” and “rue” because I wasn’t familiar with French pronunciation of “r”. The difficulty he went through explaining it to me in all French – it’s hard to believe he will go through this pain just for the language pride. I will dismiss those stories as another example of French leg-pulling that we all so very much like to indulge in.

I landed in Paris around 11 p.m., and reached my friend’s metro station about midnight. While getting out of the station, I noticed a pleasant-looking non-East-Indian girl in an Saree–a traditionally Indian dress. It’s pretty likely that she is an Indo-phile, and if I am lucky, I may get her to show me a bit of the city. Besides, I didn’t have anything to lose – I can always pretend to have lost my way, always easy to do in a new place. I got out and followed her, semi-running to catch up with her. She must have been scared at the thought of kinda being chased on a very deserted street on Sunday midnight, for she kept looking behind her back. As I caught up her, she turned right into a street. I termed following her further as too risky, turned back, and headed towards my destination.

Ask me how it feels to be stuck in one of the prettiest places of the world as a tourist, but instead of going about admiring, spending one of the three days there running around the banks and shelling out a fortune talking to your bank in Boston. My credit card payments online hadn’t yet been processed due to the weekend, and I was stuck with my credit card close to the credit limit and my having practically no cash – whatever I had was spent on getting those phone cards, that in addition to ripping me apart, blackening my finger nails from peeling the code on them. If you ever see me with dirty nails, its not because I am untidy – it’s stupid Paris that you must blame!

In the hindsight, I could have spent the day walking through wonderful Parisian streets – but god knows who invented the word “hindsight” and gave us so much more to feel sorry or guilty for. Seriously though, there is lot to watch on the streets of Paris – shops and showrooms flaunting latest fashion products, cars, and anything that makes you look or feel cool. And there are buildings, pillars, capitals, statues, and gardens that are littered all over the city but diminished in stature by their sheer abundance – each of them such that practically any other city in the world would love to have it and gladly put it on top of tourist’s to-see list!

Other than getting a crash course on International Banking 101 that day, there is only one other positive thing that came out – I saw a theater performance in arguably the grandest opera house in the world for free on the opening night. It was in French, and I didn’t understand a single line of conversation, but to my credit (or simplicity of French stories lacking Shakespearean melodrama?), I understood the story. And, in my battered jeans, t-shirt, and shoes, I got to hang out among the who-is-who of Paris, all impeccably groomed and dressed.

Let it be known to all ye travelers – no amount of travel book reading can replace the experiences of local resident in enjoying the best of a place. It was the Parisian friend of mine who know about the cheap student tickets to the shows in Opera house; it turned out to be a premiere night, the attendance was by invitation only, and since there were seats still left, we got in for free. All we had to do was to pretend we were students of some local Lecoq drama school – pretty easy to do if you don’t understand what others ask or say to you, and you are dependent on someone else to guide you and translate things for you.

My credit card balance was restored the next day, I was ready to do the normal touristy things. I began with Notre Dame Cathedral. It was impressive and huge, no doubt, but the lesson of the hour for me was not its grandeur, but the concept of renovating/adding on to historical monuments. Let me try to explain.

I had thought of historical monuments as being almost untouched since the time of their construction – that was my idea of antiquity. But the cathedral, like many other monuments, had undergone many renovations since then, and as I write, is undergoing another one. It begged question whether it’s reasonable to start the age of the monument as when it was first built. The case in favor of making the monument look it was first built or envisioned of instead of letting it fall apart is strong enough.

The majesty of Notre Dame cathedral is easy to see, but to see what lay underneath, go underneath (sorry for being trite) to the archaeological museum. There you can see remains of walls that lay at the site from the Roman period to pre-cathedral times – man, that was too much history for too little land, sort of like Jerusalem having sacred places for about 70% of world population. At least, the Parisians managed to let all the history co-exist peacefully, even if they had to dig out space to do that. As an engineer, it is disappointing to see how similar the walls 2000 years ago are to those in present times – no wonder the monuments from those times are still regarded as master pieces today, while no one will give a damn to the science or technological knowledge of those times!

There are comedy movies on lack of communication due to language mismatch. Something similar happened to me in the park behind the cathedral. As I stay there munching bananas (I had learned to do carry them around – food, like everything else in Paris, was expensive), an old man enjoying the sun on a bench, his hand and chin resting on staff said something in French that I didn’t understand, but by the way he said it, must have been something pleasant.

“No parles francais”, I tried to reply.
An attempt or two, later, I got the point across that I spoke no French, and he, that he spoke no English. Now, our conversation broke in a one-word question and answers, sort of what babies in early stage learn, or what George W. Bush is only getting to get hold of.
“Tourist?”, he asked.
“Oui”, I said.
“American?”.
“No, Indian”
He looked puzzled.
“Indisches”, I tried again, then immediately realizing that was Dutch, not French.
“Indien”, I said again, this time carefully.
He signaled me to join him on the bench. He seemed to be nice, but I feared taking up the offer to join on the bench – it will be difficult to get up, and that would mean a few more minutes of this unproductive conversation. I made a walking signs with my fingers, mumbled something like “to go”, turned back, and left, avoiding looking at him again as his eyes followed me leave.

I am not an art connoisseur – in fact, I consider myself incapable of admiring art. But to visit Paris and not see Mona Lisa or Venus de Milo is like visiting MIT but not seeing the dome or the Stata center (in spite of all people may say, I say “Thank you, Mr Gehry”!) So, went my remaining one-and-a-half days in Louvre museum and Museum de Orsay.

I was expecting to be lovestruck after seeing Mona Lisa, expecting to see her in my dreams when I get back the way I see Hollywood women. I felt a bit letdown – the small sized (stop giggling, I am talking of the painting and not anything about the figure depicted) painting, if I didn’t have a short wall all for itself, would have hardly stood out in the midst of large impressive paintings abounding around it. Someone next to me mentioned about how the woman’s bust the in painting formed a perfect triangle, and how Leonardo da Vinci regarded it was his only completed work, etc. etc. – but I preferred to move on.

Venus de Milo, on the other hand, was easier to admire – the three dimensionality helped. The subtle soft figure, the broad hips…maybe I will have dreams about the this sometime! Looking at other Greek and Roman sculptures, I made any etymological discovery for myself– the origin for the word hermaphrodite – its from hermes + aphrodite, or the son of hermes and aphrodite, who united with a nymph to get his bisexual nature. Though not good enough a discovery to get me my PhD, I was, like the five year old boy who discovered that blue and yellow when mixed make green, proud of myself! Next stop, Museum de Orsay – art is much easier to understand if seen chronologically, looking at gentle evolution through different times.

Talking about beauty in the context of Paris, its difficult to leave out Parisian women. Non-Parisian French women, please be not offended – I haven’t seen the rest of, or any bit of the rest of, France, so I am not qualified to comment on that. I do hereby proclaim it loud and far – Parisian women are, and are so by quite some margin, the most beautiful women I have ever seen. There is something very classy about them, their looks, the way they carry themselves – they look classy even in the jazziest sleaziest club attire. My travel-worn look and language handicap didn’t really give me any chance with them, and given my Amsterdam misadventures, I didn’t get too adventurous with them.

In the evening, I went to the Eiffel tower and Arc of Triumph. The last time I checked, Eiffel tower was the most visited monument in the world, and I knew what to expect – that and overcrowding took away some fun of it. Arc of Triumph was a pleasant surprise, however. Not very crowded but the terrace still offered a great view of the city – a perfect place to come with friends with food or drinks and party till the 10 p.m. closing time. A little bit of history and future history about the Arc – Napoleon built it to commemorate a major victory, the Allied troops marched through it after liberating Paris from the Nazis, and in a few years, George W. Bush will march underneath it after liberating Paris from France as part of his War on Terror.

Checking out French live music scene was also on my agenda. So, I picked up a local event guide and the mean miserly student that I am, picked up a no-cover jazz place. As if I hadn’t enough surprises already, all singers there sang in English as they sat about joking and chatting about in French, probably sneering at the lyrics of the sang they just sang. They were very few people there – I felt noticed, and hence compelled to order some drink when asked. I asked for Coca-cola, but my inflated ego on saving money by doing so was burst when I saw the bill– 5 euros for a freaking bottle of coca-cola. I felt like someone just slapped me, and then mocking at me, held up a sign saying “Welcome to Paris, you broke moron”. Thankfully, the subway had stopped running when I came out – I was saved of 1 euro and 40 cents that I would have spent on the ticket instead of walking back.

I could go on and on – even a week in Paris will not be sufficient to explore her (no, I am confusing Paris with a women; I am just using a feminine gender to emphasize Paris’ beauty). There are streets and shops, there are museums monuments, there are bars and clubs – the best each of their kind, and I will end with the suggestion to anyone thinking about going to Paris – don’t think, just go!