Paris: Ready to Roll?
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Stumble It!We're spinning around Place Vendôme, catching the air, as they say, gliding over the wide granite sidewalks shiny as groomed ice - past Cartier, Boucheron, and The ritzy Ritz. Then we circle again, braking to press our noses against the window of Cartier, and run our hands over the 18th-century facade at No.12 where Chopin died. I smile giddily at the sourpusses exiting the Ritz.
This is not my first glimpse of Place Vendôme. I've enjoyed it as a flat-footed pieton. But now I cavort rather than plod, waltz rather than slog. I'm on rollers, as the French call in-line skates, finding my groove in this delightful Parisian craze that has its roots in the transport strikes of the 1990s.
When my friend Jean-Pierre suggested doing Paris on wheels ("We must do ze rollaire!"), I blanched. I'm pretty much a klutz on skates - with only a half dozen Sunday twirls around Central Park under my belt. But he insisted, and a weird mix of over-the-hill determination and national pride pushed me to take up the challenge. We rented skates and armor (kit de protection) from the huge selection at Nomades Roller Shop at Place Bastille (37 Bld. Bourdon, www.nomadeshop.com, cash and ID required).
Now on a Sunday morning, I'm amusing myself beaucoup! It's not hard to understand why in-line skating has taken Paris by storm. It must be the greatest city in the world for the sport. Except for Montmartre, Paris is flat. Its panoramic boulevards are lined with broad, smooth-as-glass sidewalks where I can weave, wobble, and flail, giving wide berth to grandmères leashed to pudgy terriers and children flying by on bikes and scooters. Curbs slope down at every intersection, making sidewalk skating a cinch. There are also many bike lanes - used more by skaters than cyclists.
On Sundays, the city closes the highways along the Seine and the Canal Saint-Martin to all but bikers and in-line skaters. But what captivates me most about this adventure is that I'm seeing Paris with fresh eyes. I thought I knew the Marais, for instance, but our rollers propel us to silent medieval squares I never knew existed.
There are other, less obvious, reasons to do Paris on wheels. One is the charm of making contact with locals. Solidarity exists among skaters here - the taboo that normally prohibits small talk between strangers dissolves. I watch Jean-Pierre. He plunks down next to a fellow skater on a park bench and talks equipment. At a café in Saint Germain, where we sip Shinto-red Kir Royales, two skaters at the next table - an ultra-thin woman and her Rubenesque daughter - strike up a friendly conversation. "Vous vous amusez?" they ask. "Where are you headed next?”
I detect warmth and camaraderie among in-liners in this normally standoffish city. Skates also liberate you from the rules of dress and decorum in oh-so-civilized Paree. You can just be your casual old Anglo-Saxon self, and Parisians - rather than turning up their fine, beaked noses at you - will esteem you, because to wear les rollers, says Jean-Pierre, is to be "vachement cool".
Sundays are the best time to roll around Paris. Glide up and down the spacious sidewalks of the boulevards that radiate from the Bastille - Richard Lenoir, Beaumarchais, and Henri IV. Then head over to the enchanting Place des Vosges before sweeping your way down Rue des Francs Bourgeois and into the heart of the Marais, where you skate in the street because sidewalks are narrow and traffic is light.
Explore the maze of aromatic lanes to your heart's content (OK, so the cobbles back here jiggle you like Jell-O), stopping for a crêpe at one of the many cafés advertising yet another Sunday craze, le brunch. Stride on down Rue de Rivoli. Take a spin around Pei's pyramid at the Louvre, then around the fabulous gardens of the Palais Royal - bordered by the stately homes of Cocteau and Colett - and soar west to Place Vendôme.
Too worn-out to skate back to your rental shop? Catch a cab or put on your shoes (they're in your backpack, aren't they?) and return by bus or metro. The wearing of skates is prohibited on public transportation. Need a toilette? Those in cafés are almost always either up or downstairs and hard to reach on skates. Instead, try the capsules on the streets (said to be the cleanest in all of Paris). Nomades Roller Shop also has toilets.
A word of caution: Steer clear of the grillwork on the sidewalks around the trees where your wheels can get caught. Watch out for people opening car doors, or there'll be hell to pay. And keep an eye out for dogs on retractable leashes - Eeek! - and the superabundant doggie-doo.
If you'd prefer to skate with a well-behaved group and police escorts, join the excursion that leaves Sundays at 2:30 from Nomades Roller Shop. Rent your skates early, as the shop often runs out before the trip.
For the truly intrepid skater (like Jean-Pierre), there's Le Friday Night Fever skating stampede, a madcap, testosterone-fueled event that leaves from Montparnasse Station at 10:00 p.m. and careens through 30 kilometers of Paris, followed by medics and ambulances scooping up the fallen.
Jann finds Paris almost as irresistible as Sicily, where she's at work on a memoir, Kissing Sicilians: My Life in Ragusa, Sicily. Here's her website
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