Paris revisited

I can confidently state l’art de vivre is alive and well in Paris.

I was a bit worried it might not be. I haven’t been to Paris for a while. Work and leisure trips have taken me to other cities recently. Madrid, Rome, Berlin, Florence. I love them all.

Paris has, however, always had a special place in my heart. It’s where I first discovered the art de vivre. That strangely Parisian thing that turns the ordinary everyday things we do into something special. Drinking a coffee, reading the paper, buying a loaf of bread, not for me but for most Parisians, smoking a cigarette. I learnt how to make an art out of the ordinary over 30 years ago when I was young and lived in Paris and thought it was the greatest place on earth.

But just recently I’d begun to worry. Was the Parisian art de vivre a thing of the past? Paris has been in the news so often. The terrorist attacks, the gilet jaune demonstrations and riots, strikes, soldiers on the streets, too many tourists and the list goes on.

After I’d checked into my hotel. I decided to go and see if the Paris I’d fallen head over heels in love with 30 years ago was still out there. I carelessly wound a scarf round my neck, checked carefully in the mirror that it looked suitably careless, turned my collar up, ruffled my hair and set out with some trepidation.

I needn’t have worried. The cafés were full of people eating, drinking, reading, writing, flirting, arguing, laughing. I went into a café de quartier, full of local people. I sat down ordered a pastis, picked up the paper and was taken back 30 years. I looked around, the café was full. There was a table of young people deep in conversation, they were animated and passionate, at another table a moody looking couple stared into each other’s eyes saying nothing. The evening was either going to end badly or very well. Something or someone had upset a group of middle aged men. Probably the President. The argument was passionate but good humoured. I settled down to my drink and my paper. It was going to be alright. Paris hadn’t changed. Just then an elderly woman sat down in the empty chair at my table. Something scratched at my leg. I looked down to see an oriental looking dog, a sort of scrawny pekingese with a protruding bottom jaw. His mistress looked at me and growled “That’s his spot” . Before I could reply the dog was on my lap, looking very pleased with himself. He settled down with a long sigh. I smiled to myself. Yes, Paris was still different from other cities. I finished my drink and went out in search of dinner. The streets were full, not just with people rushing to get somewhere, but with people enjoying their city. Doing ordinary things but somehow making them look extraordinary.

So despite all I’d seen on the news, my fears were unfounded. L’art de vivre is alive and well in Paris.

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