Paris is the city of superlatives — of stunning landmarks, dramatic monuments, the beau arts, classy museums, haute cuisine, haute couture, city of lights, the most touristic city on our planet, and last but not least — the most romantic city in the world. Yes, you bet, that’s Paris!
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But in fact, Paris is none of the above. Not in everyday life anyway. I would say there’s an image of Paris, an ideal Paris, a touristic Paris, and there is — just Paris. As it is. As I’ve experienced it. And that’s a whole lot different than the fancy statements would have liked you to believe.
In reality, Paris boasts an ultra-individualistic, stressful, and hasty environment, and it’s an unbelievably expensive city. Not only money-wise, but it’s likewise a rather expensive exercise for your mental health.
Paris is the city of crazy people. Literally. Crazy people all around you: in your apartment building, in the streets, in the subways, in cars, on scooters, in shops. It’s also the city of clochards — the homeless people. The city of broken hearts. Of shattered dreams. A city where so many people actually want — to leave. If they could.
To me, as an ordinary working guy giving Thai Massage treatments, the perfect image of Paris is this daily event happening just below the surface: just take Métro line 4 “Direction Porte de Clignancourt” at noon, and preferably on an average weekday in October or in January. It’s a stupendous experience — wet sardines canned in tin boxes, but still breathing.
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Yet, Paris nurtures an impressive internationalized uni-cultural society. You’ve read it correctly: not multi-ethnic, not multi-cultural, but uni-cultural. In a mysterious way Paris is capable of pulling everything and everyone into — the French thing. But after all, it’s France isn’t it? She’s just overwhelmingly — contagious.
It has been my place. The place that fed me, sheltered me when I needed it most. The place that gave me the opportunity to try, to develop, to test. To survive. I don’t regret Paris. I never will.
But as so many other Parisians — at some point I wanted to leave. Not many succeed doing so, but if they do, they’ll always return some day, some time, somehow. Like I did, and probably will do again.
