I was walking near the boulevard Saint-Michel the other day with an American friend when he pointed something out to me. We were passing an ordinary-looking café, and he told me that this was a very special place. It had featured in a book about Paris, apparently, in which the author (an American) had rather excitedly caught sight of a famous author and declared the spot a literary monument. Among some Americans, my friend told me, it had become a place of pilgrimage, as well as being hailed as the archetypal French brasserie.
I looked inside, I perused the menu. It was lunchtime, but everything looked pretty banal. It didn’t have that lively warmth that a bustling Parisian lunch place can exude. Even the off-chance of spotting a famous author didn’t drag me in.
It reminded me of the day last week when I was in the neighbourhood looking for a cup of coffee. It was around 8:30am, and I wanted my usual morning espresso, leaning at the bar of a café, perusing the newspaper and listening to the locals chatting about this and that. It’s what I do every morning in my own neighbourhood. I don’t chat at that time in the morning, except when the person at my elbow leans across and comments on the newspaper, or someone comes in looking for the nearby pensions office. It can feel forbidding when you wander in and every millimetre of the bar is taken up with a coffee-drinking (or beer-drinking, even at 9am), phone-consulting Frenchman, but someone will always scoot up and let you in, even if you only have room to get one arm in the crowd to pick up your coffee. It’s gregariousness personified – a lively, crowded, cosy human environment.
Last week, on the other hand, I walked along a 100-yard, café-strewn stretch of boulevard Saint-Germain and didn’t see one bar at which people were lounging. Not one barman or barmaid chatting to a local. It was all sit-down croissants. I eventually chose a place and drank my coffee in an empty room – the only customers were out on the terrace – with a perfectly friendly but obviously bored barman.
This legendary brasserie that my friend was pointing out looked the same. Efficient, Parisian in its menu and décor, but lifeless. I could only think that the American author who wrote about it didn’t dare venture further afield to a place that was livelier, and perhaps more forbidding, but really Parisian.
Yes, I am a total inverted snob, but then “real” Paris has had a few tall tales told about it recently. The first thing that struck me when Fox News identified “no-go zones” in Paris, and I saw the map, was the randomness. That huge area circled around the Gare de l’Est? What was that all about? The Gare de l’Est is probably the primmest, cleanest railway station in town.
The red-ringed areas up on the edge of the 17th and 18th arrondissements weren’t no-go as much as why-go – except to the massive flea market at Porte de Clignancourt, which is full of rather fancy antique shops, and where the only real danger is that you’ll buy an over-priced chandelier.
Anyway, yesterday, Parisian news outlets started talking about the city’s response. There are, we’re told, travel companies offering tours of the “no-go” zones to prove that they’re safe. One guide says that he will take you to a café in Belleville where you can sit down and have a drink with a local. Well, if you want to meet an unshaven TV cameraman and listen to him moan about the lack of work at the moment, or the fact that his unemployment money is being cut back to “only” a small fortune, I’d say go ahead. Belleville is full of them. (Did I mention that I’m an inverted snob?)
There are no no-go zones in Paris. Not in the daytime, anyway. And at night, you might be safer in a bustling poor area than a deserted rich one.
Visitors to the city do need to be warned about specific areas in town where it’s easy to get robbed or cheated at any time – on the place du Palais Royal outside the Louvre, where there are sometimes gang of kids who’ll try to get you to sign fake petitions and pick your pockets as you do so. The same goes for the square in front of Notre Dame. And on the whole Métro system – watch your pockets and don’t put up with it if someone repeatedly squeezes too close to you. Contrary to their reputation, Parisians avoid bodily contact as much as possible, even on a crowded train.
But these are just normal tourist protection measures. Most of the “no-go” zones were just “why-go” zones. And personally, I’d include in the why-go list much of the Latin Quarter. Sorry. The Cluny medieval museum is great. The Arènes de Lutèce are pleasant for a picnic. There are some nice little art shops. The views from the Pont Neuf can be beautiful. Rue de Buci can be lively in the evening. But the other day, my American friend (who’s lived in Paris for 20 years) and I wandered the Latin Quarter in vain in search of a café with a real, simple Parisian feel. In the end we plumped for an excellent Japanese. But only because the nice little Sicilian bistro was full.
Stephen Clarke’s book Paris Revealed talks about all the places to visit if you want to experience real everyday – and safe – Paris, including some of the so-called “no-go” zones.