Edgy Paris

The graffiti artists have been everywhere. Frequently it is obscene

The graffiti artists have been everywhere. Frequently it is obscene

The graffiti artists have been everywhere. Frequently it is obscene

The graffiti artists have been everywhere. Frequently it is obscene

Paris, France

I am sorry but I must complain. You see it is all to do with Paris. Paris, that Mecca for all travellers, certainly a centre for romance and a capital city so close to London we Brits could almost call the place our own. The problem is simple. Paris has changed, actually France has changed, and not always for the better.

I remember the days - OK I am as old as time - when I could wander the Parisian streets, ride the Metro, even get on a wobbly bicycle without any sense of edginess. Then, maybe ten years ago I began to feel edgy for the first time whenever I was out and about. Yet in those days I had that feeling only on the Paris Metro. I thought it was just me. I could walk the capital’s streets happily and without any fear of mishap. The Metro was something I used but I never stayed for long.

But the change continued. Next it was the Gare du Nord. Board the Eurostar at London’s St Pancras and all seems well. Disembark at the Gare du Nord and edginess is my first view. The taxi tout, the pickpockets, even the youngster snorting cocaine not-so-surreptitiously behind a station pillar. At the Gare du Nord I keep my possessions tight against me and make certain not to produce a wallet anywhere near public display. What a major contrast there is between London’s St Pancras and Paris’ Gare du Nord. I challenge you to miss it as you simply cannot compare them. Be warned - brace yourself for the experience the moment you board the Eurostar in London and head for Paris. By all means look into your loved one’s eyes with emotion, longing, call it what you will but keep a tiny portion of your mind on guard.

As I type these words - and I am sitting in yet another café downing my umpteenth double espresso of the day - I can overhear a Frenchman telling a visitor from Singapore, “The French stations are not so interesting.” The local’s accent is so French he could be on a West End stage. But what a serious understatement. Particularly when I realise that in the last nine months there have been 37,000 attempts to illegally cross the English Channel from France using the Eurotunnel. That is a lot of people trying very hard to get nowhere and at considerable risk to those involved and many who are not. As the Eurostar pulls in to Paris you see the high fencing around you and could easily be arriving at a prison. The powers-that-be are trying very hard to keep the runaways out and I bet you they are losing.

Yet Paris seems to have become worse still. Now there are areas in the French capital where I cannot make headway on a pavement and am obliged to take to the road as my way is barred by a beggar, perhaps a vagrant, or in one case a refugee family whose little boy was so sound asleep on the sidewalk that I was fearful to disturb him. His tiny arm flopped outwards onto the paving like some paediatric barrier. The only way past was round and that meant stepping onto the road.

Paris now has a feel that I have not experienced in the city before. Even the affluent areas are worrying while the manifestly dubious quarters make me worry even more. There is something in the wings, maybe around the corner, something waiting to happen or even something hidden. Police are on full display. They are armed and look as if they are waiting for trouble.

I can see why of course, as the capital, indeed the country, has had more than its fair share of incident in recent times. Many lives have already been lost. Look at Nice, Charlie Hebdo, and the Bataclan, where horrific things were done to the hostages. If the figures are to be believed, France has experienced more than 70 terrorist incidents since 1970. That is more than enough by any standards. You can see why the Right Wing feels it might thrive. There are graffiti, not too much litter, but wherever I wander folk look at me with suspicion. The figures show that the crime rate has risen unacceptably in the last three years, especially vandalism and theft. And there on the front door of the Odéon theatre hang instructions about what I should do in the event of a terrorist attack. It is difficult to escape the feeling of impending doom in today’s French capital. Gone are the days when I would have given a right arm to buy a pied-à-terre somewhere luxurious in Paris. These days it is in, out, and count my blessings if I have everything with me that I took in.

Fortunately, some things rarely change. What about the grumpy French waiter who clicks, clucks, rolls his eyes and looks disinterested when all I order is onion soup at lunchtime instead of a five-course meal with wine? “So British,” one said to me only today without a hint of a smile.

For sure, grumpy waiters have been the way of things in Paris for generations. I expect them, I see them, I order from them and can vaguely handle what to expect. But the rest? The edginess, the violence, the rising crime and the semi-conflict footing I see around me? Oh dear. Our French brethren have their work cut out, I sense.

Actually, for grumpiness read arrogance, a well-known French trait. They were writing about it nearly 2000 years ago and it seems not to have changed. In fact, France has been judged the most unwelcoming country for travellers worldwide so perhaps it is not just me. Mind you, the study that reported this finding comprised 60% Brits; we voted even ourselves as the world’s third rudest nation and certainly the globe’s worst travellers so we cannot justifiably pass comment on others.

Anyway, the French and the English have been arguing for generations, certainly since 1066. Look at the Hundred Years War (1137-1453), the fall of Calais (1558), and the American War of Independence (1775-1783) when the French supported the Yanks and declared war on us to boot. That is not counting Napoleon (1804-1815), De Gaulle’s veto to stop the UK joining the Common Market in 1963 and, horror of horrors, France’s refusal to support George Bush’s intent to Shock and Awe Iraq in 2003. We, the Brits, were signing merrily. But guess what? The French, President Chirac in particular, wanted to give the weapons inspectors longer to inspect. Just think what might have happened had the world listened to the French. How different today might have been.

Paris as I remember it

Paris as I remember it

Paris as I see it now

Paris as I see it now

In the event of the unwelcome, this is what you do

In the event of the unwelcome, this is what you do