Paris Sunday trading: Losing its religion

When I lived in Los Angeles or New York, I thought of Sunday shopping as my birth right. Rushing out to the store to find the right t shirt or shirt or accessories on a Sunday afternoon for a party that night was just a thing I took for granted. I often did my grocery shopping at midnight too…
Yet, in Paris, most shops are closed on Sundays, except for bakeries (not all either…though I guess they realize that the French without their baguette might lead to riots. And boy, those baguettes can really be a rock hard weapon after just a day, unlike American bread that can stay soft for weeks!); If you did not plan ahead and buy food or that cute hat you want to wear to the party on Saturday, well, tough luck. And forget about shopping after 7/30 or 8 pm. Stores are closed then.

Recently, in a bar with a friend, I innocently expressed how I missed Sunday shopping. This brought an unexpectedly violent reaction from my friend who literally said that Sunday closing is sacred, and that Sunday trading is probably only fit for capitalist pigs of the worst kind. At the moment national debates are on going everywhere as the government has proposed to allow Sunday trading. Yes, Sunday trading is prohibited by law here (and stores may be fined heavily if they open, though, in the past few years large stores might be open on Sunday and pay their fine willingly as profit is still there even after fine was paid).

The reason most evoked for no Sunday trading include Sundays being a religious day (the day when you go to church I guess), family day (everyone works or goes to school during the week) or rest day. Sunday, it seems, is just an obligatory rest day for everyone including the most poor (though this last argument is debatable…seeing the exploitation of the poor workers until recently).

The debate now concerns whether Sunday trading would be allowed, and if yes, the law that needs to be put into place. The latter include the pay that employees working on Sundays would receive, the right to refuse to work on Sundays etc.
Though France is and still ardently guards the idea of total separation of state and religion, Sunday trading debate evokes religious idea that the state is becoming involved.

Indeed the involvement of the state in our shopping could be surprising to comers to France. For instance, the state decides when stores can have ‘sales’ (You can
imagine the mad rush as all stores have sales and everyone knows when sales are going to be on coupled with the absence of these sales at any other time). This leads to fairly extreme behaviors among costumers. They camp in front of the stores to be the first to grab the items that they had checked out (and maybe hidden) the days before; they do not hesitate to be aggressive (or more so than usual at least in Paris); and fights may break out among well dressed and usually well behaved people. For people who come to Paris, these are pure entertainments that the state has unwittingly (and thus, no charge!) displayed for its visitors.

Hints for visitors : If you find yourself in Paris on a Sunday, the area called Le Marais (4th arrondissement, Metro Hotel de Ville, Saint Paul or Rambuteau) has shops open. The shopping center at the Centre du Louvre near the museum is also open (Metro : Musee du Louvre or Palais Royal). Finally, there are the flea markets including the big one at St Ouen (Metro Porte St. Ouen) and several shops such as FNAC and Virgin that are open on sundays at the Avenue Champs Elyssee (Metro Saint George).

Paris gay: outside the ghetto

In a way, Paris is a microcosm of France and more. If French people seem to be psychologically rooted to their pays (the region they are from), Parisians seem to be psychologically bound to the quartier they live in. Indeed, like the mosaic that is France, the neighbourhoods of Paris are so different that one might think it is totally another city, another pays, or another country altogether. This is a characteristic that Paris probably shares with New York. Of course Paris can also be seen as a microcosm of the world, especially of its riches and its misery as well as colors, languages and cultures.

It’s been 9 months now since I left le Marais or the 4th arrodissement of Paris. It’s been like cutting a umbilical cord and did take some healing to leave the area that I have been, in a way, reborn as a Parisian. And this feeling does not come just from inside you, but also from those around you (and hence, you cannot help but define yourself as others see you!). Unless you look Jewish, you will undoubtedly be categorized (by others) as gay, when you say you’re from the Marais. If you’re a guy, that is. And especially, if you wear body hugging t shirt.

In the Marais, I used to define myself as primarily gay, like all those around me (and unlike those who do not live in the Marais). And yet, I was painfully aware of my difference too: My skin that is not exactly snow-white, my accent etc. Maybe I emphasized my gayness because this was a characteristic that I share with those around me in the Marais. I could remember how I wanted to belong as soon as I arrived in Paris. Plunking yourself in a strange city and country with a different language can lead to the resurgence of the feelings of insecurity that you thought you left behind with your childhood and adolescence. These feelings apparently have not disappeared, but were lying dormant all these times to resurrect with a vengeance as soon as I arrived in Paris. Never mind that others still see me as a stranger (foreigner or étranger in French), the fact that we were linked by our gayness was my claim to my belonging to this neighborhood. The identity that marks le Marais is gayness (and to a certain extent, Jewishness). And I affirmed it with a vengeance.

I must admit that like a chameleon I could also think of how different I am to those around me in the Marais when the need to distance myself from those around me arose. Indeed, when all around me I see things that are superficial and based on looks alone, well, I must say that I tell myself I am not like them. Yes, despite the claim that French people are less superficial than their American counterparts in North America or Australia, when it comes to gay culture, you could pretty much mistake the Marais residents as those coming from Castro street in SF or Oxford street in Sydney. The difference between West Hollywood in L.A. and the Marais may only be noticeable when they open their mouth (to speak, that is). They are still clones that adhere to unspoken but very much present codes of dress, looks and behavior. Well, at the end, maybe that was why I felt I belonged in le Marais.

Now that I am outside the ghetto all my other identities jump out one after the other. My new neighbourhood is often flooded by tourists arriving in big buses and being herded toward the basilica Sacré Coeur . Seeing them, I am a Parisian. Yet, this neighbourhood has a lot of immigrants in all shades of color. Seeing them, I am an immigrant like they are, or shall we say, a new French. There are also gay couples and gays looking guys walking. When I see them, it’s like seeing somebody from home. Sometimes that makes me homesick and but sometimes it makes me glad to be in this patchwork of people that makes me see myself so differently at each moment.

Hints for visitors: To visit Sacre Coeur, get off at metro Anvers (or Abesse and take the little train that climbs up until the basilica if you do not want to climb the stairs). The metro Pigalle will put you right in the sex shops district. Metro Blanche is near the Erotic museum and Moulin Rouge. From all these stations you can reach Montmartre, a district in Paris that feels like a village (winding hilly streets, even vinyards!)