Saturday, February 28, 2009

Paris boat rides



Bateaux mouches are the boats that traverse the river Seine (La Seine) up and down, carrying loads of tourists. Most have open air seating on the deck though there are also glass roofed boats (mostly for the lunch or dinner cruises). Mention Bateau mouche to a Parisian and the most likely reaction would be to poo poo these rides that a Parisian considers just too touristy and way too kitsch to believe. In public, I too poo poo the boat rides, but in private it’s a different matter. These rides are fun and you do get to see Paris at its best.
Visiting friends of course are my best excuse to go on these rides. Sighing heavily as if I was making a huge sacrifice, I would take them all on these boat rides shine or rain and day or night. In the winter, the open deck does get a bit cold though on the lower decks there are enclosed seating granted with less spectacular view. Day and night rides do give different views of Paris. Day time is fun to enjoy the sun (if it’s out) and admire the architecture of Paris landmarks in all their details (the boats pass the Louvre, Académie Française, Notre Dame, les Invalides and the Grand and the Petit Palais among others). At night, with the artistic lighting that must cost Parisian tax payers bunches of money these buildings take on a different allure altogether…less imposing maybe but softer, more mysterious and indeed evoke more the romantic image people have of Paris. I must admit that the name the City of Light for Paris is indeed well deserved. Most of these rides start at Pont d’Alma (Métro Alma Marceau) or Pont Neuf and will take you as far as the train station Austerlitz and back.

Another less known but more interesting boat ride is the one that goes from Bastille (Métro Bastille, when you go out of the station, go to the canal side where you see lots of boats anchored) to Jaurés (Métro Jaurés, in front of the cinema MK2) on the canal Saint Martin. On this ride, you will pass many neighborhoods of Paris giving you glimpses of the different facets of Parisian life and not just its landmarks. This ride is a lot longer as often we have to wait for the water gates to be opened and closed. Waiting for the water to go down on one side and up on the other, you can watch the neighborhood activities and watch people go about their business.

So, next time you have visitors, pack a lunch and go on the boat ride…you may have to contain your own excitement to convince your friends that you have become a true Parisian though.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Paris universal gay sex: Not just about sex

Talking with a straight friend (yes I have a few of those), he told me how surprised he was to learn that sex can be so easy for gay men. Apparently, he was walking with a gay friend when a man passed them going the opposite direction and looked meaningfully at his friend. His friend stopped, turned to look back and made a beeline towards the guy who had also stopped and was standing in front of a store. They exchanged phone numbers and that night they slept together. End of story. I was surprised that he found this situation surprising considering that he has a few gay friends.
My (het) friend’s story made me think. Gay sex ritual seems to be universal. When I first came to Paris, I might have had problems talking to people (due to not speaking French well), but had absolutely no problem finding men to sleep with. I just did what I had always done in Melbourne or in New York or in Los Angeles. The meaningful eye contact is a universal language that traverses cultures and colors to reunite two men in a bed (or a bush). This seems to not be the case for heterosexual ritual. For example, how a man looks at a woman that piques his interest could lead to different interpretations in different cultures (appreciated in one culture and considered as extremely vulgar in another).
Second, this confirms that we (I mean gay people) think of sex differently to our heterosexual cousins. Sex is not an end that one gets to by means of getting to know each other (as my het friends seem to think). Sex is getting to know each other, a first baby step to getting to know the other. In cases where this babystep with a man is enough to make you burst out into a song, well maybe we would invest in the next steps such as drinks, dinner and a movie with him. The mystery of course lies in what one can discover in his heart and head ….uh, let’s just say that these are the more interesting mystery boxes to discover at the end and after investing the time and energy than what a guy's pants contain!

Applying psychology to compare dinner-sex or sex-dinner :
Sex as an end implies that once you have sex with a guy he won't be interested anymore in dinners and conversation that merely were means to get to sex!
With sex out of the way, I think people are more inclined to be more honest. With sex hanging over you (so to speak), the guy will probably pick and choose (or worse yet, invent) what he says to bring him closer to your bed. (Like being good before Xmas and once you get your present, well...)

Hints for heterosexuals:
I can come up with nothing, sorry !

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Paris random thoughts in an evening

So here I am sitting on the floor of my miniscule but cute Paris apartment thinking about everything and nothing and doing mindless stuff. As usual, with my laptop on my lap.

Surfing the net, I found out that now to get a long term visa under the category ‘family’ (to join significant others in France) one needs to pass a French language and knowledge about France tests. I tried the language test and passed! Also did the test on knowledge about France and got excellent score. Questions on this test include Symbol of France (Marianne), La Marseillaise (national anthem), term for presidency (5 years), date of French revolution (1789), and bizarrely questions on Monet (Impressionist and definitely not cubist or abstract which were given as the other choices!) and Jacques Brel (Singer, and not cineaste or actor given as the other choices).
I have also heard that now to renew your carte de séjour you have to show that you speak French and have sufficient knowledge about France (history, government, culture etc.) to show your integration in the French society.

Thinking about language, tried to list French expressions I find funny or I like such as: ‘Gay as a seal' (foque = seal) is what that we say in France instead of Gay as a goose as we say in the US or Australia when there is no doubt that a guy is gay….(Actually neither goose nor seal evokes gay man in my mind).
We call people we love in france puce which means flea! So different to Honey, Pumpkin or other terms of endearment that evoke cute cuddly things that we say in the US. So my flea, you know I love you right?
My lovers often ask me if I have taken my foot after making love...taking one's foot (prendre son pied) means having fun (does it have something to do with skipping ?)(having a blast which we say in Oz or US conjures images of explosion...would be more appropriate after sex non ?).
Setting up RDVs with my lover, I always tell them to not leave me a rabbit (poser un lapin) which means not to leave me waiting for a RDV that never comes (waiting, wanting and wanton I'd say). Men you meet on the Net are notorious for this.
And my favorite expression lately is J'en ai ras le bol which means My bowl is full which means I have had it up to here !!! Bol can also be replaced by Cul (Ass) which makes the expression vulgar but with much more impact indeed.

Surfed the net again, this time looking for old school mates on Facebook. Nada. I guess they are not at an age to care or have the time to maintain a Facebook (But Barack Obama does maintain one non ?)

Surfed the meeting sites for gays and thoughts about my lovers in Paris: Guillaume who disappears each time he has a girlfriend, Raphael who has moved out of Paris to be in the Army, Samba whom I have known for 7 years but still know too little about, Reynal who makes love like an animal incidently making me fall in love with him. Also J. who is so acrobatic that after making love with him I feel like I have run the Paris matathon or played 3 sets of tennis, D who thinks he is the best lover in the world (Not!) and concentrates more on taking pictures of us making love than making love itself. Frederic who was my first love after I moved to Paris. Thierry who was one of the reasons I moved to Paris (a decision made on a rainy night when he kissed me on the Pont des arts). And the many other lovers whose names I cannot remember anymore (or maybe never knew).

Finally, set up a RDV with yet another nameless (or fake named) guy to pass the time and forget the cold weather of Paris. I hope he would not me give me a rabbit, and that we will both take our foot, maybe he would even murmur that I am his flea, and I hope also that he is macho acting rather than like me, a seal on the verge of thinking that his bowl is full!

Hints for visitors:
A few phrases in French go a long way to start friendly conversations with the locals. Bonjour is Hello/good day. Parlez vous Anglais is Do you speak English. Merci is thank you. To tell someone to fuck off, say Va te faire foutre (or of course a few rude universal gesture will suffice).


Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Paris neighborhood: Pigalle

The neighbourhoods in Paris as in many large cities appear to be divided by money as much as race. Add to that specific atmosphere that has always characterized a given quartier that seems to traverse any divides based on money or colour. Pigalle, for instance, is a quartier that people will say chaud (litterarlly, it means Hot)…it’s sex, vices and all the things that people are fascinated by but dare not say or do. But residents of Pigalle would probably tell you how it has changed. If Pigalle before really was a place of debauche (though the tourists had always been there), today only vestiges or gentrified version remains. Sure, there are still lots of sex shops but these are now frequented by curious tourists, clean looking couples rather than the hard core people who frequented old Pigalle. The prostitutes that used to be an integral part of Pigalle are less visible because of newer and stricter laws concerning prostitution (what is France coming to? No sex, no cigarette?). The transvestites that used to line the small street from Place Pigalle to the hills above are as rare as UFOs. Where have they all gone?

But sex is still in the air if less than before but at least more so than in other quartiers of Paris. As a gay man walking the sidewalk (or the island in the middle of the boulevard) the possibilities of meeting men are always there. Not men that you find in the gay ghetto like le Marais, but men who say they are heterosexual, men who are just feeling randy, and of course gay men who don’t feel (or don’t want to be part of) the gay ghetto all cruise in Pigalle. Not to mention, of course, those who do it for money. Some do it for money because they need it, some do it just as a symbol to convince themselves that they are not gay. Of course, you have to know who to look at among the hordes of tourists who come to Pigalle by the busloads.

Aside from the sex shops, the tourists come to Pigalle also to see the show at Moulin Rouge (Metro Blanche, which is just next to Pigalle), the Sacre Cœur (Metro Anvers, also next to Pigalle on the other side). The cabaret featuring transvestites (actually called transformists) Chez Michou and Madame Arthur are also in Pigalle (there are still other traditional cabarets as one goes up towards the hill from Pigalle…remember Pigalle was THE place for cabarets in Paris. But many are also just for tourists). Restaurants abound, of course, though you have to be choosy to avoid the tourist traps. Among those that cater to the locals, near Moulin Rouge, there is a fun restaurant with good food to boot, called le Zebre (rue Lepic). And to partake aperitifs or before dinner drinks in Pigalle there is Chao Ba which has a clubbish atmosphere with a twist of Vietnam (you can get spring rolls to nibble on when drinking). The well known café Chat Noir (it’s on all the tea towels, dirnk mats etc.) which has just recently undergone renovation is of course here. Another café that’s fun is café Fourmi just down the street from Michou and Madame Arthur (rue des martyrs). Finally, don’t forget the gay bar MZ where you are more likelty to meet men off the street that are not clones, and if you’re into sordid gay sex, the cinema at Place Pigalle!

Hints for tourists:
Avoid touts !!
Note (2013) : Chao Bas has since been closed and replaced by Indiana restaurant (:-()

Paris Manifestation or Street protests

Now, about the third or fourth thing that people associate Paris with after café, fashion and strikes is demonstrations on the streets. How many times have I been stuck in a taxi waiting for the chanting and shouting hordes of people expressing their protest to the government on some new policy or other. I would fume (and probably muttered under my breath "Bloody French")
But, as they say, people change. Now, I am those people you see on the street shouting my protests (well, not quite there yet, but I was on the street with those who shout loud).

I have noticed that changes are hard to come by in France. Each time the possibility of change is evoked, much agitation will follow until everyone is exhausted and forgets all about it and, in the end, things stay as they were. (indeed, at times I have the impression that we spend a lot of energy to stay the same!). But at the same time, these changes often come from up above (the state) that, in France, is present practically in every aspect of an individual’s life (unlike in Australia and certainly unlike the US). And often, and especially lately, they certainly wish to impose changes with dictatorial authority.

Basically, if the state is in every aspect of an individual’s life, it would make sense that a dialogue is to exist between the individuals and the state. But this does not seem to be case. Indeed, if we think that changes should be preceded by dialogues, what happens here seems to be the reverse : changes are imposed first and may be followed by a dialogue (after much protesting on the streets). The layers and layers of levels that make up the state makes it hard for people off the street to know just who to speak to, to be heard. So, better shout it on the street for all to hear.

I attended thus my first manifestation or demonstration last month. This was to protest a reform proposed by the state (though I am mostly opposed to the way it was to be imposed, with no dialogue with people concerned, especially since the changes were proposed by those ignorant of the domain). With no ready preconception (I never protested on the street before in the US or in Australia…) I did not really know what to expect. Well, I guess a successful demonstration (i.e. attended by a lot of people) means that you move about 2 metres in 3 hours, which felt even longer in the cold and the pouring rain. The second demonstration was a bit better, the sun was shining and there were people who played music. What impressed me the most (taking into account we were all professionals and far from being thugs) was the presence of the police everywhere. Practically every street off the route (the route has to be specified to get a permit to demonstrate) was blocked off by hundreds of police in combat gear! Despite my secret fantasy about men in uniform, seeing them on the street was a bit intimidating. And street protests are done by everyone here (in our demonstration, there were dignitaries and personalities who participated!).

Hopefully though we are being heard. Funnily enough, our protests were not to prevent changes, but to have changes that are rational and preceded by dialogues of all concerned. Now I guess I could sympathize more with those protesting on the streets of Paris. For despite the fact that all state machines are in this city, a stone throw away from everyone really, they might as well be in Mars. And the only way to reach them was by shouting at the top of your lungs!


Hints for visitors:
Check the website ratp.fr or the newspaper for demonstrations planned on the day of, for example, you have to travel to the airport. Demonstrations have to be announced in advanced. You could then plan your travel differently (taking another route, another means of transport, or simply plan more time for your travel). To get to the airport, the suburban RER train is less likely to be disrupted that bus services or taxis.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Fashion Paris

Having spent the holidays in California, I was struck by how often people there asked me if Parisians really dress nicely and if, when they go visit Paris, they should pack their best clothes. Indeed, having lived here a while now, I sort of have forgotten the stereotype that people have of Parisians as sharp dressers and Paris as the world capital of fashion. The latter I feel is still true. During the period when the big houses of fashion present their collection, Paris is abuzz with energy, soul and optimism rarely seen in other times.
But do all Parisians dress sharply? Now, we know that stereotypes are oversimplified generalizations that contain many inaccuracies and tend to overlook the many exceptions. So, being a jaded Parisian already (can one be jaded before one becomes a real Parisian? I guess one could in Paris), I tried to tell those who ask that in Paris there are certainly bad dressers….to be directly contradicted by those present who have been to Paris and who swore that everyone in Paris dresses to a T (Did not even have the energy to explain to them that stereotypes often lead to selective perception and that we only notice cases that confirm the stereotype and forget those that disconfirm it).

But still, maybe there is some truth to the stereotype that Parisians dress better than Americans or Australians? I try to test this idea on myself as I have noticed changes in how I look at myself and others when it comes to beauty, clothes and other important things in live ha ha. Beauty as I think it in Paris is not something that you are born with. It is something that you cultivate, something that you take time to acquire and to finesse. You have to earn your beauty. Now, if you have time and just sit at a café in le Marais, or even in Avenue Champs Elyssée and watch the men (well, for me anyway) and the women who pass by, I am often struck by the attention to details that these guys and gals have, not just the matching or complementary colors from shoes to socks to gloves and scarfs and coat, but to how everything has to hang. With their gorgeous longish dark hair brushed back, the guys would have a recalcitrant strand that falls on his face (that of course looks as if it happened by itself, though trust me, this was done on purpose). The scarf can be tied in a million ways all of which look like they took hours to tie, but very gorgeous indeed. And what’s amazing, even in the evening after being out all day, these guys still look impeccable (Me, on the other hand, I will already have wrinkled everything and spots of the sauce that I had with my lunch on several places). Even in all white, they would manage to keep it white all day and all night.

But there are also fashion-challenged souls in Paris. And of course, given the contrast to those other well dressed people, they stand out even more here. But at least one can comfort oneself in the idea that beauty is earned and nurtured. With this idea, you can always tell youself that in time you would also be beautiful (unlike the idea that you were or were not born beautiful). But nonetheless they are there and though I notice them, my visiting Australian and American friends do not (or they simply think that they must be tourists like they are).
But indeed it is a nice change to see American and Australian tourists leaving behind their t shirts and shorts to dress up when visiting Paris. I have noticed though, when there is a group of tourists distinctly American that would attract attention because of their t shirts, shorts, sandals and brightly colored baseball caps, my French friends never fail to whisper "Americains" (Americans) under their breath, but they NEVER notice the well-dressed Americans who could be sitting at the next table or walking beside us on the sidewalk. Such is the power of stereotype!

Hints for shoppers:
My favorite clothes (though I am not always able to affod) is agnes b. (store that I visit is near St Eustache behind les Halles). If you're going to spend 145 euros for a sweater better stick to basic style in black (and not other colors that would go out of style). Jeans I like are Et Vous (store at rue Etienne Marcel). Indeed, Paris is good for expensive well cut clothes but for middle range clothes, better buy them elsewhere (though Zara is moderate and can be found in Paris too).

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

My beautiful launderette

When you rent an apartment in Paris, do not be surprised if it is deprived of many things that we generally find in rented apartments in the US. I used to not have to buy stove, or fridge (though in Australia, fridge is often not present either). Walking into my first rented apartment in Paris, what I found instead were bare wires (yes, bare wires sticking out of walls to which you have to attach lamps etc the type of work that I generally associate with electricians and not just any average Joe citizen or I imagine Joe the plumber either).
So, it is no wonder that changing apartments in Paris is such a big deal as you have to lug really heavy stuff each time since you own the fridge, the stove and, for many Parisians, their washing machine.
Buying a washing machine was not something I considered when living in LA and San Francisco (same as when I lived in NY). Most of the time I used a laundromat or visit my relatives with a big bag of wahing. But Parisians seem to have a thing about having everything in their miniscule apartments. So, once you have that dream apartment, you have to find yourself a stove (very small one as generally the size of your kitchen is more fit for broom closet), a fridge (also small on which you may have to put your stove…which means everything in your fridge will start to defrost or melt when you use the stove) and the fabled washing machine. Going to stores that sell washing machines, I have never in my life seen such variety of machines in sizes and shape. The smallest washing machine I have seen was here….a tad smaller that the small bar fridge that we find in the US (you know, the one that goes up to about your knees and can be hidden in a cupboard under the bar). Now, I imagine myself washing my underwear 3 at a time and spending the entire day rerunning the machine to finish my washing (I may have to forget about my big towels that I brought from the US). Let’s face it, that miniscule machine that would be perfect for the small Paris apartment is finally a bit too small for me but still a bit too big for being a toy (like Barbie’s washing machine for instance?).

Laundromat is a great alternative if the thought of buying a washing machine that weighs tons and lugging it up to the sixth floor via narrow stairway puts a damper to your enthusiasm of owning your own washing machine. Indeed, Laundromats can be an interesting window to life in the neighborhood. The Laundromat in France tend to be smaller than in the US, the machines tend to take a lot longer to run (though your washing does come out cleaner) and the dryers are just not hot enough (the French have a thing about hanging everything rather than drying themd in a dryer). A window to your neighbourhood I said, because they may also serve as a place for other activities that have nothing to do with washing.

Once, a shifty looking man entered the laundromat followed by a very well dressed woman. Already, making an unlikely pair, they attracted attention. Inside the laundromat, the man started taking handbags out of his big bag (which did not obviously hold his laundry) to show to the woman….turned out to be fake Louis Vuitton bags! The two bargained away in loud voices not taking notice of those who were stuck assisting this transaction.

Another time, a very big butch guy who looked like he could beat up a guy like me without sweating asked me in a loud voice for all to hear if I was gay. A bit stunned, I said that if he had to ask surely then he knew the answer already. Surprisingly a lady who happened to be doing her laundry at the same time started dissing the guy to his face for asking such a personal question. I got out of there like a bat out of hell and went to a café nearby. When I went back to retrieve my washing though, he was still there, drinking probably his tenth can of beer from the looks of it. Turned out that he was not violent at all, despite his look, and seemed just genuinely curious (and does not understand a bit what being gay is all about). Incomprehensibly, despite his scary look I found him then rather exciting (but thought he was too drunk too, to attempt anything exciting with him).

Finally, the guys that I see hanging out in the corner of my street all the time might also be found here, either settling disputes with their girlfriend or maybe doing deals…

Then, of course, there are the odd tourists who come in every now and then (from the hotels nearby). An American guy I ended up having a drink with after we chatted in the laundromat; another was an Australian with whom I discussed Melbourne with more than a pang of feelings that resembled longing. I guess for tourists, laundromats can also be a place to mix with the locals (my advice: choose your laundromats carefully. In le Marais, for instance, I have met good looking men).

So far, I have not yet met the dream man in the laundromat, but I keep hoping. At this stage, anywhere is a good place to look for love.

Hints for tourists:
Laundromats are called Laverie(s) in French. They can be found in most quarters of Paris. At about 3 euros 60 cents a pop, it is a bargain compared to giving your laundry to the hotel.