Paris

It is said that there are two types of french people, Parisians and others. We are now mingling with a scattering of the former and a lot of tourists. We have exchanged our comfortable Gite in Montcuq for a Toulouse Latrec style apartment in the heart of Paris, a mere 100 bagette lengths away from the Louvre.  

The apartment is located in one those typical 6 level french apartment blocks. It is on the 7th level, squeezed into the sloping roof cavity and reached by a lift to 5th level, then by a spiral staircase. Ancient oak beams supporting the roof split the main room at at head hitting height, the kitchen is located in a cupboard, the shower is not wide enough to fall over in and you cannot sit up in bed without hitting your head on the sloping roof. But the apartment has character and views down Rue du Louvre. When we moved into the apartment on Saturday night, the internet and TV didn’t work, the power failed and french plumbing leaked onto the apartment below. This last fault turned out to be our benefit. The owners of our apartment were living in the apartment below. They did the impossible in haveing the plumbing fixed on a Sunday and for the other faults corrected shortly after. (Perhaps being Sicilian owners helps.)

Paris is a city of boulevards, museums, churches and monuments. It is hard not to follow the tourist trail and enjoy. So we did. Notre Damme built to celebrate french persistance (200 years in construction, the rest in renovation), the Louvre to celebrate french historical acquisitions, the Eiffel tower to celebrate the defeat of Parisian fear of anything tall, the Arc de Triomphe to celebrate the oxymoron of a french military victory (perhaps Asterix defeating the Romans?)

 

The only the downside there are plenty of recruits for the Choir of Hard Hard Knocks in Parks and Metro. 

 

The annoying thing about the french is not that they think their lifestyle is superior to others but they are probably are right. The french work to live rather than live to work. They have five weeks leave a year or more, 11 public holidays and a 35 hours work week which often translates into a 9 day fortnight. Not bad. Hardly enough work hours to plan the next holiday. Over 25% of workers are unsackable public servants, which often leads to poor service. A french jokes goes like this “My mother is a public servant. My father doesn’t work either.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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