The Other Side of Paris

What comes to mind when you are asked to conjure up an image of Paris?

I don't blame you for thinking of the Eiffel Tour, beautiful people, high fashion, delicious food, or the Louvre.

Because its true! Paris is teeming with boulangeries, museums, monuments, cafes.

And of course, Romance.

But this is not all that Paris has to offer.

I stumbled upon what I would like to call the "Other Side" of Paris while strolling along La Petite Ceinture. No mouth-watering pastries in sight, no high fashion here.

 Project PC19: Modern-day RagPickers

The ancient practice of "Ragpickers" has began to see a come-back in certain neighborhoods of Paris. At the end of my stroll down La Petite Ceinture, I had unknowingly trespassed on the stomping grounds of the not-so-professional Trash Collectors of Paris. The street art was jaw-dropping and the seemingly endless piles of scrap metal, old clothing, shoes, and the abandoned baby carriage rendered me speechless. There were buckets to catch the water from the leaks, mattresses, wigs,and lots of "human waste".

After some careful research, I learned that this underground association has a name: Project PC19. The goal: to bring back an extinct profession which in English we could lovingly call "Ragpicking" or "Dumpster Diving". 

Before the invention of poubelles in 1883, the Ragpicker a "petit métier" that would be eventually be replaced with the modern-day "garbage man". In the 19th century, the Ragpicker wandered the streets before daybreak, digging through the piles of trash thrown out by the bourgeoises. This self-made profession was integral to keeping the streets of Paris clean (although, the streets were still quite filthy after the Ragpickers made their rounds). The Ragpickers carried laterns, hooks, and baskets, drank l'eau-de-vie by the liter, and were mostly marginalized yet sometimes reputable, as was the caracter Lutine, known in his neighborhood for his off-beat philosophical speeches. The Ragpickers existence was miserable yet fundamental, adjacent with the steady rise of consumerism.

The Recyclers of the 19th century, the Ragpickers came in waves. The first were the highest-ranking, the second the apprentices, and by the time the third wave came there was not much left of value in the piles of waste. 

After the invention of the trashcan, by Monsieur Eugene Poubelle, organized trash collection took the place of the Ragpickers. The profession eventually died out.

But what I discovered on my little trip down La Petite Ceinture was that, the Ragpickers have once again began to make a name for themselves in Paris. At the end of a trash and metal scrap littered tunnel, I found myself at what I presume now is a head-quarters of modern day Ragpickers (biffins in French).

Turns out that certain associations are beginning to recognize these Ragpickers as an essential part to modern day society. In reality, the Ragpickers are the vultures of humans, they find useful items in what others have already deemed as waste. The normally wasted energy is therefore reused. At the same time, they rid the streets of trash, as vultures pick away at carcasses and harvest wasted ATP.

In the 18th arrondissement, there exists a Carré des Biffins, a place where, if you are over the age of 18 and agree to only propose second-hand objects, you can trade or sell the treasures of the street. I have seen this market take place before but never thought it was an organized flea-market. It happens at the bottom of Montmartre, just a 10 minute walking distance from my little apartment.

In reality, not only does this profession help ameliorate the condition of the streets of a large city, but it also a great way to recycle. Recently, Paris has been doing its part to study this underground group of Recycling Avengers and pumping money into pushing organized gatherings.

And here I was, wandering around like a tourist (I'd like to consider myself an immigrant at this stage but can't help but marvel at the unknown) on what now seems to be a Ragpicker headquarters.

 Place of Resistance. On August 25th, 1944 the FFI and FTPF army captured a German train under this bridge after a hard fight

Next, you come across a garden. This is what really made me fall in love with the OtherSide of Paris. The fact that the overwhelming heaps of rejected material goods could be countered with some plants. I didn't notice the intentional vegetable garden at first, until my curious partner in crime called me over to look. This is when I realized that there was a compost pile, tomatoes, herbs, and flowers, everything meticulously labeled.

I was throughoutly impressed by the organisation and attention to detail. My personal favorite was the Wishing Tree:

From the parc buttes chaumont above, park go-ers could look down on the small community being built under the bridge. All in all, the idea is much more "green" to me than driving across the state of CT to the Trader Joe's to buy overpriced Tofu and Soymilk (made with GMO soy..). Giving back to the community by finding ways to use seemingly useless junk, composting, and planting flowers is a much more logical way to help preserve as much as we can.

So I say, Long Live the Ragpickers. Next time I pass by The Ragpicker Square (did I mention that it is just a street up from my apartment!?) I promise to not eschew the daunting piles of moldy books and moth-eaten jackets. I will find something beautiful and bring it back to Julien.

Until next time....

xo

july

la petite ceinture

"THE LITTLE BELT"

is an abandoned railway that runs through Paris. The last passengers rode on this little belt in 1934, but small portions of the railway continued transporting merchandise up until the 1990's. Since then, the railway has been occupied by squatters, artists, and curious Parisians.

On the metro ride I must admit, I was pretty excited to check out the old railway. I am keen on exploring abandoned transport systems. I was reminiscing my strolls down the High Line in New York City. As I surreptiously snuck through the heavy gate and began crunching glass under my sandals, I realized that the old metro line was more like my litte boat trip under Hartford on the Hog River... smelly, covered in garbage, and all-in-all a bit scary.



While the High Line is taken care of troop by environmentalist locals, has a nice terrace where you can drink a beer, and shows for the kiddies, the Petite Ceinture had a deserted, artsy, and towards the end of our walk, more of a homey feel. After perhaps too many trips to modern art museums I was not entirely sure which lumps of metal were strategically placed. There was broken glass everywhere and a few points where I was not sure I was going home in one piece.

Another difference between the High Line and the Petite Ceinture is that the French equivalent is technically not open to the public. Contrarily, I saw somewhere in between 20 and 30 others strolling along the ancient railroad tracks.

I found fun places to climb

Naturally, I spent most of my time hooping.

Somewhere in between la Villette and Buttes-Chaumont, I suddenly had a realization: I had already seen La Petite Ceinture all around Paris. The abandoned tracks run through Parc Montsouris, the small park across Cite Universitaire, where I frequented while living at cite U. There was also a strip in the North I had seen one night when I decided to take a left instead of a right, or something. This part of La Petite Ceinture was a bit more dodgy...

Oh and I also saw a very charming artist-type boy (may or may not have been coup de foudre) making some intense street art.

We could have kept going but we came upon a daunting tunnel. I may have done a lot of crazy things in my life but this was not going to be one of them.

 This tunnel made Hog River look like a cake-walk.

And here's the coolest part: a look into the Other Side of Paris. No chic shopping centers or romantic paintings found here. No high heels or designer bags. No fancy pastries or palaces or golden tipped gates.

Perhaps the cheapest place to live in Paris, still more interesting and ..more furnished than any place I have stayed thusfar. This little home under the bridge was really fantastic, so fantastic that you will have to wait until my next blog to see it.

Until then..

Happy Trails. xo

How to Explain "Hipster" to a Frenchman

It's harder than you think... After a few beers I'm almost positive I was describing my own mannerisms and lifestyle choices in painstaking detail, all while chain-smoking and wearing my Woody Allen glasses. oh la vache..

Enfin, bref.

Life has taken quite a drastic turn for la petite July - although I am now officially jobless, broke, and realizing that my friend count is 'dropping like flies' as they move out of Paris, I can't say that my life is quite so bleak as I have been spending most of my time as the French do - lounging in parks.

I'm also proud to say I have learned some new skills:

Slackline, printmaking... I also am looking into being a professional picnic-er.

I've also considered food critic. I mean what could be better than being payed to taste every croissant in Paris? It's hard work, but I think I'm up to the challenge. After my last weekend, spent in Prague I might opt for professional beer taster (can't stay in Paris for this one..) But on a much more serious note, my last weekend was worth writing home about. I think today we would say that it was worth blogging about. So here we go..

 Prague

The city of cheap beer, puzzling sculptures, and the slow and steady disneyfication of Communism

No but really, the price of beer is mindboggling. For just 15-60 crowns you have yourself a pint of Pilsner (THATS LESS THAN 1 EURO) The people are beautiful - they call themselves Bohemians. Also, I have never in my life seen so many people drinking beer at 9am. Drugs are legal and you can smoke in bars. The art is, like the architecture, juxtaposed, raw, and piercing. Although we stayed in a hotel, I recommend the hostels. They are much cheaper and packed with young travelers. On the whole, the city is extremely vegetarian-friendly, easy to navigate, and dotted with magnificent views.

We started off our trip quite well at a bar in the northern suburbs, where I taught my native Frenchie to say, "when in rome.."

There was even a sandbox a little ways off in the corner of the garden. and just look at that unfiltered beer of mine...makes my mouth water faster than you can say "pavlov's dogs"

We sat among locals and quenched our thirst with Czech micro-brews.. To say that I was impressed would not do this moment of my life justice. I tried to explain to fellow travel companion and love interest that this, a hearty and unfiltered beer in a large sunlit garden was something my life had been lacking since I had been living in France. He did not understand.

After running into a gorgeous Czech girl, we decided to follow her (a bit like lost puppies I might add) towards the castle.

We wandered around construction and my very first impression was that the entrance to the city (or the one that we found at least) was the castle's courtyard. Shortly thereafter, we found our hotel:

 

Nickel. and..and...

AND THE FIRST RESTO I FIND IS VEGETARIAN?!

I couldn't believe my eyes (or tastebuds). We sat outside and ate copious amounts of Indian food on metal plates. Chickpeas, broccoli soup, rice and spicy sauce.. and to wash it down I drank ginger tea, brewed with chunks of ginger root (almost as good as my vegan ginger lemon - did i mention it was vegan?!- muffin I picked up on rue Mouffetard last Wednesday..) 

We descended towards the Charles Bridge, the most impressive of the 11 bridges that cross the Vltava river. The bridge is swarming with tourists and gargoyles and once you get to the other end you are feel a bit lost being bombarded with gothic churches and narrow cobblestone roads. Make your way to the center and you will find the quirky astronomical clock - the oldest working in the world.

charles bridge at dusk

We met some friends, found a rocker bar and danced under a beautiful girl with no panties on. I tried to explain to my lovely friend that this, wonderful music and cheery drunks, was something my life had been lacking since I had living in France. Once again, he did not understand.

We danced to music I had not heard in YEARS (teenage dirtbag throwback?!) but somehow still remembered all of the lyrics. I made nice with a blonde German in the bathroom (perhaps a bit too tipsy after the German loss during the football match that night) and flirted with the bartenders. I also drank 4 pints of Pilsner for the price of 1 Stella in Paris...

The next morning, I lost my appetite when I innocently opened a small container that I had believed was jelly. It was in fact, not fruity conserves, but a funky pink substance that looked and smelled like catfood. Although this was not the best way to start off my day, I was quite pleased when we walked 20 meters away from the hotel and began to see shops filled with strange marionettes and early morning beer guzzlers seated on terraces that rival those of Paneme..

view from the top

Next, we explored the gardens, which were perfumed with lilac and roses and studded with sculptured and strategically placed public bathrooms. I began to wonder at this point if the abundance of WCs where due to beer consumption. We wandered through a photography exhibit which, by chance, featured a beevy of pictures taken in Paris in the 1970s. The description of the set compared Paris to birthing forceps, by far the best way to describe this city I have heard yet. We climbed the spiraul staircase in Prague Castle, played in the sprinklers, as we are childish and the day was beginning to get very hot. Oh and we also sampled Czech wine in a vineyard with a dazzling view.  Afterwards, we got caught in a few tourist traps (I do not recommend the Jewish museum, the Communist museum or anything of the sort!) and ended up in some sort of what we eventually decided was a relic of the communist reign, where we wandered into a f*cked up carnival, scared out of our wits. I had heard about a free music festival but all we found was carnies, a cheesy fountain spectacle complete with Meatloaf and ACDC, and more beer. Luckily we had some cherry tomatoes and cheese and also that every park in Prague seems to have an abundance of beer gardens.

On a quick side-note, my little French companion was very brave on our trip. He tried carrot cake for the first time (although he was not pleased). Later on, he tried his first martini and also his first bloody mary. He seemed to really take to the latter, which was understandable seeing how at Zanzi Bar they blend together fresh veggies to make the tomato juice..

The group of Spaniards to our right were very drunk. They were drinking toxic looking shots and hitting each other with blow-up bats, all while wearing glasses made out of glowsticks.

One more side-note...I must add here that I ate enough horseradish during this trip to spoil any prospectively romatic moment between me and my moustache man. Good thing he kept a steady buzz going.

We ended our Friday night in The Best Bar I Have Ever Frequented. I like to call it this (BB. HEF for short) as I am not able to correctly pronounce the name, which is Klub Ujezd. And yet, I had by this point learned a few words in Czech, which was much appreciated by the barmen. I really enjoyed listening and trying to speak Czech. It is much, much easier than French and it is a very fun language that is missing many vowels (wolf = vlk). Anyways, Ujezd had three floors of chaos, walls covered in monsters, a fun crowd, great music (le tigre!?) cheap beer... the people were beautiful and the tram stop was right outside.

Saturday we adventured across town in search of the Television Tour which is a virtually abandonned building that is literally crawling with large babies that do not have faces. We spent the afternoon checking out the cool architecture in the New Town all while trying to shake off the after effects of our trip to the GoYA museum. I think it was perhaps the bone-chillingly realistic Sadam Hussein floating in a dirty aquarium that put me a bit overboard. Or perhaps, a porno involving a Manet painting, Camembert cheese and carrots.

But really, I recommend this museum.. just don't follow any strange noises, skip the films, and don't go downstairs. On the contrary, make sure you stop by the vending machine to pick up some spray paint canisters.

It took us a bit of searching, but we eventually found the John Lennon wall and after a stroll in a park (which had more faceless baby statues and some plastic yellow penguins) we stumbled upon an Italian-style resto called The Alchemist which had a beautiful garden and a comical waitstaff.

After our dinner romantique, complete with fireworks and candles, Mr. Frenchie decided that we should go to the chapeau rouge. I had a good laugh at this terrible cliche and after drinking a few beers in eclectic, musty basement bars we found his bar. The decor was quite odd... lots of ninja babies, floating brains, dusty glass bottles, and a plastic dinosaur eating what looked to us like a piece of a baguette.... We danced a bit and left, got caught up in a bar crawl (I do not recommend, the clubs are shams). We were not impressed so we returned to chapeau rouge...

So we drank slivovice and some more beer, then descended into the dancerooms, which - to my EXTREME DELIGHT- featured local DJs spinning drum & bass. PHEW! Honestly, I was expecting anything better than what Paris has to offer where you descend down into the dungeon and fight a sweaty mass of tourists to buy 9 euro beers, just to listen to terrible pop/techno and dance like a fool under the revolving disco ball...

Later on we found a 24/7 burrito bar and saw some more locals sans culottes. Around 5am the sky broke and we welcomed the rain with great relief as we were quite sunburned from our day and sweaty from all the drum & bass.

Sunday we spent exploring Petrin Park. We climbed the "mini effiel tour" which we had laughed at all weekend for looking like the eiffel tour, only to find out that it was actually a mini-eiffel-tour.. My advice is to get lost in the labryinth of trails but to not peak into any caves you might find.

The highlight of the trip - renting a rowboat and trying to figure out how to not crash into the pedal boats.

All in all, I recommend Prague if you like being thrifty, consider yourself a bohemian, enjoy cheap beer, or really like climbing stairs. Do yourself a favor and skip the tourist traps - try not to take part in the disneyfication of communism. There is even a "communist bar" with terrible decor.. skip that, find some bars with no cover charge and don't trust any bar crawls. Guided tours are nerve wracking..instead, spend some time on a roof top terrace drinking unfiltered beer, explore the castle gardens, and don't miss out on a lounge session out on the river.

Oh and one more think, DON'T EAT THE PORK KNUCKLE. Although good food is abundant in Prague, the city, like many other tourist destinations, has it's far share of overpriced "local" dishes, which turn out to be the same quality as a fastfood resto. Although I eschew meat, my Frenchman doesn't. He was left less than satisified with 4 out of 5 of his carnivorous adventures in Czech cuisine. Even if you are blood-thirsty, I recommend the veggie restos, the burrito bar, and most of all the cheap beer.

He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time

o.w.