Chicago

The view from Paris

PARIS in the fall, like Paris in the spring, Paris in the summer or Paris in the winter, is, in Ernest Hemingway's words, "a moveable feast." There is so much to partake of in this city that the visitor is never full, and is always expectant, looking forward to the next course. It is not the food (great as it is), or the wine (good as it is), or the sidewalk stand crepes (tempting as they are) which make the city "a moveable feast." It is rather the total ambience or ambiance (as the French would say) that makes Paris unique among world cities.

According to the poet, "London is a man's town; there's power in the air. But Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair." But he is, of course, mistaken. Paris is everyone's town — everyone who has dreamed a dream, walked a street, pursued a myth, ogled a woman, shopped a window, or eyed passersby from a seat in a street cafe.

What differentiates great cities, No. 1 cities like Paris, London and New York, from "second cities" like Chicago, Los Angeles, Vienna, Berlin or Madrid?

The great cities are world capitals — international in ambience, sophisticated in outlook, heterogeneous in their character, and wide-ranging in their cultural appeal. Second cities are, at best, national capitals, or at worst, local centers. They are more restricted in ambience, more parochial in outlook, more homogeneous physically, and more provincial in their cultural offerings.

Paris does not offer the same cultural attractions that New York and London do. But Paris is truly the international city, a city in which any citizen of any country can feel at home, provided he or she is young at heart (possessed of what the French call insouciance). Unlike London or New York which are exciting cities for those who are interested in great commerce or outstanding entertainment, Paris is a city for eating, talking, walking, sitting and relaxing.

A French meal is not a hurried affair. It is a serious business, from the aperitif, to the analysis of the specialities of the house, to the selection of the wine, to the choice of dessert to the lingering over the after-dinner liqueur. There are two things difficult to get in a French restaurant — a glass of water and a check (I'addition). For a meal is not only an occasion for serious eating, and careful, measured drinking, but it is also an opportunity for serious conversation.

And Paris is a city for serious, but relaxed, walking. One will occasionally see a jogger loping down a path or sidewalk. But this uncivilized American practice does not suit the Parisian purpose of a promenade, a stroll down a main avenue, in the company of at least one other person, for the purposes of relaxed activity combined with serious conversation. Talking is a necessary adjunct of both eating and walking. The lonely jogger, puffing and suffering his strenuous way, can neither relax nor talk. What is the purpose of such stressful, isolated activity?

A promenade in Paris is also an occasion for sightseeing, not from a tourist bus, but on foot, with time to enjoy the city's magnificent monuments and its hidden nooks and crannies. At night the floodlit Arc de Triomphe glowing at the top of the Champs Elysees, the ethereal apparition of Notre Dame, the medieval Conciergerie looming over the Seine, the Greek temple of the Madeleine, the Romanesque Pantheon and Invalides, the minarets of Sacre Coeur, and the modernistic steel girders of the Eiffel Tower give sustenance to the walker and lift his spirits as he strolls the main boulevards crowded with people— the Right Bank's Champs Elysees and Grand boulevards, the Left Bank boulevards of St. Michel and St. Germain, or the quais along the Seine. And during the day there are the side streets of Montmartre, the Latin Quarter and the Marais; window shopping on the Rue de Rivoli, the Rue de la Paix, and Faubourg St. Honore; the book stalls along the Seine; the department stores on Boulevard Haussmann, or your own meanderings anyplace in Paris. It does not matter where you are — in the Jeu de Paume Museum, the market on the Rue Buci, or the cemeteries of Pere-Lachaise and Montmartre. There are always sights and sounds, and people and things.

For sitting and talking and watching, there are numberless cafes along the sophisticated, upper-class, touristy Champs Elysees and Grand boulevards; there are the Left Bank hangouts of students and young people in the Latin Quarter; and the working-class places in Montparnasse, the Marais and Montmartre. Or one can sit in Notre Dame and marvel at the great rose windows, or in the jewel-like chapel of Ste. Chapelle or the 10th century church of St. Julien-le-Pauvre, or in the Place des Vosges, or the Tuilleries, or the Luxembourg Gardens, or on the benches in the lower part of the Champs Elysees; the possibilities are endless.

For getting around, there is always the Metro, an incredibly well-planned, generally safe subway system that will get you anywhere in Paris quickly and cheaply. I felt perfectly at home on the subway in Paris. Coming from Montmartre one day, two Algerians tried to steal my wallet out of my rear trouser pocket. But, as an old Chicagoan who has dealt with similar types on Chicago's elevated trains, it was easy to spot them and fend off their relatively amateurish heist. The pickpockets and my wife and I recognized our mutual situation, treated each other with tolerance and parted company without hard feelings.

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What is missing in our contemporary cities is what Paris still has to offer the unrepentant, dedicated, urban afficionado — streets and sidewalks full of people, sights that can still be sampled, sounds that please the ear, public places in which to relax, and private activity which can still be carried on in public with spirit and enjoyment. In other words, ambience and lifestyle. Unless and until we recreate those conditions in our great cities, they will continue to be, not cities in a traditional historic sense, but urban places people work and live in, but do not enjoy.

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