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Unspoken Rules of Paris: L'amour, bien sûr!

Image: Robert Doisneau's "Les Amoureux"

Text: Guillermo Martinez de Velasco 

You know that moment right before you jump into a pool that you know is filled with cold water? That strange mixture of drive and fear that takes over as soon as you take that first step. On one side is the idea of you, in there, being youthful and wet-like. Of you in an Evian advert. On the other; there is the image of your toe, the big one, the one you dipped in the water earlier, the one that made you have second thoughts.

This is exactly how I felt when I met Morgane. Or rather, when she walked past me on the Pont Neuf (I know, right?). I was walking towards the Rive Droite. She was coming from it. Her curly hair got tangled in her scarf, in a good way, if this is possible. The bridge was a catwalk and at the other end stood a grid of cameras. To say she walked past me would be an exaggeration. She actually walked across me, across the bridge. Not a word, not even the slightest hint that she didn't feel like there was no one else there.

But I was used to attractive Parisiennes acting like men are invisible, or Lepers, or invisible Lepers. So, In a completely unorthodox show of confidence, I looked at her (but not in the creepy sideways look kind of way). I made eye contact and made sure she was aware of it. My eyes followed hers until she let out a smirk. "Did you see that girl?" asked my friend Clément sarcastically. My breath was freezing in front of my face, "I made sure she saw me".

Unspoken Rules of Paris: Montmartre, Tonmartre

 

Image: Ricky Montalvo

Text: Guillermo Martinez de Velasco

I am about to describe something we've all been through. It's nothing we should be ashamed of because we didn't know any better. It goes a little something like this. It's your first time in Paris, you're going up Beaubourg's escalators and you see a huge dome peek through the city's rooftops. “What's that mosque-looking thing in the distance?” You ask. Soon enough you find yourself planning a visit to Sacré Coeur the next morning. You exit the underground at Abbesses and then get lost. “Oh my god, this is so cute”. You think to yourself at the corner of rue Norvins and rue Mont Cenis. Then you sit down at a bistro, and spend an exorbitant amount on a croque monsieur before taking the metro back to Vavin.

Since then, you have come to know Montmartre for the tourist trap it is; especially in the summer. You tend to avoid it because it's far, and quite frankly, it's no Marais/République. You hear of people going there but you don't really understand why. I mean, last time you went was because your friend was visiting, and then, you felt absolutely exhausted. How could one possibly enjoy oneself? Here's how:

 Image: Still from Amélie
The first step is to forget all of your preconceived notions of Montmartre. "Dali and Picasso lived here", "They probably got a Pastis at this bar". Yes, they probably did. And they also probably did the same in the 7th and in Avignon and in Barcelona. These people were moving everytime their landlord kicked them out. And it is mainly because of them that this place is now overrun with people who are nostalgic for an era that never existed.

 

Unspoken Rules of Paris: Self-Esteem SOS

Image: Rebecca Rothey

Text: Guillermo Martinez de Velasco Escobedo

It was one thirty in the morning on one of those April days when it's finally warm enough to be jealous of the people that live on boats anchored between Pont Royale and Pont de la Concorde; a couple of friends and I had gotten quite good at coveting by the banks at this point. Suddenly, a group of young Parisians approached us. As is always the case, going out with female friends in Paris means having to deal with dozens of random men who approach them in one night. "Where are you from?" they asked first in French, then again, in French, before following it up with a "wearh ahre iu frum?". "Sussex" we promplty replied. (author's note: Most Parisians cannot discern an American accent from that of Sussex or any other region of the English speaking world). My other friend was tired of lying about her origin because she wanted to have a meaningful bonding experience with the Parisians and not just drive them away, like we did. "Texas" she replied.

"Oh, Texas" "Comme, George Bush", "Les Cowboys", "Hot Dogs". A series of non-sentences exited his mouth before he said "America has no culture". Living in Paris you come to terms with the fact that every so often, people will judge you based on stereotypes. While my friend tried to explain to them the wonders of Maya Angelou, I started a conversation with the guy next to me. "He's right" he said, "Americans don't really have a culture" "You, the English, do". Of course he didn't know that I was neither American nor English, but French and Mexican.

Unspoken Rules Of Paris: Supermarket Savoir

Image: Flickr CC Sylvain Raybaud
Text: Guillermo Martínez de Velasco

As skinny as everyone around you looks in their rolled up navy or khaki pants, people in Paris have to eat. As a matter of fact, you have to eat also. In short, we all do. But unlike other things that we as humans cannot live without - sleeping, breathing, laughing, listening to early Madonna - food costs money.

In a mythical time some have come to call the 90s, people had secure jobs and the euro was not this impossibly valuable currency. During this era, Parisians managed to keep food shopping at a medium level priority, right in between learning another language and finally taking that trip up to Normandy. As times have gotten progressively tougher however, people have had to worry more and more about what to buy and where.

This may have disturbed the cherished 'natural' order of things in the city but it has also prompted some to explore more places on the fringe and find cheaper ways to eat well. There are bistros on every corner but even if you could afford to eat there every day, for three meals a day, you would get tired of it. Besides, spoiler alert, (don't read the end of this sentence if you like to eat out a lot in Paris) most of their food is pre-bought and frozen. Hopefully this breakdown will help you be kinder to your taste buds, and your bank account (which did take about a month to open).

Unspoken Rules Of Paris: Boulangerie Basics

Image: Flickr CC joana hard
Text: Guillermo Martínez de Velasco

Who doesn't like bread? It's probably humanity's oldest baked good, and when it comes to breadlove, Parisians take it to the next level. The Boulangerie is not just a place to get bread, it is a neighbourhood institution much like your local Alimentation Génerale or Brasserie. I know it may seem odd to think that something as meaningless as getting a baguette could go so potentially wrong. Therein lies the first mistake; a baguette can be regarded by Parisians as more meaningful than most of the things you'll have to face in a typical city morning.

Out of taking the crowded métro only to change lines at Gare de l'Est; walking through streets full of vendors, noise, cars, unpleasant smells; walking up five flights of stairs constantly, and God forbid, breaking a sweat because of the heat; a baguette is the only thing that is constantly good. This explains why they take special care of the stuff made in their bakeries and why you should too! As these series of articles are meant to illustrate, protocol is protocol.

Unspoken Rules Of Paris: Casual Eye Contact

Images: Fred Gurner / Yanidel
Text: Guillermo Martínez de Velasco

Eye contact is something we all do. There's something special, or distinct or something about looking into someone's eyes. The only adjective that keeps popping up when thinking of the subject is the word 'mutual', and it seems like the most appropriate. Maybe it's knowing that the other person knows that you're looking at him/her, or vice versa. Or maybe it's the fact that our eyes are part of us literally and physically. It's a shared activity, we do it with our own bodies; much like holding hands, kissing, or sex.

Eye contact, like every other activity in Paris, is bound by a set of unspoken rules, especially when you're talking about its casual everyday practice. You see, it's the light from the City of Light that renders everything observable, scrutinizable and well, quite obviously visible. Paris is a city based on looking.