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Paris: Extortion, with style
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Hemingway famously called Paris a moveable feast. Now it is a moveable homeless camp. Tents on the glorious Seine embankment and makeshift shacks under bridges house many weary souls emulating George Orwell, whose 1933 classic “Down and Out in Paris and London” is still eminently readable. Under the Pont de l'Alma, just yards from the Bateaux Mouches tour boats, impoverished entrepreneurs had set up a collection box in the dark passageway. "Monsieur, Madame, si vous plait," came a softly menacing voice from the shadows, soliciting a donation as we passed.
It was extortion, true, but it had style, and we walked on, unharmed. Whereas listening to the couple from New York whine about their $80 hotel room for an hour as we waited in line for the Musee De Le’Orangerie to open made me wish the guillotine, which once stood just a hundred yards away, was still in business. The skateboarder who flipped off the international boatload of tourists and dumped his drink on them from the bridge above was probably targeting one of the dozens of French school kids onboard. And as everywhere, the endless ingenuity of graffiti artists staggers the imagination.
Perhaps one day their work will be in the Louvre, where after clearing security at the glass pyramid skylight that tops the Napoleon Hall entryway, one astonishing treasure after another blew any thoughts of the Da Vinci Code right out of the water. Early birds sprint to see Mona Lisa’s seductive smile before the crushing crowds close in, but in more remote wings one can be alone with priceless masterpieces for hours after opening. This was the royal palace, until Louis XVI lost his head in 1793. Art masterpieces, some the size of billboards, fill hall after hall. Viewing the Roman, Egyptian, Greek, Iranian, Arabian and Etruscan antiquities, I'm surprised there’s a rock left in the cradle of civilization. Down in the basement, the monumental medieval stone moat of the castle that once stood on this site has been unearthed for viewing. Napoleon III’s personal apartments, the finest objets d'art of every craft, and the crown jewels are on display.
Of course, the real gems of Paris are the surprises waiting around every corner: the shady streets of Montmartre, the steely splendor of Gustave Eiffel’s tower, the roof-top terrace bird’s eye view of the twelve streets radiating like spokes from the Arc de Triomphe, the passing parade of humanity glimpsed from a crowded sidewalk cafe, the time-honored eccentricities of career waiters at the brasseries.
Boys playing soccer near the Rue Dumont du’Urville kicked their ball out of the school yard and into the street. “Monsieur! Monsieur!” they cried. I found it beneath the rear tire of a parked Peugeot, and pitched it back over the wrought iron fence. “Merci!” shouted the children, and the game began again.
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