How to Be Parisian: Keeping Away from the Crowds

Like all good Parisians, Stephen does his best to avoid people en masse…

I must admit I don’t often go to Montmartre. Like most Parisians, I avoid areas that get too touristy except the grands magasins (department stores) during the sales, when I buy all my clothes. Sometimes it’s worth putting up with the crush. Another reason why I avoid Montmartre is the Sacré-Coeur cathedral. I don’t dislike the architecture as such, even if it does look like a failed attempt to recreate the Taj Mahal from memory. No, for me the problem is its political significance. Sacré-Cœur was built after the Commune of 1871, the rebellion during which Parisians barricaded Baron Haussmann’s newly built boulevards and tried to turn their city into a self-regulating, independent mini-state. It was no peace-and-love commune in the hippy sense – the Communards may have believed in equality for women but they also executed a few dozen clergymen and burnt down key buildings. The army marched in, massacred between 20,000 and 30,000 Parisians and reclaimed the capital. Then, to ‘expiate the sins’ of France, the new cathedral was built. So for me, it leaves a bad taste. It seems to be saying, ‘Now we’ve said sorry for the 30,000, so please forget it all happened”.

Mais oui, I’m a snob!

I do enjoy wandering up to the Musée de Montmartre, based in the house where the painters Suzanne Valadon and her son Maurice Utrillo had their studios. It contains an excellent permanent exhibition about the cabarets of Montmartre’s 19th-century heyday. But I’ll only go there for one of their temporary displays of old, semi-unknown Parisian painters who won’t attract a crowd. (Yes, I’m a terrible intellectual snob. I’m Parisian, so what did you expect?).

To get back to the dislikes, I once tried some Montmartre wine – and dashed to the dentist straight afterwards to make sure it hadn’t melted my teeth. No, I’m being unfair. For a wine grown on a north-facing slope (Montmartre has to do everything quirkily) it wasn’t that bad, no worse than the fashionable French vins naturels which, if I’ve understood correctly, are not only pesticide-free but also made of grapes squashed by people who didn’t wash their feet beforehand.

A glimpse of rural Paris

There’s nothing to be said against the vineyard itself. I always nip up to Montmartre in autumn when the vine leaves are turning russet and the grapes (in a good year) are looking like inflated blueberries. Paris is so urban that most of its parks feel like little towns for plants to live in, so a whole hillside of grape vines in the middle of the city is magical. It transports me back to the days when Montmartre was truly rural, and Impressionist painters went there to be inspired by windmills and greenery. True, the current vineyard only dates back to the 1930s, when the area had been absorbed into the city and a piece of land was planted with grapes to prevent further building. But the vines look timeless, and you almost expect Van Gogh to come trotting down the hill with an easel on his back to capture the sunset. The Montmartre vineyard gets a little less timeless in October, during its annual harvest festival. Whether the grapes are actually being picked or not, there’s a big get-together around the vineyard, with food stalls, artists and entertainment. And crowds. So naturellement, I don’t like it. I’m Parisian, what did you expect?

From France Today Magazine

Stephen Clarke’s latest Paul West novel, Merde at the Paris Olympics, is out now!