I expected my time in Paris to be a bohemian adventure. I imagined reading novels in cosy cafés along the Seine, perusing art with chain-smoking creatives, talking philosophy over wine in the evenings, and wooing dark haired Parisian girls with some affable Hugh Grant-esque charm.
I had a touch of all this for sure, but the bulk of my Paris experience was instead absolute carnage. I free climbed multiple buildings, abseiled off a crane, and crawled through underground spaces full of sewage and dead people. On reflection, I don’t know why I ever expected anything classier given the hot mess of a traveller I am.
I could expand in detail on the craziness of the Paris catacombs, climbing and other exploration activities we engaged in. I will certainly write more about the catacombs in a future post if I have the time. What I found even more worthy of focus however were the people I spent my time with in Paris. The bulk of them worked full time jobs, akin to those of me and my peers back in London. What they manage to get done in their down time however blows the rest of us out of the water.
It seems the standard two choices that typical Londoners limit themselves to on any particular evening are going out to drink and eat, or stay in where you might chat with your housemates, watch Netflix, play a game or whatever. Now I love all that, but I’m far more enamoured with the choice set my Parisian friends give themselves.
Each day would start with some initial suggestion that they might say… watch the Versailles Palace fireworks from a rooftop they had access to. This would quickly change though and I would be told: No, actually, we’re going to create a gigantic swing under some bridge – no wait! – we’re actually crawling into an abandoned chalk mine.
Each individual had some aspect of exploration that they had made their own. In the chalk mine Louis* was the one that knew his way around. He was able to highlight where some had previously been using the abandoned mine as a perfect place for growing Parisian mushrooms. The operation looked quite a detailed one, with writing on the walls scheduling growth and mapping out the different plots in the mines. There were other rooms here where people were carving through the clay to create their own underground spaces to hang out, or work on their personal art projects. Louis proved the most reassuring voice across all our escapades, focused on feeling safe and putting everyone else in the group at ease.
Louis also proved a very confident climber, though Paul* was the most daring in this domain. Climbing monuments for kicks, sleeping out on the rooftops of Paris, it felt like some grand expression of true French ‘Liberté’. Jostling up a reinforced pipe (designed for firefighters to use and pump water through in case of fire) we were able to reach the top of a large church in the centre of Paris. I was terrified, with quivering legs meaning I could only stomach embarrassingly shuffling across the rooftop on my bum at first.
Having always prided myself on my head for heights and climbing skills when I was younger this hit my pride a bit. After settling and watching the light rise above the skyline however, I was soon able to walk along unburdened. Paul meanwhile, opted to nap along a platform so thin that a slight roll either way would have sent him sprawling down to the stoned rim of the building.
Paul somehow knew the access codes to numerous apartment complexes to get onto the rooftops, and he and Louis both possessed a literal set of skeleton keys to the city. I had thought the latter were something that only existed in books till now…
Paul also generously let me and countless other guests stay at his family home over Summer while his parents were away. There we cooked and socialised every night, but refreshingly with far less alcohol involved than is the norm for any such hangouts in the UK. I often felt like I was living in a particularly adventurous Enid Blyton novel.
Though an aside from the crazier activities, I’d be amiss if I didn’t mention Ivan and Sofia whilst on the topic of generosity. Ivan hosted me via couchsurfing when I first arrived in Paris. He graciously accepted a broken incarnation of me into his flat, as I came in straight from an absurd weekend of partying at my friend’s fish farm in the UK. I was still covered in face paint from the festivities.
It proved the friendliest and most relaxed welcome I could have hoped for.
Ivan had the insane policy of saying yes to literally everybody that asked to stay with him. This led to him hosting an Argentinian (now one of his best friends in Paris) in his studio flat for close to an entire year!
My craziest night with Ivan was a night out looking for karaoke (on a Tuesday evening) where we stumbled on a cult like organisation all wearing funny hats. They explained that they were members of a European organisation named ‘Faluche’ and all took great pride in explaining every portion of their elaborate hat to us.
One badge showed where they came from, another their sexuality and relationship status and so on.
The uninitiated all had detailed ‘hat planning’ books with them that they used as the worked up to being worthy of wearing their own caps. It was ripe for poking fun, but in truth they were all friendly, earnest students and apparently encouraged hosting activities across Europe much like couchsurfing does. I can’t find it within me to turn my nose up at that.
Sofia meanwhile also blew me away with her kindness. Having only spent 2 hours with me in Amsterdam previously where we met, she gave so much of her time to me at the last minute as I explored Paris. She proved the best guide I could have asked for. As an art history graduate she was able to bring to life so much of the art we encountered, particularly at the Musée d’Orsay.
Completely free of any of the pretence some might cynically imagine of a Parisian with art expertise, Sofia was Britishly self-deprecating throughout. She also refused to let me pay for practically anything as her ‘guest’ in the city, despite my protestations.
One of the most amazing things I find about travel is to come across subject matters that completely infantalise you.
I know absolutely nothing about the world of art and many who do would perhaps treat my ignorance with disdain or at the very least disbelief. It was a credit to Sofia’s character that she never once made me feel self-conscious.
Possibly taking the crown on crazy experiences in Paris however was the absolute jaw-dropping discovery of the catacombs. Nearly 300 kilometres of underground paths, and rooms lying directly underneath the city of Paris but known in detail only to a small group of enthusiasts.
One such enthusiast was Chloé* who was an absolute badass. She guided a group of us through a mind-blowing labyrinth of underground passageways, some partially flooded, to some of the more well known rooms in the place such as ‘the beach’ and ‘the kraken’.
Aside from these though there are more elusive spaces underneath Paris.
Rooms where access is only possible through crawl spaces, by submerging yourself completely through flooded tunnels, or getting very hands on with human remains.
Chloé had recently worked tirelessly for months, digging away to reach a new area they had seen on some old maps. This space had remained untouched for over 100 years and was reportedly filled with all sorts of early 1900s memorabilia.
I remain enamoured with the escapism these tunnels offered from the world above and those, like Chloé, that frequented them.
It would be easy for onlookers to dismiss some or all of the more exploratory activities above as foolhardy, irresponsible and immoral. There’s possibly something to this in terms of risk but I don’t think it’s entirely fair charge. If it was a mountain expedition out in nature – one that could prove far riskier – I’m not sure people would raise an eyebrow in the same way.
Climbing Everest was far more idiotic, yet we celebrate Tenzing Norgay, Edmund Hillary and others for making the climb.
Much of the disdain directed at urban explorers must be tied up with idea of property rights. It is, of course, often trespassing by the letter of the law. These are places which nobody is making any use of though. Paul, Louis and Chloé always treated their environments and their activities with the care and caution they deserved, quick to critique those that were more reckless.
From a basic moral standpoint, these activities don’t harm anyone else. Holistically, I feel strongly that people need more spaces in this world where they are allowed to feel free. After these months of lockdown even more so.
The lessons I take from these guys then? It’s certainly not for everyone to go climbing up buildings and ducking into every underground passage they find. I think even the less adventurous can recognise that there is perhaps some intrinsic benefit to spending more time outdoors though.
Not just walking but doing nuanced things with our bodies to take us out of our heads and away from our phones. I know we often focus on the benefit of being out in nature, so it’s hardly a revolutionary point, but I’ve learnt that being in a big city can still provide all that nature can when looked at through the right lens. Minus perhaps the fresh air of course…
It’s also a recognition that we are capable of doing so much more with our time than we often limit ourselves to.
So much in London is refrained from or skipped due to ‘tiredness’ after a day sitting in front of a computer working an office job. This feeling of malaise surely has to have so much more to do with our mental health than any kind of physical exhaustion. I’m loathe to ever be the kind of person that says of such torments ‘well just pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get out there’. It invalidates people’s lived experiences and struggles.
Yet I know for myself energy does genuinely beget energy. Rather than sitting at home in front of screens or leaning on alcohol for a good time, Paris had reminded me that I can choose more active and novel pursuits that make me feel healthier and happier.
The other thing that was impressed upon me in my time in Paris – and across Europe in general this summer – was that the spontaneity that I’ve long decried London for lacking does exist abroad. I don’t want to have to organise Brunch or an afterwork catchup with a friend two weeks in advance. In Paris meanwhile, countless incredible people made themselves available to me at the drop of a hat.
Of course it’s tempting for me to be overly generous in colouring all of Paris and France with the amazing vibrant experience I had across two short weeks.
A lot of credit is owed to the individual excellence of those I met. Some credit to the nation as a whole still seems deserved though. France is a country where liberty and personal rights are so engrained into their sense of self. The strong ethos over enforcing working hour limits also seems to lend itself to doing more outside of one’s employment.
Naturally, I still have some complaints too. There’s a certain prudishness to staff in some cafés, the cost of access to top museums is far too high and I’m sure I’d discover countless others over time. Nevertheless, it may prove fun coming back to find them.
It’s perhaps a silly romantic notion but I’ve deliberately left the Louvre alone this trip, believing it would be nice to give myself an extra reason to return.
I’m still at the start of my travels but the reality is that one day I’ll have to re-join the world of work. I need to consider where I’m going to live when the money runs out and right now returning to London seems less and less enticing. The pull towards Paris meanwhile, or perhaps some other place on the continent has only grown. I’ve learnt that big choices in life can’t be answered in any kind of truly rational manner anyway. There are always too many unknown variables.
And sure, maybe homesickness will eventually strike and I’ll be pining for a pint in a pub down the road in Blighty. All I can say for now is that in these moments I had in Paris were magical. Exactly what everyone told me not to expect, lest I be disappointed.
*The names of some of those mentioned have been changed to provide anonymity.
Song of the Post
I'll aim to follow each of my posts with an associated song. It might be something which fits my current writing or perhaps it's simply something nice I've heard recently.