JS

A story about a small walk in a big city.

I needed to transfer between two train stations and had three hours to do so, which gave me an option to see more of the city. My only prior experience with the French capital was a similar setup: I checked out a few of its famous landmarks during a layover between flights nine years ago. But this time, instead of rushing from one point of interest to another, I walked between the stations without a given path, embracing the unknown to be seen. After all, getting purposefully lost became one of my favorite things to do in cities, so I looked forward to just following a certain direction and letting the streets convince me which ones to take.

Still, I took one detour to visit a popular tourist destination. Not too far from my starting point, Gare Du Nord, is the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, a place about which I heard warm stories from my grandmother as a child. So I thought to stop by, send a smile, and then head towards the other train station, Gare Montparnasse.

A mixed-use neighborhood with busy streets and eclectic stores outside Gare Du Nord was interesting, so it felt like no time passed, and I got to the foot of the hill on which the basilica stands. Approaching it quickly changed the vibe, as locals were getting outnumbered by tourists with each step. I was one of them, curious what I would see here.

Stairs were climbing straight up to the basilica, and a step-free path zigzagged nearby. I had a giggle at my impression that it was made for bikes to pedal up smoothly and then ride the stairs down. Once you see it, you can't unsee it! The hill then offered an extensive outlook of Paris, and I immediately recognized where I needed to walk. Montparnasse is topped by a skyscraper that distinctively sticks from the otherwise flat cityscape of the district.

I still wanted to have a closer look at the basilica; however, the closer I got to the building, the less comfortable I was. The crowd grew denser, with hawkers and buskers trying to make the most of it. As I passed some who were selling anything from plastic Eiffel Towers to padlocks that people could click onto the railings nearby, one approached me: "Oi, my friend! Where are you from? Germany! You are from Germany, aren't you!" I gently shook my head that I didn't want anything, but the guy pressed on. "Aha, you must be from China, am I right, ay?" Oh, uh! I kept walking to find some room to breathe and to assess the situation.

A massive queue to enter the basilica discouraged me from getting involved, so I just took in the view of the surroundings. A young boy nearby, maybe 13 years old, was practicing his lock-picking skills and was undoing some of the love locks on the railings. He didn't care for the tourists, for the basilica, nor the sellers. He was in his head and had fun. I took a note, and with that, I walked away to the maze of streets separating me from Montparnasse.

I like to watch the streets. Sometimes, I also like to buy something nice. But while the streets in the basilica's vicinity offered many things to watch and buy, they overdid it to an overwhelming degree: Here's a selection of tote bags! Oil painting? Baseball caps! How about socks with Van Gogh? Do you want ice cream? Let me draw a caricature of you! Postcards? Hey, discover your iris!! Phew! It felt as if you'd screen multiple TV channels on top of each other, and, as they all demanded attention at the same time, none got it in the end. It got me thinking of a Czech punk song about consumerism, and nodding to its lyrics made me feel better. Moreover, it took only a few blocks for the noise level to drop, and from then on, the city delivered the joys of the streets as I like them.

Streets are like bookshelves, where each house is a book full of fascinating tales. Small, big, some have more grandiose facades, and some are unexpected, like this windmill:

A city is then a library. Small libraries can function well under an individual, while others need many librarians and support staff. As I crossed from one arrondissement to another, there was no doubt that Paris is one of the latter. Never mind a district. One street, one house, oh, think of how many stories even a simple street lamp saw during its time here.

Libraries are nice when we can make sense in them, and find what we look for. As such, during my walk, I looked, categorized, and compared. Vegetable markets, fromageries, hair salons... surprisingly few graffiti compared to Brussels, but noticeably more cigarette smokers. Also, a much wider variety of bikes; in that respect, it reminded me more of Dresden than of any Belgian city.

I couldn't examine all the the city's stories and how they changed through time, but I could see plenty of them unfolding right in front of me: Two seniors meeting for a late lunch, young man on a run, a middle aged lady taking her dog for a walk, teenagers scrolling on their phone, people in fancy suits on a mission to do business, people wearing those baseball caps from earlier on a mission to visit Disneyland, delivery person bringing something joyful, perhaps useful, or both, ideally, to someone... Everyone would have material for a movie script. People as flowers, as far as one could see.

It was hot, but the shade of trees and multiple water fountains around made it bearable, so the progress was steady. Intersection. Interesting buildings. Intersection. Captivating light reflection. Intersection. Creative storefronts. Intersection. Another cluster of restaurants. Intersection. Louvre's pyramid. Intersection. Bridge over the Seine. Intersection. Posh stores. Intersection. Aha! Montparnasse Tower; I am getting close.

In the final stretch, I noticed a few takeout counters offering Breton crêpes. Later, I learned that some Bretons who migrated in the early 20th century in search of a better economic situation settled near the Montparnasse station, as it connected Paris with Brittany. The connection is still in operation, and it was the reason I walked to the station in the first place. Ultimately, it was there that my journey was going to, so the crêpes got me thinking about the times ahead. Then, upon entering, the station reminded me of Euston: it is relatively dull, but the mighty machines inside make up for it.

One of which then propelled me to Brittany. Yay!

---

If you liked this post, you might also enjoy others in the Blog Archives. Thanks for reading!