Secrètes de Paris

The noise started at about noon, softly at first, so that I had to turn off the radio to really hear what it was: a crowd. A big one, by the sound of it, but that's always a bit hard to guess because I'm way up in the sky, overlooking a huge square, so there's plenty of opportunity for sound to bounce around.

I thought maybe it was a Mardi Gras carnival, but that's not happening in Paris until this weekend, and it's not scheduled to pass by my place, so...I crane my neck a bit to see, but so far traffic is running normally and the square is empty.

Then I hear the familiar sounds of people chanting into a bullhorn, the crowd chanting back. "Oh swell, a manif." Manifestations, or demonstrations, happen all of the time in Paris. I read recently that there are over 500 per year (they're always registered in advance to organize the police escort through traffic). Since I live on a busy boulevard, they come through here a lot. Other areas that attract a lot of manifs are République and Bastille. Anyone who works from home (or worse, is home sick in bed trying to sleep), knows that these noisy demonstrations, which can go on for hours as they file past or gather in the square, are a major annoyance.

The bullhorns, the foghorns, the whistles, the chanting, the music blaring over scratchy speakers hauled in the back of a beat-up van...there's not much that can drown out this sound. I mean, I could turn up my stereo really loud, but that would just piss off the neighbors, and I can't really get any work done that way anyway.

So I'm annoyed.

By 1pm the noise was much louder, so I peeked out the window again just as they filed past my apartment building. They were only in one lane of traffic (so that cars could still use the other side), which meant they'd be stretched out for kilometers. I tried to read their banners (understanding what they're chanting is impossible, even for the French), but it seems to be a requirement in French manifs that the banners are hastily-made on droopy sheets with spray paint cans. Of course I couldn't read what it said.

At 2pm I was getting hungry and Pedro and Lena's bladders were ripe, so I bundled up to go outside. There were actually flurries this morning when I first went out, but the foot of snow I was hoping for didn't pan out. Bummer. It might have covered up some of the trash the protesters left behind. That's another thing I hate about demonstrations: they pollute. There are flyers, spent firecracker shells, stickers pasted everywhere, and lots of food garbage. Once there was even a merguez-frites cart (like a French version of a hotdog stand) set up outside my building to feed the hungry protesters. The marchers had made their way around the Place d'Italie to the Avenue de l'Hopital, but my street was still lined with CRS (riot police) for three blocks. They were keeping cars from turning down the side streets leading to Boulevard de l'Hôpital. Great use of tax money. Hmph!

I asked one of them what was up. "Un manifestation," he said, eyeing my little poop machines -- I ramasse, thank you very much! There's no word in French for "Duh!" so I asked what it was for. "Contre le CPE, contrat première embauche."

Of course. They were students (and other younguns, I assume) protesting the new hiring laws for the "first job" (première embauche). In a nutshell, the standard French contract for a permenent job includes a three-month trial period. The employee can be fired at any time during this period. After the three months are up (assuming the company decides to give you the contract), employees can breathe a sigh of relief: at this point they can't be fired or laid off without a huge compensation package (unless they do something illegal). A lot of people, moi included, thinks this is why customer service sucks. If you're not worried about getting fired, why work harder? (on the flip side, I don't think we Americans have a better work ethic; I just think we're scared sh*tless of getting fired so we kiss customer butt).

But obviously this makes employers wary of hiring people, especially "first-jobbers" who have no track record. So the government, trying to make a compromise and encourage companies to take more risks, introduced this "CPE", a contract where the trial period is extended to two years. Of course the French students are unhappy. That means they have to kiss butt a lot longer, and even then they could be fired. I try and explain to some friends that there are no "trial periods" in the US. That basically you can fired anytime, no matter how long you've been at a company.

Many French people actually know this, and obviously it's one of the things they don't admire about the United States. They may like our movies and music, but they'd rather pass on the job insecurity and lack of universal healthcare. Me, I'm a bit of a mutt in my opinions. I think the French are too cozy (and being a freelancer rather than an employee I don't get to enjoy any of that coziness), but I also think it's absurd how terrified average Americans are of losing their jobs. I think something in between the two would be good, so a two-year trial for the first job isn't a bad thing, and will hopefully decrease the high rate of unemployment amongst the French youth.

Sometimes a lack of proper management can work in your favor. Sometimes not. Take the Centre Pompidou, for example. I was showing some friends around town when the winter drizzle turned into a downpour, so we ducked inside the Pompidou for shelter. There's usually a line at the door (for security check; the ticket counter for the museum exhibits is inside), so we pretended we were going to the Georges restaurant on the top floor and got in the guarded red elevator just to the left of the main entrance. Quick and easy elevator to the top (well, you do have to switch on the first floor, no biggie) and I have a peek, as I usually do, to see if the glass doors for the fire escape have been left undone again. Of course they were. Why would anyone go out there in the rain? Duh, to get better photos!

On our way out we decide to freshen up in the restrooms, and I try the water fountain in the ladies room, as I usually do. And it's still broken. As far as I can tell, it's never worked. I'll bet there isn't even a water hose attached. It's probably some kind of contemporary art installation. After all, how often do you see drinking fountains indoors in France? Never! Still, I'm not going to give up hope that some day I can have a little sip for my parched throat. In the meantime I'll have to settle for drinking the rainwater I've wrung out of my beret.

This is art.

With Claire and Mika (center) at the SOMO Bar (Rue Montmartre, 2nd) to celebrate another February birthday. Doesn't look a day over 29, does she?! SOMO is owned by the same folks as the Lizard Lounge over in the Marais (Rue du Bourg-Tibourg), so there's a similar crowd of 25-35ish "trying to look casually snazzy" Parisians and Anglophones. Up in the oddly tiled tower is a DJ we can barely see, but the music is good so who cares? Being a holiday in Paris, most of the town is off skiing, so we could actually find seats at the bar and watch the girls make eyes at the cute Danish bartender (who was pounced on immediately by Claire's tall, blonde Danish friend...making the most of an unfair advantage!)