15

Belleville

B intro

 

This week we slip back within the périphérique to explore a neighbourhood called Belleville. But only just. Located mainly in the 20th Arrondissement, Belleville began life as a wine-making village well outside the city walls. It was only in the 1860s that it was dragged kicking and screaming into Paris.

Since then various waves of immigrants have kept changing the face of Belleville, the latest being the Chinese. In some parts it feels distinctly like we never left Hong Kong, with Asian shops, restaurants and residents dominating the landscape.

But it’s more than just another Chinatown. On top of the Asian vibe is a cosmopolitan, arty feel, something close to New York’s East Village.

Nearby is also the world’s most visited cemetery, Père Lachaise, where anyone who was anyone is buried, from Napoleon Bonaparte to Jim Morrison. Knowing I would encounter le touriste there, in droves, I ventured not.

Anyway, enough chit chat. Let’s go Belleville!

 

Part 1: Asia in Paris

As I said, Belleville houses one of Paris’s Chinatowns (the other is in the 13th). By the way, if you’re wondering why there are no images of any Chinese people, it’s because they were extremely reluctant to be photographed. It was even touch and go there for a while with the dumplings.

 

Asiatique indeed

Asiatique indeed

 

 

 

when Camille was tired, all she wanted to eat were dumplings

when Camille was tired, all she wanted to eat were dumplings

 

 

 

whereas the ladies could eat them anytime, especially after a rigorous morning of tai chi - or is that Qi Gong?

whereas the ladies ate them anytime, especially after a rigorous morning of tai chi - or is that Qi Gong?

 

 

 

Mr Wu yearned to be out there on a bicyclette

Mr Wu yearned to be out there on a bicyclette

 

 

 

Belleville, located somewhere between Manhattan and China

Belleville, located somewhere between Manhattan and China

 

 

 

Part 2: The bar scene of Belleville

Well, the bar scene before dark anyway. You know I don’t do dark. Like to but the logistics of organising babysitters etc etc … Anyway, Belleville and nearby Menilmontant offer everything from the quiet, shady to the hip and loud.

I spent most of my time at one cafe-bar called Aux Folies. This was where Edith Piaf, who was born in Belleville, used to sing when the place was a cabaret theater back in the 1950s.

 

and so are tattoos

and so are tattoos

 

 

 

he's straight out of Edith's day

he's straight out of Edith's day

 

 

 

off to le café

off to le café

 

 

 

mint tea and her messages

mint tea and her messages

 

 

 

love that look

love that look

 

 

 

Aux Folies is the sort of place you can’t fail to meet someone interesting. Like Luna and her dad, Pat. He runs a rock n roll bar in nearby Menilmontant and told me that I should come that evening as there was an excellent singer on. I mumbled something lame about babysitters, all the while thinking, damn, I’d so love to go.

 

Luna and her rock n roll dad :: 1

Luna and her rock n roll dad :: 1

 

 

 

Luna and her rock n roll dad :: 2

Luna and her rock n roll dad :: 2

 

 

 

Right now, the various bars in Belleville are filled with people studying the papers – the Presidential elections are on this Sunday.

 

all eyes are on the news as France prepares to vote this weekend

all eyes are on the news as France prepares to vote this weekend

 

 

 

politics goes better with beer

politics goes better with beer

 

 

 

no papers, just his thoughts to keep him company

no papers, just his thoughts to keep him company

 

 

 

Part 3: Spring has sprung

Well, sort of. When we arrived almost five weeks ago it was unseasonably warm and sunny. Not a glove or hat to be seen. Spring, I thought. But no. In the last week the real Spring has reared its head apparently, which pretty much means rain, wind and cold with occasional sunny bits. Gloves and hat back on. Maybe even thermals.

Still, the gardens and flowers of Paris could care less. They’re out and proud, holding their pretty little heads high despite the chilly drenchings. All except for the cherry blossoms, which seem to have peaked and are now busy forming pink carpets all over Paris.

Belleville has le Parc de Belleville. Not only filled with fleurs but also offering an excellent view over all of Paris – Montmartre without the crowds. The first time I looked out over the view I couldn’t believe I could see the Eiffel Tower as well as the twin steam stacks of Ivry-sur-Seine, a suburb just outside Paris where some friends of ours live. Paris proper really is very small.

 

flowers are springing up everywhere

flowers are springing up everywhere

 

 

 

Anna and her purple fleurs

Anna and her purple fleurs

 

 

 

ring may have sprung but it still sprinkles

Spring may have sprung but it still sprinkles

 

 

 

their best days are behind them

their best days are behind them

 

 

 

and Pauline

and Pauline

 

 

 

his days of chasing women in the springtime are fini

his days of chasing women in the springtime are fini

 

 

 

and look, there's the Eiffel Tower!

and look, there's the Eiffel Tower!

 

 

 

Part 4: To Gambetta

It’s quite tricky knowing when you’ve left one neighbourhood and entered another in Paris. So I decided to just wander and not worry too much if I strayed out of Belleville. Which I did, quite convincingly, into nearby Menilmontant and Gambetta.

Gambetta in particular has some interesting pockets. Still in the 20th, the area around rue Saint Blaise is one of the oldest in Paris, with the original cobblestone street still intact.

 

I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah

I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah

 

 

 

It was on rue Saint Blaise that I met Florence, a proud African woman who was somewhat bemused by my desire to take a picture of her dress. But come on, great frock.

 

the times they are a changin'

the times they are a changin'

 

 

 

 

Just around the corner from Florence I met this lovely lady. I can’t remember her name but I loved her ‘do.

 

as she was then and now

as she was then and now

 

 

 

Gambetta is home to Mama Shelter, a hip hotel designed by Philippe Starck, located alongside an abandoned railway, le Petite Ceinture, which I think once defined the boundary of Paris.

 

next to le Petite Ceinture, now abandoned

next to le Petite Ceinture, now abandoned

 

 

 

blue eye shadow - Mama and Lena

blue eye shadow - Mama and Lena

 

 

 

(And yes, you have seen Lena before, in the first Paris post. I met her in the 20th when we first arrived and I was nosing around the area. I mistakenly put her in the Faubourg Saint Denis post. She’s so radiant I thought she deserved a second appearance.)

 

 

 

Sarah, so Paris

Sarah, so Paris

 

 

 

Gambetta is also home to La Fleche d’Or, a famous music scene that operates out of an old railway station.

 

maybe scooter girl is off to La Flèche d'Or tonight

maybe scooter girl is off to La Fleche d'Or tonight

 

 

 

Part 5: Yes Coco, by law French people must eat a baguette every day

It could almost be true. What else can explain the fact that every French man and woman seems to end up with a baguette under their arm at some point during the day, if not at numerous times.

 

baguette before church

baguette before church

 

 

 

baguette after bar

baguette after bar

 

 

 

The queues outside the Patisseries also make me wonder if every Parisian eats cake every day. It would make sense – they need the calories to fuel all the walking they do, especially the near vertical variety.

 

walking shoes, Paris style

walking shoes, Paris style

 

 

 

Parisians walk, in rain or shine

Parisians walk, in rain or shine

 

 

 

and délicieux

and delicieux

 

 

 

Part 6: Chiens and chats

Hate to end on a sad note but one of our cats, Jinx, is still missing in action in Sydney. It’s been weeks now but I still haven’t told Coco as I keep waiting, hoping to hear news. As a result, I seem to have noticed more ‘Lost Cat’ posters than ever in my life as well as wanting desperately to stop and pat every single four legged creature that comes my way.

 

Arty, the camera shy chien

Arty, the camera shy chien

 

 

 

cat flying up stairs

cat flying up stairs

 

 

 

how do you tell a child her favourite animal may be no more?

how do you tell a child her favourite animal may be no more?

 

 

 

The Wrap

I don’t think I’ve done Belleville and its surrounding areas full justice – blame it on the rain, as well as the fact that I suspect I missed a lot by not being there at night when the place apparently really swings. But from what I did see, I can understand why those that live there are fiercely proud of it and consider it the best in all of Paree. Diverse, down to earth and not trop cher to live in. Vive le 20e arrondissement!

 

 

Coco and her Montessori mates

Coco and her Montessori mates

 

 

On the ‘home front’

Coco loved her kid time at the local bilingual Montessori school. She finished up there a week ago when the school broke for holidays. But she may be going back – because guess what? We’re staying longer in Paris. After booking flights to Berlin and arranging accommodation from next weekend onwards, I suddenly realised that I really wasn’t ready to leave. As excited as I am about Berlin, I’m just not done with Paris. (Okay, you may as well know, I love the place. Somewhere between the 4th arrondissement and the 20th, I got Paris. It happens.)

Who would have thought it from just two posts ago?

 —

This suburb has been brought to you by Berice Dudley and her grandchildren

See you next Friday.

 

13

Faubourg Saint Denis

F intro

 

Welcome to Paris, the city that pretty much inspired this entire project. Why? Because – Francophiles, avert your gaze – I’ve never really ‘got’ Paris. On the two times I’ve visited, the last one 10 years ago, I’ve just never fallen under its spell. I thought perhaps if I left the tourist trail, explored the neighbourhoods and met the locals, maybe I’d feel differently.

As to the choice of our first Paris neighbourhood, I assumed I’d have to hit the real suburbs of Paris, the banlieue beyond the arrondissements, to find the non-touristy. But turns out that ‘Paris proper’ inside the périphérique has a handful of pockets that aren’t on the typical tourist trail. One such pocket exists in the 10th arrondissement, around Rue du Faubourg Saint Denis. After much deliberation and flâneur-ing, that’s where I ended up.

Which was lucky because last week I hit a wall and just didn’t have it in me to venture far. Three months into the project with no break, I found myself exhausted and overwhelmed. Having just got my head around Istanbul, suddenly we were in Paris. Each time we land in a new city it’s a steep learning curve, one that this project doesn’t allow time for. As soon as we hit the tarmac, I need to be out there, exploring and photographing, but instead I’m inevitably held up just trying to orientate myself at the same time as sussing out the nearest supermarket/chemist/laundry.

It doesn’t help that we’re staying in what must be the noisiest apartment block in town and I haven’t been sleeping. Nothing like tossing and turning at 3am worrying about, well, you name it – the blog running late, money, Coco’s (lack of) home schooling.

And while I’m on a roll, sorry to confirm the rumour, but Parisians by and large are not a friendly bunch. Elegant, tick. Polite, tick. But friendly, non! As a consequence, I’ve found them the toughest so far to photograph. They’re not curious or interested, just wary and mildly irritated.

All this ‘blah’ reached a climax mid-week when, struggling to settle on my first neighbourhood, feeling the pressure to produce and so exhausted I was kind of swaying as I walked, I wondered if this was ‘it’ – the point at which I broke and said, very sorry but no more. It’s gonna just have to be 12 Suburbs Around the World.

But like a bloody-minded chien with a bone, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other and waited for something to change.

Thankfully it did…

 

Part 1: From old French to new

Okay, so we’re in the 10th arrondissement, in an area that was once outside Paris’s walls, marked today by a grand arch called Porte Saint Denis (on the right in the first image below). Not that I knew that – in fact, until I turned a corner to walk down rue du Faubourg Saint Denis and saw the 25 metre high beauty, I thought the only arch in Paris was the Arc de Triomphe. Which makes it my kind of arch, the one you stumble upon, sans guide-book or anorak-clad tourist queue.

Named after Saint Denis, a Bishop of Paris in the third century, the neighbourhood has had many lives, from Turkish/Jewish/Armenian clothes manufacturing to the dot com crowd. And just 10 years ago it was super dodgy. A no-go zone filled with drugs, crime, etc.

It still has an edge about it, with Asian sex workers draped over motorbikes at one end and a vibrant African community who run the hair and beauty salons at the other.

I found the vibe quite full on around these salons. African guys dressed New York style hang outside the shops, waiting to swoop on potential customers to get them in the door.

But I’ve long been a little obsessed with African braiding and wanted to document it. Forget it. Aside from a few who agreed, most of the time when I asked a woman on the street if I could photograph her ‘do, one of the guys would suddenly appear and quite aggressively say ‘Non!’. Even when I was outside a wig shop taking a shot of a mannequin in the window, a guy threw himself at me – same thing – ‘Non!’

A wig. Vraiment?

 

 

the old guard of Fauborg Saint Denis

the old guard of Fauborg Saint Denis

 

 

 

the new guard of Faubourg Saint Denis

the new guard

 

 

 

Paris, past and present

Paris, past and present

 

 

 

it's still all about the clothes and the hair

it's still all about the clothes and the hair

 

 

 

nice job but it ain't no wig honey

nice job but it ain't no wig honey

 

 

 

cool vs classic

cool vs classic

 

 

 

Part 2: A mixed neighbourhood

As I said, the neighbourhood still isn’t squeaky clean but it’s undergone an enormous change and is now quite bobo, bourgeois-bohemian. Artists, architects and ad types have all moved in, either working in former warehouses or moving into the apartments with their young families.

It’s an interesting mix of white well-dressed French families walking cute apartment-sized dogs, alongside New York style Africans and the myriad other cultures that exist around the area.

 

now and then

now and then

 

 

 

different crowds :: 1

different crowds :: 1

 

 

 

different crowds :: 2

different crowds :: 2

 

 

 

ha! you call those curls!

ha! you call those curls!

 

 

 

Eva, urban explorer

Eva, urban explorer

 

 

 

people mover, Paris style

people mover, Paris style

 

 

 

French kids really do wear stripes

French kids really do wear stripes

 

 

 

she's a dish

she's a dish

 

 

 

what have you got on your feet child?

what have you got on your feet child?

 

 

 

Part 3: The built stuff

It’s not hard to see the attraction for the bobo crowd. The neighbourhood is filled with characterful industrial bits from its former life as a manufacturing quarter and charming old apartment blocks.

 

light

light

 

 

 

ooh la la, you look good madam

ooh la la, you look good madam

 

 

 

curves

curves

 

 

 

distribution systems

distribution systems

 

 

 

how the French can eat so many pastries and yet stay so slim

how the French can eat so many pastries and yet stay so slim

 

 

Paris ‘proper’ is actually quite small but there’s so much life crammed in that you can turn a corner and there’s an entirely different vibe and neighbourhood. Five minutes walk from rue du Faubourg Saint Denis but still within the 10th arrondissement is the Canal Saint-Martin. Too picturesque for my camera but I found it interesting how much chic-er and ‘shinier’ everything suddenly became.

 

just around the corner, a shinier world

just around the corner, a shinier world

 

 

 The same goes for one of Paris’s Chinatowns, in Belleville. Although it’s in the 20th arrondissement, it’s actually right next door to the Faubourg Saint Denis area. One moment you’re in Africa land, the next, in Asia.

 

 

right next door to the Asian arrondissement, le 20th

right next door to the Asian arrondissement, le 20th

 

 

 

Part 4: Cafe life

Rue du Faubourg Saint Denis is lined with cafes and shops that reveal the layers of this neighbourhood – Turkish, Armenian, Algerian, Indian and the latest incarnation, bobo.

 

catching up on the news, in whatever language

catching up on the news, in whatever language

 

 

 

from Armenia :: 1

from Armenia

 

 

 

from Armenia :: 2

from Algeria

 

 

 

Chez Jeanette, the coolest cafe on the rue

Chez Jeanette, the coolest cafe on the rue

 

 

 

50 years young

50 years young

 

 

 

pray you don't drink too much at Chez Jeanette's

pray you don't drink too much at Chez Jeanette's

 

 

 

On one of my visits to Chez Jeanette, I met an artist called Laurent and a friend of his. I can’t fully explain what they’re into but it had something to do with starting a revolution and involved eyeglasses with one square and one round. Anyone?

 

revolutionary or just too much caffeine?

Laurent Godard, revolutionary or just too much caffeine?

 

 

 

Laurent's creations

Laurent's creations

 

 

 

delicious shapes

delicious shapes

 

 

And my second to last image, reserved for the friendliest Parisian Coco and I met in the neighbourhood, Sophie. She speaks French with an Indian accent, thanks to spending eight years in India studying graphic design, before hopping on a boat to sail around the world.

 

 

sailor Sophie's swallow

sailor Sophie's swallow

 

 

The Wrap

As someone on rue du Faubourg Saint Denis said, this is a typical Paris neighbourhood. While I don’t know if that’s true or not – there seem to be so many different Paris’s in this intense city – I did enjoy seeing such a mix in such a small area.

And has my experiment worked? Have I become a Paris fan? Too early to tell but I’m warming to the place for sure. And I’m hitting the French dictionary to see if I can come up with a better response to those irritating ‘Non!’s.

 

 

 

R is for reflection

R is for reflection

 

 

On the ‘home front’

My ‘hitting the wall’ last week made me reflect on this project and what it’s all about.

As with my first project, 52 Suburbs in Sydney, you, as in you as well as the collective you, are ever present in my mind. I’m not just saying it. I get excited when I see something interesting and can’t wait to show and tell. But I also feel the pressure to reward you for taking the time to peruse these posts every week with good, strong work.

So, if you feel like it, please spill. Tell me what you like, don’t like or want to see more of. Either here or via an email. Hopefully I can oblige.

Other than that, breaking news on the home front is that I got Coco into a Montessori school here for two days a week. Kid time for her, solo time for me. Things are looking easier already.

This suburb has been brought to you by Guy, Kalinda, April and Gina

I really want to get back to my Friday post days – so hopefully see you at the end of the week.

 

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