New town It really stops being a stranger when you start making memories in this city.

A friend of mine, who had just moved from Munich to Prague, was sure that I had become depressed. Why suddenly? Outside the windows of Paris - best city on the ground! I don't speak French, though. I don’t know how to install a telephone, how to connect to the Internet, where to buy blankets and pillows. I don’t understand why there is such a horrifying difference in the price of a mobile phone with a contract and without a contract. I don't know how to turn off the heating. I don’t know where the nearest grocery store is, where to buy shampoo and soap and what kind, and at the same time, towels. I don’t know at all how to explain to the owner of the apartment I rented that I don’t need these monstrous red sofas with golden flowers here. I don't know where IKEA is in this city. I don’t have a car yet, and I don’t understand where and how to buy one. And where the hell in this city are they selling thread to sew on a torn button on the only coat I took with me? What depression! Just a slight, almost imperceptible, very tiny panic.

I came to Paris in 2000 on instructions from the editors. For some reason they decided that the four capitals in which I had lived would guarantee that I would get comfortable in Paris. This mysterious city had appeared in my life twice before. And twice, for various reasons, I didn’t see him. That is, I was in it, but it was as if I wasn’t at all. Once - at a conference, which turned into two days of crazy work. The second time something happened to me that should happen in Paris - a romance: I spent four delightful days and nights in a small studio in Latin Quarter with a young man dressed like a clochard, but wearing a Dior tie. And when CEO informed me that he was going to open a news office in Paris, and I would have to do it, I thought it was fate - Paris did not forgive me for not paying attention to him.

Where to begin

A story about an egg and a chicken: first open a bank account, without which you cannot rent an apartment; no, first rent an apartment, because without an address in Paris they won’t open a bank account for a journalist from Russia (however, they didn’t open one for her even with an address). And in order to rent an apartment, they required me to provide a two-year rental price as a guarantee. As a result, a friend of my friend, a Frenchman with a decent credit history, became my guarantor, and immediately the account was opened and the apartment was rented. Now it was necessary to obtain the legal right to stay and work in this apartment, which is also an office. That is, journalistic accreditation from the French Foreign Ministry and a residence permit in the country were needed. And while all this is being formalized, it would be nice not to die of hunger in this gourmet country, to organize everyday life, to understand how bills are paid, how to make sure that they are paid automatically from a bank account, to learn to use the checkbook that is used here more often than a credit card. Yes! And remember a bunch of numbers: the code on the gate of the house, the PIN code of a new credit card, two home phone numbers (one is just a telephone, the second is a fax, which a journalist still needs for business communication) and one mobile phone. Yes! And buy a TV set and connect it to the cable, because it is strictly forbidden to install a satellite dish on a 16th-century house.

Submitted documents to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for accreditation. I am submitting documents to the central prefecture of Paris so that, as it turns out later, I will only receive a residence permit in six months. You can't work here without this. The young official of heavenly African beauty is tired of us all: Poles and Algerians, whites and blacks, workers and unemployed, wealthy and poor. We all, for various reasons, want to live and even work in this beautiful city, they got him. I say out loud what I'm thinking:

Are you from Ethiopia?

The young man looking at my passport looks away from the document in surprise:

Yes, but how did you understand?
- Ethiopians are very beautiful. I grew up there.
- Like this?
- Yes, my parents worked there.

He smiles in a completely unofficial way. And he explains conspiratorially: “Listen, actually, you should be on French territory while your documents are being processed. And this may take several weeks or even months. But you are a journalist, what if you need to go somewhere. Therefore, I will issue you a piece of paper that will allow you to leave and enter again.” Thinking about the quirks of fate and the nature of luck, I leave the prefecture and run into Notre Dame. I sit down on the first step I come across, light a cigarette and, it seems, finally realize that I am in Paris.

Communal hell

A friend who arrived from Prague looks at me critically: “Okay. I thought it was getting worse. We went to buy pillows and blankets, and at the same time bed linen. Stop playing the gypsy who can sleep in any environment.” The BHV store turns out to be the place where everything is available. But, alas, you can’t take a taxi - it’s too close. We carry ourselves. When we crawl to the house and free ourselves from a heap of bags, a friend solemnly opens one and pulls out screwdrivers, pliers and openers, and also a separate hammer, and also nails, and also some oblong plastic and glass crap, which turned out to be a plumb line for hanging pictures . He is, you see, a perfectionist.

You will thank me again for my gifts.

Pure truth. He bought something that would never have occurred to me, a woman, and which I learned to use with a dexterity that I did not expect from myself. But in Paris it’s better to learn how to unscrew and screw everything yourself. Any call to a technician is not only incredibly expensive (the electrician charged me 600 euros for replacing two burnt-out non-standard lamps in the bedroom), but also results in days of waiting, which is not always productive. No one is in a hurry here, and you need to get used to this as quickly as possible. And stop freaking out about it. Didn't come today? Well, okay. Tomorrow will come - mañana, as the Spanish neighbors would say, for whom there are no tasks at all that cannot be postponed for a day or two.

When it was discovered that two of the four batteries in the dining room were working, I called a repairman and waited for him, dying of cold, for three days. He came and said that the problem was in the pipe, so we needed to turn off all the heating in the house, drain all the water, fix the pipe, and then turn it on. If it’s -5° outside, then his proposal is definitely not warm. The first winter I was desperately cold. For the second I blew out all the pipes for literally 900 euros. On the third, I found out that according to my contract, the owner of the apartment had to pay these 900 euros: if the battery breaks, that’s my concern, and everything in the wall, including the pipes, is the concern of the apartment owner. Because I rented a so-called furnished apartment. The first years of bills for gas heating and electricity were stunning - sometimes it was 300 euros a month, until I found out that the boiler was about the same age as the elderly owner of the apartment, and over the years they learned how to make economical boilers. And replacing the old one with a new one is also the owner’s concern.

Are you coming to new country, knowing nothing about the usual daily routine. And this is what gets me the most. This, and also the fact that they take you with pleasure and considerable benefit for themselves as a foreign sucker, which you, in essence, are. And if you don’t make an effort, it will always be like this. Therefore, at some point I found... a union of furnished apartment tenants! I became a member for 30 euros, asked them all the questions that caused me doubts, and eventually received a long letter, the original of which was sent to the owner, and a copy to me. It explained in black and white where and when the owner cheated me and how he was going to do it next. After that, I received a call with an apology from the owner and hope that we were done with the “foreign sucker” at least for some time.

In France, you must keep all bills - from electrical bills to bank statements, from insurance policies to telephone bills - for at least three years. Or better yet, five. Or better yet, ten. All. At first I couldn’t understand why there were so many stationery stores here, and why folders were in particular demand. That's why. These folders store evidence of your accounts for each month of the years you have lived, and you never know when and under what circumstances it might come in handy. I bought 20 folders to start with. Then I realized that it would be nice to buy more special boxes for them. Then I realized that the main purpose mailbox- receiving invoices. Then I realized that the post office is the main and most important institution in France. Works like a clock. Can also serve as a bank.

A car is not a luxury...
- Don't want to save money?
- Who doesn’t want to!
- Then we take a car with a mileage of 5000 kilometers. For Audi this is nonsense, and the price is lower.

A specially trained man named Terry bought me a car in Germany and drove it to Neuilly, a wealthy Parisian suburb where the current French President Nicolas Sarkozy actually began his career. Terry had a small but chic car dealership there, where the cheapest car, it seemed to me, was a Lamborghini. He was told that he was buying a car for a Russian girl. He imagined a Russian girl in Paris in the most standard way: the mistress of a new Russian, her legs are from the neck up, a fool, she doesn’t know how to drive a car. He greeted me unfriendly, although I did not meet any of the external parameters. But he didn’t ask if I knew where the steering wheel was - that’s not bad. I had to drive a turbocharged car for the first time and drive from point A to point B along a route unknown to me without a map, GPS or anyone's help. In addition, a man looked at me with condescending curiosity and was sure that I didn’t know how to drive a car.

From the stress I even spoke decent French. He shook his head towards the steering wheel:

Let's make a circle around the area.

We have done. It turned out to be easy. And then he said what I feared most:

Park between those two cars.

Anyone who has not parked in Europe will not understand me. I was always amazed how they managed to fit into a completely minuscule space, leaving five centimeters on both sides. And why doesn’t anyone yell at anyone when cars bump into each other? I had a small and very nimble car, as it turned out. Correct for Paris. Excellent! I took the exam for all the Russian girls despised by this bastard, put together. I went through a riding school in Moscow - couldn’t I cope! I had to prove to this Frenchman that he doesn’t understand anything about us. At that moment I was practically responsible for my homeland and could not lose face in the dirt. I did it! Terry shook my hand respectfully and said:

Driving this car will only give you pleasure. I give advice on how to travel around Paris. Relax, hold the steering wheel like a bird, not squeezing, but also so as not to fly away. And 30 kilometers per hour. It still won't work faster.

I ended up driving from Neuilly to Marais with the help of a wonderful couple, whom I ran up to at a traffic light to ask for directions, completely lost in the city. The couple quickly conferred and ordered me to follow them - they decided that it would be easier to accompany me than to explain all the turns.

Now I understand that I was lost three blocks from my own home. But almost all the streets in Mara are one-way, which you get used to over time, just like the fact that the distance you cover with your feet in five minutes takes twenty by car.

That's how they do it

I settled into a cafe on the Place des Vosges with a computer and tried to work. I reach for a cigarette. The young man at the next table immediately brings a lighter. Like my son, he is no more than 25 years old. He starts a conversation. I try to stop him, pointing at the computer: they say, there are things to do. He falls silent for a minute, no more.
- How about dinner?
I look up from the screen and look at it with curiosity. The fact that I am 20 years older does not give me any doubt. I'm sure he does too.
- At eight in the same place?
It's funny, honestly. Boy! Insolent too. I put on my glasses and say sternly:
- I have a son your age.
The young man nods understandingly:
- Lucky boy. So how about eight?

Here women have no age. It takes a while to get used to this simple idea. Especially after Moscow, where at 25 women begin to correct their young faces and bodies. It's ridiculous to explain to a Parisian salesman that a miniskirt is not for your age group. Will not understand. As long as there are legs, there is a miniskirt. As long as the eyes smile, there are men. You may not want to talk to a stranger, but citing age is a pointless weapon of defense.

One of the absolute advantages of my apartment was the garage located under the neighboring house, the fee for use of which was included in the rental price. Living in Mara without a garage is theoretically possible, but practically unbearable - you will never be able to park. However, my home has many more advantages. The entrance is through a closed courtyard, on the gate of which it is written “ Private property"and which is visible through the day and night concierge. Exit from the garage into the courtyard, which is very useful if you are chased at night by frostbitten black guys who have taken a fancy to your car.

Another unwritten rule of life here: at Christmas, the concierge is supposed to give a gift. It's best to have money in an envelope. A bottle of Russian vodka is also a great gift. And you shouldn’t skimp on this, because if suddenly your traffic jams go out, or your balcony collapses, or your faucet leaks, then you run to the concierge. And if you went out and slammed the door, but the key remained inside, then the concierge, who has duplicate keys to all the doors of your house, will save you. He even has a “mustache” in case your car suddenly doesn’t start on the third level underground. And if you are lucky with the concierge, then consider yourself lucky with the apartment.

"Completely safe"

Madam, madam...
I quickly tie my robe and group myself on the sofa. And why did I decide that if I sat down by the window to sunbathe in the already quite hot spring sun, I would go unnoticed? I look out the open window. Two young people, completely harmonious in the famous gay quarter of Paris, where I happened to live, are dancing on the terrace opposite my window. - Madam, we have a terrace here, sun and sun loungers, as well as cold lemonade...
- Happy for you.
- Come rejoice with us.
While I’m thinking about how to behave correctly in such a situation, two more men appear on the terrace, one of whom, without looking at me, says with an indescribable intonation:
- Completely safe. Get up!
That's for sure. Two homosexual couples. We rented apartments separated by a terrace. In the morning, before leaving for work, they rush around the terrace like crazy, each with their own mobile phone. Then the one who is free first in the evening runs into the store, and the one who is second gets to walk the dog. In the evening, everyone dine together there on the terrace, furnished with tubs of tall grass and wonderfully smelling bushes. I'm getting up. They pull up a chair and place cold lemonade and an ashtray on a low table. These are the first French gays I met. However, there is only one Frenchman, the others are Danish, Italian and Belgian. Two work in fashion. One is an IT specialist. The Frenchman is a writer. I learn much more about the quarter than in all previous months. I receive an invitation to a Turkish bath - hammam - around the corner, alone or with a friend, because there are mixed days. A short tour of the apartment of one of the two couples. The bathtub is especially impressive: without irony, everything is black and white and, without exaggeration, elegant. They know everything about Russian gays. I don't know everything about gays in general. I get two CDs. One, the owners laugh, if we use musical associations, is light blues, the second is hard rock. The blues turned out to be quite enough. Over 10 years in Paris, I got used to living next to these guys, appreciated their artistry and tact, never encountered sexist behavior, more than once enjoyed their excellent taste when choosing food or interior items, shared with them the bitterness of losses and delved into personal dramas.

Small pleasures

Now enter your password in this line...
At the other end of the telephone line, a male voice rattles something very quickly and completely incomprehensible. This is us trying to establish the Internet. By phone. And the contract was sent to me by mail along with the modem. And there is no question of someone coming to my home for money and installing all these modems and passwords. No local provider offers such a service. And you already understand something in French and even speak something, but numbers! Numbers in French are a disaster for a beginner. The guy finally heard my suffering and began to slowly dictate the numbers and letters of the password. The first web page that appears is perceived as a serious IT victory. Little joys of a new life, from which you automatically expect some kind of catch.

...I can't touch my nose. A striking disease. When the temperature rose to forty, it became unfunny. I don't know many people in Paris yet. And I definitely don’t know a single doctor. I stupidly call all the numbers I know. One responds, with the name Afonya next to it. She has been French for a long time, and was once a Muscovite. I apologize for the trouble and ask for advice. I get a short answer: tomorrow morning at such and such time I’m waiting for you there, let’s go to my doctor. A lady with beautiful gray hair and diamond rings, whom for some reason I have been afraid of since the first meeting, takes me to the doctor, who writes something on a piece of paper and says: “To the hospital and urgently. The best oral and maxillofacial surgeon at the Versailles hospital. I'll call him. This is the direction." The Versailles hospital is in Versailles, that is, not in Paris. I'm driving. The pain is terrible. I thank Afonya and intend to go. She calmly sits down next to him. Then he holds my hand when they cut my nose without anesthesia, because what kind of anesthesia is there in the nose, then he buys me coffee, then he goes back with me, buys me medicine and puts me to bed. A stranger in a foreign country. Appears and remains forever. And I have always been so lucky, in every country. And he continues to be lucky, God knows why.

It's time to join the people

Antique dealer Andre Golovanov examined my empty walls, put me in the car and took me to his “stores,” as he said. In the antique dealer's storage room there were several modern, completely interior paintings, which we loaded back into his car and brought to me. So the plumb line came in handy for hanging pictures. After which Andre put me back in the car and took me to his gallery on the left bank in the famous antique “car” of Paris. It was an open evening. All the antique shops were open, champagne was flowing and a luxurious crowd was strolling. “It’s time to join the public,” Andre said and laughed, knowing full well what kind of test he was dooming me to, throwing me without preparation into the thick of the Parisian social scene. The film Lost in Translation will later become my favorite. Six months after my arrival, I received a call from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the prefecture simultaneously. I took my accreditation and went to get a residence permit. I was invited into some office, and a man with the face and manners of a state security officer said: “It turns out that you are a famous journalist.” I was somewhat stunned and asked: “Is that why you’ve been tampering with my documents for six months?” He said in all seriousness: “You should have told us.” I laughed: “I can imagine this speech of mine!” He smiled and handed me the residence permit without further comment. From that moment on, my phone number, fax, and email were included in all directories about journalists working in Paris. This means 5-6 messages and invitations to press conferences per day for each of the specified means of communication. Work has begun.

Allan, the owner of the cafe opposite my house, looks thoughtfully at my windows. I drink coffee and look at Allan, then at the windows: what did he see there? Finally he turns to me and says: “Finish your coffee and go do the flowers on the windows. It is high time. They are like nothing else."

I suddenly feel comfortable and cheerful. Firstly, because I understood everything he said. Secondly, Allan, who has owned this very cafe for 30 years and looking at these windows, said this as if he were his own, as a neighbor, as a full-fledged resident of the block, and I stopped feeling like a newcomer. Thirdly, he addressed me on a first-name basis, and this sometimes costs a lot. I believe that Allan made me a Parisian.

We were in Paris as a group in May 2017. Probably this month- best time, when the capital of France appears in all its glory: the waters of the Seine are transparent, the sky is Eiffel Tower azure, everything around is in flowers.
So. It’s better to stay no further than 10-11 districts, where reasonable prices to hotels and where it is easier to get to the main attractions. The closest ones are the Opera, Galeries Lafayette and Montmartre. There are a total of 20 arrondissements in Paris, but if you stay in a distant area, then a couple of hours on the train and metro will be provided for you. Why spend it on moving?
It is better to walk around the center of Paris. This is the only way to understand the spirit of this tourist city Meccas of Europe. To see how they spend free time The French, what they dress in, what rhythm they live in. Here, noisy intersections and shady alleys, cafes and museums alternate in an amazing way, so the walk will not be burdensome and will give you a lot of pictures (ticket 16 euros for adults and 8 euros for children).
In bad, foggy weather, it’s better not to take risks: you won’t see Paris from above.) But on a clear day it’s just a miracle! Standing on the second tier platform, you want to sing like Edith Piaf!
By the way. You need to check in advance whether the tourist site you have chosen is open on that day. In Paris, for some reason, each object has its own schedule. For example, the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays. The ticket price there is 15 euros, but even a whole day is not enough to see the Louvre and other palaces.
It is better to select one or two objects in advance, located close to each other, so as not to be scattered. For example, a museum wax figures Grevin (about 25 euros) and the famous Lafayette shopping gallery (free admission). The best place to buy souvenirs, near the Opera, where on the shelves there are a lot of little things with the symbols of Paris, from ladies' scarves to mugs and dolls. The cost of souvenirs is from one to one hundred euros. I don’t recommend purchasing small copies of the Eiffel Tower in the form of keychains from African-Americans: it’s a terribly bulky, inconvenient and unnecessary thing that costs 5-10 euros. Be careful when paying by card in small supermarkets: we had a couple of cases when the amount on the receipt and the card balance did not match, and we were unable to communicate with the cashier due to our lack of knowledge of the language.
By the way, almost all French people in Paris can speak English. And they are very, well, just very polite! If someone is rude to you, it is probably some kind of visitor, not a Parisian.
There are plenty of places to stop for lunch in the city. The average lunch is 15 euros, you can eat cheaper, you can eat more expensive. There is a cafe, for example, Arc de Triomphe, where the waiters speak Russian. Usually, even if you don’t know the language, you can order lunch based on a photo of the dish, simply by pointing your finger at it. We ordered, naturally, oysters (16 euros) and frog legs (18 euros) - where else can we try them if not in Paris? The oysters were in a wonderful creamy sauce, and the frog legs looked a little like chicken drumsticks.
The French love to sit on benches in gardens and boulevards for a long time and avoid busy tourist routes. Fortunately, the capital of France is literally surrounded by gardens. We visited Luxembourg Gardens in the Saint-Germain quarter, which leaves a wonderful impression. Here you can take a nap and have a snack; it’s generally a very harmonious place: fountains, palaces, neatly trimmed bushes, sculptures... and most importantly, it’s open at any time of the year and free of charge.
But a lot has already been written about these attractions, but almost no one is looking for Russian Paris. And in vain. We were looking for traces of Russian Paris, the same one when the first wave of emigration lived there. The Sainte Genevieve des Bois cemetery, where there are more than 7 thousand Russian graves, best tells about this era. The town of Sainte Genevieve, not far from Paris, is very quiet. Deserted paths lead to the graves of Alexander Galich, poet Dmitry Merezhkovsky and his wife Zinaida Gippius, dancer Rudolf Nureyev and writer Viktor Nekrasov. The tiny Church of the Assumption here is like a piece of Russia itself.
Two more holy places for Russians in Paris are the Trinity Compound and the Cathedral of St. Alexander Nevsky. And the Temple of Alexander Nevsky (8th arrondissement, Daru Street) Andrei Tarkovsky and Bulat Okudzhava were buried here, Picasso was married here. The cathedral used to be the home of Russian emigration, but now people who come here are mainly residents of the USSR and Russia who settled in Paris. Often on its gates you can see advertisements for help and employment. There are no excursions here specifically for Russians. But you can contact parishioner Natasha through the ministers; she has lived in Paris for a long time and knows the topic well.
The St. Sergius Trinity Courtyard attracts with its intimacy; it seems to be lost among the Parisian streets. A wooden temple with many steps, lush greenery, and unearthly silence. When you feel uneasy about the life of Europe - self-sufficient, arrogant, prosperous - you can come here and visit your homeland. In everything Orthodox churches the entrance is free.

France. Start living with pleasure Volokhova Anna Aleksandrovna

Paris is the center of the Universe. For a Frenchman to live in Paris means to succeed

“Paris is a holiday that is always with you,” said the American writer and big party lover Ernest Hemingway. It's hard to disagree with him! Especially if you visit this city for five days at a time, spend all your money in shops and restaurants, and then go home to continue earning money. It is also advisable to have “pied ? “terre”, literally “foot on the ground” - this is what the French call their own apartment in another country or another city, where they come to live temporarily. Some people have a “leg” of 10 meters, while others have a couple of floors opposite the Louvre.

I know Russians who live this way. I also know those who have neither an apartment nor a stable salary in Russia - but they spend all the money they earn in their country on trips to France, creating for themselves the illusion of a good life. This is such luxurious nomadism. Oh, if only all the Russian euros that are eaten in Parisian restaurants were spent on useful things at home!

In Paris it is easy to break away from reality. One has only to take a room in one of the luxury hotels, which in France are called “palaces” - for example, in Le Meurice, which overlooks the Tuileries Garden, or in Plaza Ath?n?e, standing right on Avenue Montaigne, where the boutiques of the most elite clothing brands are located - and you are already somewhere far away, floating among oligarchs and sheikhs, and there are a bunch of beautiful people, who do nothing but ask you what else you want. Even your grandmother can't do that! There is no harm in living this fairytale life at least once. At least in order to understand whether you even need to dream about this.

People go to Paris precisely for this feeling, although not everyone goes to the “palace”. And almost everyone who finds themselves here will sooner or later experience this delightful feeling that the whole world remains somewhere far away, and understand that yes, right now, at this moment, you are really living. Someone realizes this while sitting on a warm autumn day in the Tuileries Garden on an indescribably beautiful light green metal Luxembourg chair (I’ll buy one for my dacha near Volokolamsk, you promise yourself). Someone - driving in the evening in a taxi along the empty embankment of the Seine, admiring the Alexander III bridge, who gave money to Paris for its construction? Russian Emperor Alexander III. And someone - eating entr?e (not to say “appetizer”) of foie gras in Pierre Gagnaire’s restaurant...

Attention! Don't believe this feeling. This clean water illusion. Paris is a mirage. You live every minute, and Paris just reminds you of how wonderful your life is, while emptying your wallet at the same time. Read Russian classics, they write well about this, about France and about the budget. Save your money!

But tourists from all over the world still come and go, go and go, and Paris, not only one of the most overpopulated cities on the planet, has also become the most visited. And tourism is now the main source of income for the city treasury. Just think, all the taxes that are mercilessly extracted from every pancake stall here, not to mention private corporations like L’Or?al, cannot be compared with the money that obedient tourists bring to our city hall! There are 150,000 permanent jobs and an equal number of temporary jobs in tourism or related areas. This means that every tenth Parisian either works in the tourism sector or receives income from it.

For example, just for fun, go to any site where you can directly rent an apartment from a local resident. True tourists who cannot afford a “palace” now do only this. Stop going crazy overpaying for 5-meter rooms and lousy coffee for breakfast. On this site you will see Parisian teachers and pensioners who rent out lovely 20-meter studios for 200 euros per day, paying for them 400 euros in credit per month. Wow! But do we really feel sorry for some 200 euros in order to feel like a Parisian at least for a few days? “I’m coming for only 4 days, I just want an apartment with a view of the whole city, the rooftops of Paris,” says my friend. She is ready to spend money on appearance! Who's not ready? This spring I myself looked at the Eiffel Tower from the windows of the maternity hospital, sitting with my newly born baby in my arms. “Mom, it’s like you’re on vacation here,” my daughter, who came to look at her brother, told me, looking at the tower through the window. What kind of “baby blues” can we even talk about here? “Life is good!” – my thoughts were approximately in this spirit. Like any foreigner who finally calmly sat down to admire the Eiffel Tower on a restaurant terrace or, even better, on his own balcony, as if he had never seen it before! The tower is a symbol of luxury, you can’t argue with that. And “to be a Parisian means not to be born in Paris, but to be born here again,” - the saving phrase of Sasha Guitry, who was born in St. Petersburg, is very suitable for this city. Any of us is a potential Parisian, and not a single native resident, who secretly passionately wants all those who have “come in large numbers” to return, is unable to do anything about it. We all, all love Paris. And those who say they don’t love him, just what? That's right - he doesn't speak French, so he doesn't understand anything at all. Let him be silent then.

Yes, coming to Paris and spending money here is within the power of anyone who can earn it. And pleasure is not necessarily related to the amount of money. Most people, especially those who come here for the first time, find themselves in a strangely blissful state just by walking around Paris (those who walk too much do not have time to maintain this state). Gray-green trunks of plane trees, low bridges, graphite roofs, windows with curlicues on bars... Beauty will indeed save the world, and, it seems, you too.

And now you can’t tear yourself away from this beauty. “That’s it, I want to live here,” you say. Come on, come on, try to live here! Find a job, a favorite home, start a family... What the average citizen sacrifices to live in the City of Lights and have the opportunity to look at the Eiffel Tower 24 hours a day (well, or who loves what: Alexander the Third Bridge, the Seine, barges, the Tuileries Garden and etc.)!

First of all, money. Let's take the exorbitant prices of apartments. They don’t charge less than 10 thousand per meter here these days. If our dreamer is not rich, like 99.9% of the readers of this book, but he has some cash for a loan payment, he will buy an apartment on credit. If there is no cash, he will rent a house. But this is not easy to do either - so difficult that there is a separate chapter in the book about it. In both cases most of his money will go towards paying for the feeling of being a Parisian. Funny: a small 53-meter apartment in Paris can be sold for more high price than a 540-meter castle with a hectare of land near Toulouse. What do you prefer, an apartment or a castle? And so you come from this province, where there are such wonderful prices and a quiet life, and you think: “Crazy people, running around here like crazy, giving their last penny to banks and landlords.” And then you get sucked in too. “This city has the unique ability to make people fall in love with it for life,” says an American friend of mine who has lived in Paris for 20 years. Foreign women take off their high heels and bright dresses and change into gray jeans and flats to make it easier to walk, and their men, representatives of the stable middle class, begin to calculate how much they need to work to buy a cozy, tiny 70-meter apartment in an eligible county. At current prices, you probably won’t be able to buy one until you get old.

Or schools. Do you think that if you settle in Paris, the city of scientists, artists and other “cultured people”, your child will definitely go to an excellent school? Funny! It's like thinking that if you move to California and start a startup, you'll create a second Google. The struggle for jobs, of which there are fewer and fewer in the country, begins from the cradle. Even if you get through all the obstacles that demographics (children in Lately in France too many are born, and good schools still not enough), and even if you find an educational institution, it is not a fact that you, that is, excuse me, your child, will be accepted there. And, perhaps, you will still have to take an exam. Not the best nice thing for a person 3–5 years old.

Or transport. You probably enjoy walking around Paris, but when running errands you prefer to get around in your car. However, in Paris it is unlikely to give you pleasure. Rather, it will cause additional stress: from parking, which can take hours to find, to endless fines, which angry and nervous Parisian policemen love to issue for any reason.

For example, I live next to the Trocadero, and I have a cafe under my house. A completely ordinary Parisian cafe with a red sign, where working-looking guys go (where do they come from here?) to play the lottery and drink beer, not wine at all. Next to the cafe there is a parking lot with yellow lines, which means that only delivery vehicles (livraison) can park here. I regularly see from my window how illegally parked cars are removed from this parking lot. This can happen to you too. So it’s probably easier to take the metro? No, this is generally paranoia, the platforms there are so narrow that any neighbor in a crowded crowd seems like a potential “pusher” under the train... Then take a taxi? It’s also a dubious pleasure, taxi drivers can be aggressive and nervous, they try to take you along a route that is not the shortest, and in general, catching a taxi on the street is not so easy. Horror! So what kind of “palaces” are there... Get used to it. But it's beautiful.

But still, living in Paris is interesting for a foreigner. This is a completely special way of life, new experiences every day, a curious “multicultural” experience of adapting to a new environment. Living in Paris does not necessarily mean living a better or more successful life. People live here simply for the sake of living here, period. But for any Frenchman, settling in the capital means success. "Monter? Paris”, “to go up to Paris”, this common phrase - provincial, of course, not a single Parisian would say that - speaks for itself. This means climbing one step higher on the social ladder, “fighting and searching,” finally finding and finally showing this world that you can achieve something. It means to live interesting life– or believe that your life is interesting. This means going to the best museums and world exhibitions on weekends and visiting new restaurants every time - if, of course, there is money left after all the payments for the apartment. Not everyone can “monter? Paris". And when a person “comes” here, he must forget this phrase - like his entire provincial vocabulary.

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All residents of France can be divided into two categories - Parisians and provincials. There is an opinion that in order to become a true Parisian, you need to live in Paris for at least six years. And to become a provincial, six hours is enough. This is the average time it takes to get to any point in France by car or train.

Each region of France has its own characteristics and local residents, as a rule, are very proud of them. These could be the ruins of an old castle, or a special breed of chickens, cows and horses. Here is the well in which the semi-mythical Joan of Arc watered her horse, and, of course, her wine and home-made cheeses.

Each region speaks with its own slight accent and local slang. However, it should be said that Parisians are not homogeneous either. All of them can be divided into at least twenty categories, according to the number of districts of the capital.

It says a lot to a Parisian what area of ​​the city a person lives in. If you live in the 18th arrondissement, Montmartre, that's one thing. If it's in the fifth district, it's different. And if in the 16th, then this is a completely third thing.

To characterize a Parisian, it is also important to know whether he rents an apartment or whether it is his property, and, of course, it all depends on what area of ​​the city he is in this apartment, in the super-rich sixteenth or in the nineteenth, where the majority of the population are emigrants from the countries of the Arab East and Black Africa.

By the way, residents of the suburbs should also be considered Parisians, since they form an integral part of Parisian society.

The place of residence is chosen depending on the social stratum to which the capital’s resident belongs. There are a huge number of such social layers in the capital.

In the literal sense of the word, it is difficult to call them social layers. Most likely, these are social groups or even certain communities of people who are united by a certain way of life. So, for example, representatives of one profession can be divided into a separate group. If you are told that a given Parisian is a bank employee, then you can already roughly imagine his way of thinking, his tastes, rhythm of life, hobbies, and even where and how he spends his vacation. The same can be said about the butcher, baker, plumber, writer, actor, journalist.

A few words about a special social stratum, about a special closed community of a small part of Parisians. So, for example, if the nouveau riche flaunt their wealth, wear expensive watches, dress in the best fashion houses, go to all the most prestigious concerts, exhibitions and receptions, then a representative of the above-mentioned layer very clearly and scrupulously outlines the circle of his acquaintances, his boutiques and restaurants. He will never say where, how much and how he earns. For these people, the most important thing is to belong to a certain circle, to the elite. Not to the one that is formed in the process of development of society, but to the one that seems to have always existed. A representative of this category will never say what he bought Vacation home, this is bad form. He will answer that this house has always belonged to his family, even if it was purchased a couple of weeks before.

But that's not all. The house must be surrounded by at least three dozen hectares of forest or other land. After all, you have to hunt and graze your horses somewhere...

The background of a person belonging to this circle should be almost aristocratic, but not necessarily. He can engage in any kind of business, from trading bananas to distributing drugs, but he always has at least a fourth cousin who once married an impoverished count or baron. And if one of the family’s distant ancestors took part in the Crusades, then there can be no doubt about it. This person is unconditionally included in a narrow circle, even if he does not have a villa on the banks of the Loire and an apartment in the sixteenth arrondissement.

Members of this caste are always dressed rather modestly, but this modesty is deceptive. The jacket will not have the sticker of a prestigious - from the point of view of the nouveau riche - company. But an experienced eye will immediately identify the work of an expensive tailor, from a port-a-porter suit.

As for women, they don’t dress from Christian Dior or Yves Saint Laurent, although they have quite enough money. Their stores are in the sixth and sixteenth districts. In addition, for them to give birth in the eighteenth district, only in the sixteenth. By the way, their children have their own fashion, which could be defined in the words: simple, good and comfortable.

In everyday life, the behavior of representatives of this circle is also different, and this is monitored very carefully. If you deviate just a little to the side, doubts will immediately arise as to whether you rightfully belong to this circle of people.

So, for example, your parents should be called na. A lady should kiss her hands, which looks completely stupid among the leftist intelligentsia. When meeting, one must exchange kisses not two, but four times, as required by the long-standing Catholic traditions of the family.

The education of this handful of people should be the best. That is, the most prestigious higher schools in France, but not the Sorbonne, where everyone who is not too lazy studies, and it is customary to speak English with a slight Oxford accent.

Their fate is predetermined from beginning to end. This means studying at a prestigious lyceum, preparatory courses for higher school, the higher school itself, which prepares elite personnel for society, then a career, depending on the chosen specialty.

Marriage is also a special phenomenon for them. Is it necessary to clarify that they marry or are married only exclusively to people in their own circle.

Of course, you can have a mistress on the side, from some other layer of society, however, it is better to make sure that no one ever finds out about it. As an exception, you can even invite her into the house, but no more than two or three times, otherwise they will think badly of you, and this cannot be allowed. Just as it is forbidden to move too quickly and unceremoniously with new acquaintances. If you don’t feel exactly at what point in your acquaintance this can be done, then you are not a person in their circle. In addition, you should wear a company handkerchief around your neck, a fountain pen, a lighter, play golf, and love sports, especially auto racing and rallies. You should also regularly appear at a tennis tournament and preferably in the guest stand.

You must love holidays in the countryside, communicate with friends simply and unpretentiously, never show your emotions in public and read the newspaper.

But if all this suddenly appears to you, even if you begin to speak with a slight drawl and show with all your appearance how calmly, pleasantly and easily you live for your own pleasure, this does not mean at all that you can count yourself among this small circle, after all, none of you and I, dear reader, have a relative who took part in the crusades, even as a groom to Richard the Lionheart.

Many Russians are very mistaken when they think that life in Europe cannot be worse than in Russia. Judging only by tourist brochures, travel only according to generally accepted tourist places“countries of your dreams”, as well as from feature films - life “there” is wonderful. The reality is this...

For those who live in Paris, it is no secret that homeless people (the French call them Clochards) are everywhere in this city and their number is simply depressing.

Many of them live in the metro, some right on the streets in tents, cardboard boxes and simply in sleeping bags. You just have to turn a little away from the central streets and you will immediately see homeless people. Sometimes you can see them, briskly asking for alms for food (from 1 to 50 euros), even on central streets and crossroads highways Paris. Walking through the streets of Paris in the evening, you can see homeless people getting ready for bed. How they wash their clothes in running water that flows along the sidewalk curbs.

There is another type of homeless people who occupy abandoned buildings and factories (they are called Squats here) located on the outskirts of Paris. There are about several thousand units of such abandoned real estate in Paris and its suburbs, and all of them are approximately 95% occupied by homeless people. They live there in such “communities” of 10-100 people, and each “community” has its own hierarchy.

I completely forgot to say - homeless people in France are Europeans, as well as Arabs and blacks, nationality doesn’t matter here, it doesn’t matter at all. Middle-class citizens who have lost their jobs and were unable to find a new one become clochards here. And since 90% of the population is burdened with loans, and the tax burden is too high (21% - 75% depending on income and marital status; for comparison in Russia 13%) and it is also necessary to pay rent for housing, electricity, gas, water …… Then after a while, such people, who are unable to pay their bills, have all their property taken away and they are deprived of their housing. Then they have no choice but to go live on the street or in some abandoned house.

In the cold season, clochards warming themselves in the air intakes of the metro (and the metro in Paris is at every turn) are even supplied with warm clothes. In general, the authorities take great care of them. Therefore, it is forbidden to chase homeless people in Paris. The man chose this way of life for himself. And many clochards do not want to return to their old life, even if fate gives them such an opportunity.

The Paris Clocharne also has its own hierarchy. Newcomers get places in areas remote from the center or in the Parisian suburbs. Old-timers have staked out the best Parisian neighborhoods and streets from the point of view of “earning money.” The more “status” the clochard is (for example, the former owner of an expensive mansion), the “by concept” the more profitable place is “assigned” to him.

The clochards go down to the subway for the night. They are not kicked out of there either, but in the morning some metro stations have to be sprayed with perfume!

The unofficial “headquarters” of the Parisian clochards is the Church of Saint-Eustache next to the belly of Paris, the largest market in the city, the Forum des Halles in the 1st (!) most tourist arrondissement.

So our Russian proverb is absolutely right: “It’s good where we are not.”