Farewell to the folkloric smokers of Paris
Romance, philosophy, intellectualism, poetry, art, love, and truth have forever been intertwined and caressed by floating clouds of tobacco smoke. Twentieth century Paris magnetically attracted the world’s artistic and intellectual elite thanks to its charm, atmospheric intensity and aesthetically vibrant café culture. The drugs, sex and rock and roll of the United States was unable to side track Paris' addiction to art, love and bohemianism. The brilliant and inspirational works of many a Parisian philosopher have traditionally been nourished by a continuous plume of cigarette smoke. Smoke and creativity went hand in hand. With hindsight, it was no coincidence that the first word I learnt upon arrival in Paris almost two years ago was cendrier or ash tray
Even today, when strolling through the narrow streets of the left bank, frequenting the former hideouts of Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre, the distinguishable smoke filled aura still exists in Parisian cafés and bars. Admittedly - even as someone who has permanently curbed their social addiction to smoking – the billowing clouds of smoke which infiltrates my immediate vicinity always succeeds in stimulating my intellectual nerve endings.
Sadly, such folkloric attitudes are diminishing at quicker rates than the Amazon rainforest. The price of cigarettes in France is due to increase by 6% next Monday. What’s more, come the 1st January 2008, there will be no more discussing philosophy or book writing while taking a drag on a clope or fag, as smoking is banned in all public places.
Les deux Magots, the famous left bank café where Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir inhaled and wafted their way through countless philosophical discussions has an owner who says she is “glad to be getting rid of the smoke.”
The famous French heart throb chain smoker and musical artist, Serge Gainsbourg, is no doubt turning in his grave at the prospect of a public smoking ban. He even wrote a song called “God smokes Havana cigars” to demonstrate his love affair with the cigarette.
Serge Gainsbourg with his beloved cigarette
The fact remains that French smokers seem to inhale their cigarette smoke in order to supply their brain with a sort of intellectual super fuel. Still, the health conscious society we now live in as well as political discourses urging us all to eat five portions of fruit a day are set to guillotine an aspect of France’s intellectual identity. Perhaps I am guilty of possessing a nostalgic sentiment towards the twentieth century and forget that modern day writers no longer feel the need to smoke while putting pen to paper. Let us hope so, otherwise we will be seeing fewer intellectual sorts in cafés and bars on the left bank.
Cendriers across France will extinguish their last cigarettes in less than five months time.
Climate Red
randomthoughts
Phil's Wellness Tips
One of my favourite Paris memories is going to a restaraunt with friends and being the only aussie and them sitting there smoking and talking...The girls even looked classy smoking while they ate.......
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
Oh well....I am a writer....of sorts...and having given up the most dangerous and revolting substance known to man, i cannot shed a tear at teh thought of a parisian cafe devoid of its poisonous plume!
Maybe, one day, I will get there and see it all for myself.
However, I did go thorugh my Gaulloises and Gitanes smoking days...cough cough,,,god they were strong, but yes, a rich and intoxicating aroma!
Sobrani Black Russians and Cocktail fags were also among my favourites, and why not, if you are going to smoke, you might as well make a spectacle of yourself!!
cheers and fogless days to come
fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
what does the anagram of
Gaulloises French cigarettes
stand for....?
Face it, eh? Clogs arteries, lungs.
funny eh what???!!!??
Tant pis!
Paris, it seemed to me, was the last bastion of romance! Long live smoke! I used to smoke, but gave up after New York's mayor, a certain Mr. Bloomberg, banned the importation of my beloved Gitanes.
I found some up in Montreal, but the thrill is gone.
D. H. Spider (an Englishman in New York)