Tramps in Paris are in abundance
A sleeping tramp in central Paris
Living amongst the awe-inspiring boulevards, traditionally furnished brasseries and ornate public buildings in central Paris there is an abundance of homeless people of all ages. Far too often, while going about one’s daily routine, it becomes gruesomely evident that Parisian society is the bearer of many forgotten members.
Literally meters from Notre Dame Cathedral, on the banks of the Seine and next door from one of Paris’ most expensive restaurants, La Tour d'Argent, the presence of tramps in sleeping bags swigging on cheap table wine is frighteningly overwhelming. Slightly further north at Place de la République a group of approximately twenty homeless Parisians have set up camp in the middle of the busy square.
While shoppers stride gallantly along the footpath intact with their latest outfit and a concoction of Mercedes, Saabs and Chryslers frantically zoom across a complicated series of junctions, Paris’ homeless community are going about their daily chores, struggling to survive as winter slowly chills their bones.
Even as I write, a newly found infestation of over a hundred mal logés is ironically camped on the street in front of La Bourse. Last year Le Canal St Martin was a sight to behold. A long line consisting of hundreds of tents could be seen along the edge of the canal forming a colony of homeless residents in central Paris.
Call them what you like; tramps, gypsies, beggars. Whether they represent an irreplaceable part to Parisian folklore or on the contrary, a failure to modern day society, their insufferable conditions are being ignored year after year by the French government.
Last year, on my way home, I offered a cigarette to a tramp. When I came to light his clope, or fag, he proceeded to rip the lighter from my hands and use it to heat up the inside of his sleeping bag. Needless to say, I let him keep the lighter. Taking the metro in Paris will usually consist of a couple of musical interludes on a battered guitar or whiney accordion from those who are on the brink of poverty.
The Parisian tramp is an amusing figure, often slightly psychotic and dangerously unpredictable. I have seen tramps speaking to bushes, beer cans, plants and of course Mr. Nobody. Tramps are often adorably generous human beings with barrels of charm, wit and good humour. They can also be some of the most aggressive drunkards on the street. It is no over exaggeration to say that the Parisian tamp adds to the general atmosphere intrinsic to this great city. What would Paris be without a bit of raw filth and bare squalor? It is after all the city where criminals used to lay naked in chains, women accused of loose morals were stripped to the waist and whipped and brothels spilled over into the street.
Every year, Paris talks about the homeless problem in great detail, and every year it seems the situation remains untreated. It will be interesting to see if new housing laws, stating that every French citizen has the constitutional right for housing will revolutionize the lot of France’s poorest citizens.
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