Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll in the Summer

Written by kvfawcett on October 15, 2010 – 10:17 am -

Good, I hope that got your attention. It’s not that the French avoid sex, drugs and loud music for eleven months of the year. But they are more discreet about when and where and how. When August comes, people remaining in Paris assume they’re just about the only ones left, only tourists are walking the streets, and no one is looking out of windows—a Parisian pastime. Clearly, that’s not the case, and if you’re the least bit aware, you may see things that weren’t intended for public viewing. Or you might not see when the weather’s in the single digits Celsius. But August is warm.

If someone lives in an old Parisian building, most windows require curtains that are three meters in length and can set you back a pretty centime. Since the majority of these apartments don’t have air-conditioning, people leave their windows open to let in the air and let the noise out. If you live on a street that’s narrow or looks out over a small courtyard well you may be privy to activities for which you didn’t buy a ticket.

Though all those churches make France look like a Catholic country, relatively few people attend Mass or go to confession. Many (especially middle-aged and younger) French residents appear to have been born without the deep-seated modesty genes good Catholics were supposed to have. Seeing someone in his or her underwear is no big deal. Watching a person (hopefully the occupant) clean the apartment wearing next to nothing isn’t unusual in the summer. Perhaps it’s because it tends to be hot or maybe it makes sense since it cuts down on washing clothes that get dirty during the process. Whatever…

I’ve seen people cooking in their über-chic designer kitchens, eating dinner, sitting in their living rooms drinking wine, having conversations that look heated, putting babies to bed and making love. Come to think of it, I’ve seen relatively few people watch television—even though I know full well they do.

During summer months, I’ve spotted my homosexual neighbors across two courtyards make love as if they’re dancing and want an audience. Oh, to be that limber! Rather than yelling bravo, I close my blinds or exit the kitchen. There are some things that are none of my business; what a consenting couple does between is their business (please), and my fantasies just don’t work that way.

As for drugs, the teens (and older folks) who remain in Paris appear to feel no one’s looking and they can smoke marijuana or do a little coke (not cola) with impunity and immunity. The other night (rather morning) I decided to sit on the balcony at 4 a.m. and witnessed a party in full swing. Being of the live-and-let-live frame of mind (that does not apply to my son and his offspring), I figured what they ingested was their business, wasn’t doing any harm to my central nervous system, and wasn’t going to get my apartment raided.

But I was highly offended by the rock and roll emanating from the apartment. How dare it rupture my silence? I took my trusty whistle and blew it with all my strength. I didn’t want to yell la ferme! since I knew they’d know it was l’américaine who was putting a damper on their party and their fun. Then I began to wonder whether or not I was the only person left on the block or if everyone was so sound asleep they were oblivious to the music that was blasting loud enough to entertain people on the Right Bank… I’m on the Left.

There’s also another August phenomenon. When you think about it, it makes sense. People vacate apartments. It’s as if it’s the end of an old and the beginning of a new school year. Parents are undoubtedly getting situated so their children are settled when the semester begins.

Still, it’s a quiet month because when the French move, they move efficiently and quickly. The truck, complete with scaffolding that goes up and down mechanically, is parked in front of the building and boxes are loaded and unloaded in a fraction of the time it takes in the U.S.

Even though the French don’t move anywhere near as frequently as Americans, there’s been a fair amount of turnover on my street. This is good and bad since it undoubtedly signifies the neighborhood’s value is increasing as apartments are virtually dismantled and reconstructed. It also means the street can be blocked while the movers are at work. Some of the apartments, which had permanently closed curtains or shutters, can now be seen, leaving me to wonder if they had been vacant or inhabited by moles.

Invariably when a property is sold there will be increased noise for a while because the French are now into major renovations. We all know that can take forever and generate a lot of dust and forget about quiet. Anyone who’s lived through a property being gutted down to the studs, rebuilt, etc., knows it isn’t a silent process. I’m fully aware I’d better find another place to work when floors are being sanded, because I feel as if I’m sitting in the dentist’s chair with him drilling my teeth.

Happily, most workmen take the month of August off or concentrate on renovating commercial properties. That’s when they’re most in demand, can charge premium prices and have a finite period to gut and reconstruct before the rentrée and “new” establishments doors open.

By the last week in August, the world eases back to normal. Bakeries reopen. Restaurants spring to life. Invariably there are some new stores and prices have edged up just a tiny bit—as if people wouldn’t notice because they’ve been away. If nothing else, you can count on that. And of course, there are sex, drugs and rock and roll. They’re simply less visible because more people may be watching.

(c) Paris New Media, LLC


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