The Big Issue in Paris

[tomdenne]

The Big Issue in Paris

In fact it’s called L’Itinérant here in France but it serves the same purpose. There are two things that you must become adept at dodging at all costs, especially if you live in the capital. The first are those like the sellers of this magazine and the second are dog turds, which are called crottes.

Crottes are really less of a problem because from time to time they get scooped up and for brief periods the pavements are relatively clear. Not so with the itinerants, who never seem to take a break. In addition, crottes lie dormant and don’t actually accost you in the street.

In this part of town we have a smart young man who rides an immaculate white motor scooter, on and off the pavements. When he spots a crotte he deploys a vacuum hose with the same flair that a cowboy might use to draw his pistol. In an instant the offending article is sucked away. This impressive display is only marred when you think about the contents of the machine. How does the operator know when it is full? What does he have to do to empty it? And what is he going to put on his CV as a job description? Perhaps ‘Roving Public Sanitation Officer’ would do, if that translates.

But the itinerants are persistent pests and I try to do everything I possibly can to avoid them. The trouble is they mostly all look robustly well nourished and the other trouble is that many of them are overtly selective. If they receive a coin they scrutinise it and people report that some itnerants, who only get what they consider to be a negligible contribution, will disdainfully cast it aside. I haven’t seen this but I have seen a young man, with a notice claiming he was hungry, hurl a fresh baguette like a javelin into the street that someone, taking him at his word, had offered.

Sundays have also become a bit difficult. All three entrances to our church are permanently staked out and I always feel a bit of a hypocrite if I pass by without giving. I try to rationalise all the passages in the gospels about the poor but often I succumb to sentiment and contribute, which probably just guarantees that the same out-stretched hand will greet me again next week. I resent being regularly held to ransom by my conscience like this. Possibly I am being too unkind to people who beg and it could be that some may legitimately fall outside the safety net of the welfare state. But I am sure that there are a huge number of others who cadge just to make easy money or to feed a drug or an alcohol addiction rather than themselves.

The other thing that I find puzzling and vaguely disquieting about this army of itinerants is that they seem to be so well organised. All the best spots are claimed but you never see any territorial disputes. Does the simple law of supply and demand settle everything or is there, perhaps, a sort of sinister mendicants’ mafia that allots the pitches and creams off protection money? It certainly makes me wonder.

Sometimes, however, there is an amusing incident. On my way to work I often go through a shopping centre to buy sandwiches. One set of doors to this centre has an itinerant in charge as an unofficial opener. Usually I get by with a cheerful bonjour in exchange for a meaningful stare. Last week I thought I was going to escape scot-free when I saw that he was fully occupied with someone in a wheel chair. No such luck. With amazing dexterity he managed to manipulate the wheel chair while opening my door with his foot. In admiration I very nearly gave in and bought one of his wretched magazines.

Maybe it was no coincidence that later in the day I stepped splat-bang in the centre of a really noxious crotte. It took me ages of unpleasant scraping and washing to get rid of it and I still haven’t lost the uncomfortable suspicion that this was possibly Providence paying me back for being so mean. Thank goodness I have taken measures to bend the odds as far as possible in my own favour. I’ve learnt to walk really fast past people and I make sure that the soles and heels of all my shoes have slick and easily cleaned treads. Goodness knows what people have to do in this city when they wear chunky footwear, like trainers, with deep cut soles. The mind boggles.

Tom. April 2001

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Le monde est un livre, et ceux qui ne voyagent pas n'en lisent qu'une page.

[nomdeplume]

Also watch out for people trying to sell you 'gold' rings which they just found on the pavement. These guys are normally to be found in tourist spots and are of Eastern European nationality.

[Timmy]

Yea Gods' that was on a par with the Garage saga!

[yatesy]

Where exactly is Eastern Europe these days? Are its burgeoning countries in as much debt as the UK? Are they all ex-soviet? Can they all be grouped together?

As for anyone living in 'Dog Shit City' I am truly sorry for you. But, in the UK I would always buy a copy of the 'Big Issue'. The system there is that they have to pay for them and then sell them. Whether or not they can give back unsold copies, I'm not sure. But the system does encourage them enough to save to invest to buy some copies and then, after investing money, time and energy selling them, they often want to do something worthwhile for themselves with the money they gain.

The Big Issue isn't a quick fix but it goes a long way towards helping and providing opportunities for people who find themselves down and out. It can happen all so easily. In fact, "they" are "us", so think of "them" that way.

Sue

[Nifty]