Paris battle pits matrons and artists

Paris battle pits matrons and artists

By Jon Henley

PARIS: In the blue corner, the matrons of Montmartre: tailored
twinsets, refined accents, demure but determined defenders of
what should be the most romantic corner of Paris.

In the red, the souvenir shop owners, restaurateurs and street
artists who preside over the tackiest of the capital's tourist
traps.

"It's not that we object to tourists as such," said Marie-
Claude Remy, vice-president of the 600-member Association for the
Defense of Montmartre, sitting in the antique-filled living room
of fellow activist, Daniele Pelissier.

"It's the type of tourist. The kind that does the Eiffel
Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and Montmartre in an afternoon.
They've turned the village into a supermarket for bad art and
worse food, and it had to stop."

Views in the square outside are more forthright.

"Bloody women," said Marco, a Sicilian-born portrait painter,
homing in on a small group of Japanese. "They want to kill us? If
they want peace and quiet, they should go live in the suburbs."

There are two Montmartres. One is the narrow streets, hidden
squares and precipitous stone steps of a small medieval village
of 36,000 people, perched on the highest hill in Paris. It
seduced the likes of Toulouse Lautrec, Renoir and Picasso.

The other is the obligatory photo of the view from the Sacre
Coeur, the dubious oils and pastels on offer in the Place du
Tertre, and the accordion players, hot-dog vendors and postcard
stalls. It seduces 6.5 million tourists a year.

Montmartre, which became part of Paris in 1860, has lived
through many battles. In 1871, an angry mob led by a radical
schoolteacher, Louise Michel, drove off government troops who
tried to remove the village's cannons, launching the short-lived
Paris commune. But few have divided the village as bitterly as
the battle of the tourist coaches.

Until the matrons of Montmartre delivered a punishing upper-
cut that ended the first round, most of the tourists came by
coach. On peak summer weekends as many as 1,200 coaches a day
crawled up and down the winding streets that climb to the top of
Montmartre, the Butte.

"Horrible things," said Pelissier, the association's
president. "Shaking our foundations, polluting our creches,
wrecking the cobbles. Really, it was insupportable."

What the ladies lack in muscle, they make up for in political
clout. In November, the mayor of Paris, Jean Tiberi, stepped
decisively into the ring and banned all coaches on the Butte. He
also halved the number of parking spaces at the bottom of the
hill, started charging US$8 an hour for those that remained, and
restricted waiting time to three hours.

"My, what a difference," said Remy. "The atmosphere has
changed completely. Now we're getting the touristes du coeur -
people who want to discover the real Montmartre."

But in the tree-lined Place du Tertre they are livid. "It's a
shameful scandal in the history of a great city," said Kemal, who
left Turkey 27 years ago and ever since has made a living cutting
black paper silhouettes for tourists on the square.

"There was no consultation. There are 600 artists working up
here, we are outdoors all year round, we have families, we pay
our taxes. People expect painters on the Place du Tertre. That's
what they come for. Those women have no idea."

Since November, Kemal said, his earning have dropped to about
US$66 a day from nearer $115.

"There are far fewer people," he said. "Not only that, but the
ones that come won't pay. I ask 10 ($16) for a silhouette, not
much, and the oldies who came in the coaches would pay it. Today
I got three young couples who'd walked up the steps, and none of
them would give me more than 2 ($3). It's shameful."

Richard, the owner of the Mere Catherine restaurant
overlooking the square, agrees. "This is the end of Montmartre as
we know it," he said.

Like many restaurant and souvenir shop owners, Richard
protested by hanging a black ribbon outside his premises during
last autumn's fete de la vendanges, when Montmartre traditionally
celebrates the harvest from its one remaining vineyard.

But the matrons of Montmartre are on a roll. "Now that (the
coach problem) is out of the way, we have high hopes of getting
something done about the illegal parking," said Ms Remy. "The
mayor is most sympathetic. Then there's the litter, and those
dreadful shop fronts that are so out of keeping, and a bylaw to
stop the artists harassing people. I'm afraid they won't know
what's hit them."

-- Guardian News Service