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