Confessions of a Pretty Lady in Paris

The Seine at sundown with the Eiffel Tower in the background

One of the biggest arguments I ever got into in my life so far was over Paris. It was in the days when I was still a lowly cubicle jockey at a Chicago publishing company and was daily plotting my escape from the 9-5 grind. I was eyeing France as my preferred country of rescue. I had in mind this idea to go to Paris for a few months, improve my French, find some simple paid-under-the-table work like dishwashing or cleaning or even teaching English, live on a diet of croissants and pastries, hang out at Shakespeare & Co. and write some classically bad expatriate poetry...

Shakespeare & Co. bookstore in Paris

If I couldn't find any work, I had some savings I could fall back on--but for how long I didn't know. I needed to work the practicalities of this idea out first and find out how much it costs to rent a small, simple, furnished room in Paris for 3 months or so. And while I'm looking into it, I thought I'd better find out more about Paris' neighborhoods, like which ones might not be safe, especially for a foreign woman on her own.

In Paris on my own. Frenchmen sure like to show off around young ladies!

I decided to turn to the Internet--every advice-seeking girl's best friend. I posted the questions I had about cost and safe neighborhoods in the forum of a major travel site. The firestorm my innocent questions set off still baffles me to this day--and opened my eyes to the truly warped perception even people who should know better have of the single female traveler.

My post got a few normal, straightforward replies at first--from both male and female respondents. Then some guy inexplicably posted a response suggesting I must be seeking casual flings in Paris. I ignored his comment at first, recognizing him as a troll. Another male commenter came to my defense, demanding the troll explain himself, while a couple female commenters expressed the very same bafflement I felt. The troll persisted however, and I finally replied with a sarcastic comment that he must read a lot of romance novels to think such a thing. Another male commenter (who claimed he lived in Paris for decades) jumped in backing up the troll--why, I'll never know--claiming my original inquiries had something suspicious about them. It got ugly from there--real ugly. I'm your classic nice girl--soft-spoken and often too sweet for my own good--but I don't take such accusations quietly.

A picture of me in front of the notorious Moulin Rouge cabaret in Montmartre. Does this make me a suspicious female, or just a typical tourist?

The troll backed off and apologized; his Paris-living ally only grudgingly relented after a number of other commenters got through to him that he was way off in his interpretation of my questions. Meanwhile, a Scotsman on the forum sent me a private message with the subject line "Pay no attention to those morons" and gave me a tip about a work exchange website called HelpX that I might find useful. (Indeed I did, for France as well as Australia. The one good thing that came out of the forum fiasco.) I can laugh about the brouhaha now, even if I still don't understand it.

What did I do wrong after all? I just wanted to spend some time in Paris, a city I'd been to once before and wanted to experience more meaningfully. And I just wanted to know how much it would cost me...and assurance I'd be safe.

Dark and scary passageway. ;-) Taken from the Louvre.

Courtyard of the Louvre

At the Louvre

The answer is nothing. I did nothing wrong--nothing that anyone else planning on visiting another country or even another city for an extended time wouldn't do. And certainly nothing that any other woman wouldn't do. Yet somehow my questions exposed a couple ugly stereotypes about women travelers and women in general. The troll made his initial comment based on his assumption that any single woman who travels to a city like Paris, known for romance, must be doing it for the sole purpose of finding romance herself. It never occurred to him I might want to go there for the art and architecture, the food, the language, or just the sake of getting out of town and experiencing another culture. Maybe he believes only men do stuff like that, or couples. And maybe his assumption had nothing to do with my choice of Paris or France--maybe he believes women travelers are on the hunt for men or sex no matter where they go--Paris, Peru, Tunisia, Tanzania, Beijing, Borneo.... I sincerely hope he doesn't believe that though--he'd be way off. 

St. Michael the Archangel sculpture at the Place Saint-Michel. Believe it or not, women tourists are actually interested in monuments like this. 

The Arc de Triomphe. Chicks like this stuff too.

It's not that some women don't travel for romance--because of course some women do. And it's not that there's anything wrong with that reason either--hey, get it how you can, ladies, get it how you can. It's just that there was no suggestion of it in my questions on the forum board, and there was no reason for the troll to make the suggestion, much less in an accusing manner.

As for the other guy, the one who demanded I explain my motives, I guessed he thought he was only defending the reputation of his beloved Paris, though my question about safety was a standard question for any female traveler, regardless of destination. But there are still men who remain oblivious to this concern--or worse, suspicious of it. Some men (and unfortunately even some women) think that if a woman voices a concern or complaint about her safety, then she must be doing (or planning on doing) something to provoke danger. In short, she must be asking for it.

My response to anyone who believes such sexist nonsense is this: No.

Sculpture inside L'Arc de Triomphe...saying "No."

If women who travel express concern about safety while abroad, the very simple and obvious reason is that experience has taught them to be aware and be careful. Including when in Paris. And in my own experience, definitely when in Paris.

My experience as a woman traveling alone in Paris has been that some Parisian men (notice I say some--not all or even most) do nothing to quell the "French lover" stereotype in their interactions with foreign women. In fact, some even seem to embrace it. There were days in Paris when I felt like I was trapped in a Pepe Le Pew cartoon.

For example, that first picture at the top of this post? The one of the River Seine? That was taken just a minute before a young man (admittedly, a very nice one) on the pont approached me and tried to get me to agree to meet him later that evening. The third picture, the one of me in a purple dress standing in front of a statue in the Tuileries? That one was taken a few minutes after another man came up to me with the opening line, "Je vous trouve très charmante" (Really? You just met me!), and then offered to take me somewhere to talk over a glass of wine. One of my numerous visits to Notre Dame was a bit marred by a man who stopped to ask me the time (another popular pick-up approach in Paris) and then sat down next to me (I had sat down outside the cathedral trying to fix my camera) to talk about American girlfriends. He didn't look too happy when I excused myself to take a picture of some statue of a guy on a horse, this picture actually:

In front of Notre Dame. I have no idea who this is on the horse, but he was a helluva lot more interesting to me than the guy harassing me.



Notre Dame Cathedral.



Detail of sculpture on front exterior of Notre Dame--also more interesting to me than the guy harassing me.

Those incidents all occurred on my 2nd visit to Paris, when I had a better sense of how to handle such situations--with a gracious smile and a polite "non, merci." My first visit I had been less prepared. One of my less cherished memories of that first visit includes a very unnerving afternoon I spent at the Jardin du Luxembourg, just down the street from my hotel and where I had gone with the idea of writing out some postcards. Within minutes of sitting down in a quiet spot, I moved to a more crowded section of the park after an older, mustached man in a green suit suddenly came up to me and tried whispering in my ear. Not long after sitting in my new spot, another man came along and said hello, then chastised me for ignoring him. After a third man came along, an immigrant from Mali, and tried to get me to tell him which hotel I was staying at, I just got up and left. I ended up writing my postcards in my hotel room.

View from my hotel room--the Hotel de Suez, nice, safe, reasonable, and convenient...

...And the room comes with a real French bidet. Yes I took a picture of it, and yes I'm putting it on my blog. It's my blog and I'll do what I want.

To make one thing clear, I don't think all these incidents kept happening because I'm so amazingly hot or anything. I think they kept happening because I was a foreign woman and alone. To be female, foreign, and alone is a triple dose of vulnerability anywhere in the world. And there are men out there who go after solo female travelers, sometimes even regardless of their age or appearance, because they think we're an easier target. In Paris I suppose some men play up the French lover stereotype in hopes of attracting a living stereotype of the lonely lady looking for love in one of the world's most romantic cities.

Dealing with wanna-be romeos was actually just one of the awkward things about being a woman on your own in Paris. Another was dress and style. Women in Paris are indeed stylish looking, some without even appearing to put any effort into it. French women in general seem to dress up more and dress more feminine than women in America. I knew I couldn't pass for French but I also didn't want to look like a typical tourist or slob. So I wore mostly dresses and skirts while sightseeing in Paris. But when I wore a sundress on a hot Feast of the Assumption day to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica in Montmartre, I was interrupted in my prayers by an usher who told me I would have to cover up or leave. (For the record, I did neither. I stayed where I was until I finished praying. I remember being especially annoyed because there were 2 men sitting in a pew near me dressed in sloppy, sweat-stained t-shirts and what looked like boxer shorts, talking away as if they were on a park bench, and the usher hadn't said a word to them.)

Sacre-Coeur Basilica, the church my sundress scandalized.

There is also the awkwardness of being a woman alone and not particularly looking for romance in a city known for romance. My first time in Paris was in April. April in Paris. Let me tell ya, it is everything it's supposed to be--less crowded, fresh-smelling, with colorful flowers and trees in bloom everywhere. Also honeymooners--honeymooners everywhere. After a trip up the Eiffel Tower, I bought a ticket for a boat ride on the Seine. I had been advised by my father's friend Louis to take the boat at sunset or at night, when all the lights would be on along the river. And he was right--it made for a very pretty excursion. Pretty and awkwardly romantic.

Directly ahead of me in line getting on the boat were two honeymoon couples, one still in their wedding clothes. They were all aglow and giggling, swopping wedding-site stories, while I lurked behind them, a quiet and lonesome spinster. Once on the boat, each and every rider was directed to a corner where a photographer would take your picture and try to sell it to you later, before you were allowed to go find a seat. I appeared to be the only lone rider on this boat--everyone else was with a group or a friend or partner. When it was my turn to step up the camera, the photographer looked over my head as if wondering where the rest of my party were. "I'm alone," I announced. "Je suis seule." "Elle est seule, elle est seule!" the ticket taker shouted at the photographer repeatedly and shrugged his shoulders at him. The photographer looked annoyed, then impatiently waved me on--waved me on past his camera. There was no point wasting a photo on just me. (And to be honest, I didn't want mine taken.) As the boat ride commenced and the sun set, romantic French music wafted from the boat speakers, the honeymooners uncorked a couple champagne bottles and giggled and glowed and got drunk, the families and groups swayed to the music and took group photos. I sat by myself and tried to focus on all the beautiful lights of the beautiful city around me and felt, well, awkward doesn't quite cover how I felt. Like an ass. I felt a bit like an ass. A solo female traveling ass.

Me, myself, and I...and the Eiffel Tower

But here's the thing. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. I'd go to Paris again and again--alone or with friends or on my honeymoon, whatever it takes. For the food, for the language, for the art and architecture, maybe even for the romance if I get crazy enough. Paris is stunning. Paris is worth a heated argument. Paris is worth the awkwardness of being a woman alone.