In the summer of 2025 I spent 3 weeks in Paris to carry out research at the French national library. It is my 5th time in the city, and some of the previous experiences are recounted on this blogpost here and here. Re-reading my initial impressions of Paris, I am reminded of how I was dazzled by the city’s beauty and allure, similar to being in a new relationship, with all the novelty and excitement, which obscures the beloved’s shortcomings. This time, my relationship with the city is much more mature, sober, and realistic, and consequently many of Paris’s defects were evident. Moreover, last time I went to Paris my departure city was Toronto—a city with many of the same defects—while this time it was the clean and orderly Shanghai. Similar to how a new relationship with a more high-quality partner helps to shed light on the defects of the previous one, the experience of Shanghai made many of the problems in Paris very stark. A broader lesson from this latest trip to Paris is how much of lived reality is a function of comparisons, which structure, and hence create, reality because they reveal some things and not others, and help determine the gap between what is experienced and what is considered the realm of the possible.
My lodgings in Paris were in 10th arrondissement. Although I have spent much time in the city, and knew some areas are more degraded than others, I lack the knowledge to specify which ones exactly fall into one or the other categories. Consequently I inadvertently booked a place on Airbnb in one of the city’s shady neighbourhoods. The apartment, moreover, was very small, indeed much smaller than the profile led me to imagine, which was not a problem for the bedroom, but for the kitchen and bathroom was quite inconvenient, as simple activities like showering, making coffee, or cooking required bodily contortions to avoid bumping into walls, counters, or appliances. It is on the fifth floor of a centuries old building without an elevator, but this was not really a problem except on very hot days. Every morning, I’d walk down the spiralling stairs with wooden steps which were sunken in the middle from so many years of use; it reminded me of the stairs one might encounter in a medieval church or castle. The main exit opens to a courtyard where the trash bins are placed, and in the evenings there were always hungry rats looking for bits of food on the ground by the bins. Leaving the courtyard and going onto the street one must pass through and open an old rusty gate which would make a creaking sound from the worn hinges each and every time it opened; the impression created by this sound was that of the typical scene in a horror film, when the character opens the gate to enter the front yard of old and abandoned house.
Upon leaving the compound and entering the street, to the right is the famous monument Porte St. Denis (see picture), which attests to the neighbourhood’s past glory, and which contrasts with the present degradation.
Little did I know when I rented the Airbnb that the area is full of prostitutes, who are openly selling their services. Many are middle aged French women, and I was surprised to see Chinese women doing the same; this defies the stereotype of the typical Chinese immigrant. They were new arrivals, and I knew this because I speak Chinese and overheard them speaking to each other many times. One transgender prostitute was always on the corner just outside the building, and would always smile at me seductively as I was leaving for the library. I could not help but think: what would make him/her/them think that I could be a potential client?! When walking past in the morning, I had just woken up and had breakfast, shaved and showered, dressed in ordinary clothing, and had my backpack with the items—computer, food, paper, etc—necessary for spending the entire day doing research at the library; in terms of appearance I probably looked little different from all the other ordinary people going to work or to school, rather than, say, the type who has been partying all night and wants to continue having “fun.”
Going to the library in the morning was quite pleasant in part because the weather was mostly beautiful during my stay. I was in Paris for 3 weeks, and my departure city, Shanghai, was swelteringly hot and humid. I arrived in Paris during a period when the average afternoon temperature was around 25 degrees, while in the mornings and evenings the temperature would fall to between 14-16 degrees. In practice, it meant I could walk and bike—two activities which bring me much pleasure—without sweating, as occurs in Shanghai during the summer, when even short walks lead to the discomfort and inconvenience of profusely prespirating in newly washed clothes.
During the day I would be at the French National Library, which is a veritable treasure trove of sources for research on the subject I occupied myself with this summer, namely, France’s relations with its former colonies in SubSaharan Africa. I was able to consult texts unavailable elsewhere, and the next step will be to revise several articles on the topic and then submit them for publication.
In the evening, I would often spend time with friends. One was a former colleague at Trent University, who now works in Cyprus, and who fortuitously happened to be in Paris to carry out research during the same period. Despite living in different countries, we have kept in touch via regular Whatsapp calls. The last time I saw him was 3 years ago, and it was great to catch up. I have other friends in the city with whom I would often spend the evenings, and this was a source of much enjoyment, not the least because our communication is entirely in French, allowing me to practice and put into use this beautiful language.
After dinner with friends, we’d often go for walks, another experience which allows one to see the great contrasts in the city. The tourist hotspots, such as Parc du Luxembourg or Tuilerie Gardens (in front of the Louvre museum) are very well kept by the city authorities—clean, orderly, and safe. In other parts of town, one might as well be in a different country. The neighbourhood of my Airbnb has been described; the Gare du Nord, a 20 minute walk away, meanwhile, is even more of a cesspool. Unassimilated migrants loitering all around, homeless people and alcoholics lying or passed out on the ground, litter on the sidewalks and graffiti on the walls, the stench of urine, all combine to create a deep sense of insecurity and disorder. And the Gare Du Nord’s stunningly beautiful architectural design(see picture)—with its neoclassical stone walls, Greek columns and Roman statues—only makes the present condition even more stark.
Of course, most, or perhaps all, major Western cities, have extremely degraded neighbourhoods, although many of my friends—who like me frequently travel around the world—agree that it has worsened especially since Covid. In any case, during this last trip to Paris I was much more aware, and bothered, by this degradation, leading to reflections on why. One reason is that the novelty of the city has worn off, as it were. As mentioned, the first time coming to Paris I was dazzled by the city’s beauty, partly because I was coming from Toronto, a mostly drab and soulless concrete and steel North American modern city (with some exceptions, for example, the Brewery District). Toronto, moreover, has many of the social problems seen in Paris, not least in the neighborhood in which I lived for 8 years, and so I had become desensitized or accustomed to seeing many loitering homeless and drug addicts, plus dirty streets and public spaces, almost every day.
This time, I arrived in Paris from Shanghai, a city that is mostly clean and orderly, especially the train stations. The only migrants one sees in Shanghai are Chinese from the countryside, but the government strictly controls their movements precisely to avoid many of the problems one sees in Paris. For example, inland Chinese who wish to live in Shanghai or Beijing must have a contract for work, housing, and health insurance; this ensures that only the gainfully employed and securely housed can live in the city. Consequently, there is nothing even remotely similar to the scenes mentioned above of crowds of unemployed or homeless migrants loitering in public spaces. In Shanghai, similarly, one does not see drug addicted and/or mentally ill roaming the streets, graffiti is nonexistent, litter on the ground is rare, and safety and security is the default condition of almost every area of the city.
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