We got Trouble my friends in the City by the River

Trouble, starts with “T” and that rhymes with “P” and that stands for ....well, pee.


The warm weather has arrived in glorious fashion in Paris. With the warm weather come the happy groups of tourists snapping photos of the churches and monuments. The locals who pack picnic bags filled with bread and wine and cheese perch on the granite berms, steps and benches along the quai, drinking in the view along with their wine ...quite the picture, oui? Well, turn around and there along the stone wall along the Quai Montebello one sees another summer phenomenon, the other “side” of the picture...rather you smell it first...pee. In all my days, I have never been so accosted by Peeing Toms...and as the day warms, the offense grows... human urine reeks. This appears to be a uniquely male aberration and violation of social code. I am not saying that women have never peed in public, but it is a highly unlikely occurrence...modesty, practicality, and the good sense to find a toilet drive women to behave.

This “oh, la wee, I gotta pee” assault began about a month ago. My youngest daughter Emily and her friend Olivia arrived from Boston in mid-May. To help them tackle jet lag, we thought a nice morning stroll over to Notre Dame and the quai along the Seine might be beneficial...and it started out that way. As we passed the lovely little garden next to the rue Galande, we saw a bum...or more precisely a bum’s bum poking our way as the person in question “watered” the roses through the wrought iron fence. I no longer stop and smell flowers in public gardens...ew. Not five feet down the sidewalk, we saw something rustling a huge shrub in same said garden...think Donna Reed in It’s A Wonderful Life...oh, that it were...but no, another homeless guy with a need to irrigate sprinkled away...and the combination BO and PO was gross.

Bill and I hurried the girls along, hoping that being bleary-eyed, they might have missed that little episode and we crossed over to the quai. Down the massive granite steps, the sun warming us and the summer breeze brushing loose hairs across our faces, we pointed out the sights and spoke of the history of the storied, lively Latin Quarter. We passed a couple of houseboats and floating restaurants. As we approached one of the 30 (or so) bridges spanning the Seine, there in the shadows loomed an ominous sight...facing the wall. Yup...Peeing Tom. We hustled on by...what else were we to do, watch? As we exited the arch of the bridge, we walked into a wall of stink...Urinetown!! To our right was an enclosure for the riverboat restaurants’ dumpsters...but the smell was not of garbage; it was gut wrenching, stinging, stinky, urine. Apparently we had walked by the surrogate public toilet for the late night party crowd that descends upon the Seine around 11pm when the weather entices. This was the first time though that we had encountered such a stench. Normally, we would walk Reilly along the quai in the mid to late afternoon...well after the Sanitation crews had power washed the walls and walks. As we continued our march along the river, we saw the Green Clean Team (as I call them cuz they wear Kelly green jumpers topped with lime green crossing guard vests) blasting the stench and debris from the previous night’s partiers and denizens of the riverside, through openings in the river wall...and into the murky, churning waters below.

I had had enough and we were about to be super-soaked by the green guys, so I suggested we head up to street level and find a café. Caffeine and a pastry might give the girls the pick-me-up they needed. Rather than head back toward Notre Dame and the growing crowds of tourists, we headed down the smaller rues and alleys in the neighborhood. It is fun exploring these passages, finding secret gardens, quaint shops and interesting architectural details. Along the rue des Bernadins, we passed one of Paris’ SDF (sans domicile fixe) sitting in a lovely, little ivy-covered alcove, on a white marble bench and in a personally provided puddle. I just shivered at the recollection. I know the girls missed the details of that episode as they were dodging a huge pile of dog crap on the sidewalk...ah little blessings.

I can say with certainty and chagrin that since that day, I have been exposed to the exposed at least once daily. Every night the girls wanted to head over to the Latin Quarter for crepes and we usually have success with Reilly’s own “bathroom needs” down by the river. We bring a plastic bag for poop and we cover her pee spots with sand. But with exceptional weather, the nighttime crowds on the Seine were large, loud and drinking heavily. One night it got so ridiculous, as we waited for the dog to do her business, watching and counting the men lined up along a wall that was a part of the stone stairs going up to street level...hundreds of people passing above and below and there they were all lined up, sprinkling and tinkling like no one could see. At one point, there were seven guys peeing in the somewhat dark...street lights and sunset at 10pm cast them in a weird light...I think the human pong turned Reilly off the quai...she won’t do her business down there anymore.

From the little boy urged by his mom to pee on the statue of Charlemagne to the not so little boy with his extra large can of 1664 beer in tow, peeing on the shuttered door of my formerly favorite cheese shop, this past Monday night, it is obvious to me that either Paris or I have a problem. My suggestion to the pee-pertrators is take a hint from the Green Clean Team’s solution...pee directly in the river. It will save them some extra work, spare your shoes from splashing, save my nose and delicate constitution and heck, give the tourists on the Bateau-bus something else to post on YouTube.

If the Paris police ticketed everyone who pees in public (which is against the law here), I think they could solve the economic crisis in the Eurozone! And it could certainly help the public image of Paris...the first thing a friend said to me when I told him I was moving to Paris was...oh, Paris is a dirty place...it stinks. And ask any Parisian what Paris is like in the summer and to a word they all say, it stinks. Well, stop using this grand old city as your public toilet! Gee Whiz.