Some Reflections at the Canal of St. Martin

I wish that I could see much more. But instead I see this dirty, smelly city. In a way, I wish I would know more of its stories, of its secrets, of its genuine charm. I've chained myself in my ways of thinking, and it's been long since I de-romanticized my view of the so-called "City of Lights".

I see the people of the city, having breakfast, lunch, and supper at their little brasseries. I see them on their squares and by the Seine and the canals, drinking wine and beer, eating bread and cheese. Smiling, talking away, making out. Sometimes I just want to be an observer. Sometimes a feeling of discomfort and unpleasantness takes over me, and I don't want to participate. "I don't want to live this life, I don't want to live this way" - I tell myself, even though no one is pushing me to do it, to go participate. I want to meet people, I want to socialize, I want to learn how people live here. But at the same time I'm overcome by this somber feeling of fatigue. It's tiring investing in people, especially when you're the outsider and you're trying to break into a group. People have no interest in you, and they don't want to bother. There have been times in my life when I've had to fight this very same feeling, and as I grow older and experience it over and over again, it becomes harder rather than easier to open my heart and open my mouth to start a new conversation. So I just walk, quietly, to discover a new corner in Paris I haven't seen.

I read there was this romantic canal in Paris called St. Martin. Maybe if I was with my loved one I would think or feel it was romantic. But all I see is this filthy concrete canal with metal, exaggeratedly arched bridges. The buildings on either side look common and unimpressive. I've tried not to expect too much of Paris in fear I would be disappointed. But this time I decided to take the adjective "romantic" at face value and it hasn't been true to its respective noun.

Other days I've walked through "common" streets and been surprised. I gaze at 150 year-old "hidden" buildings, and I'm awed by the amazing architecture. I wish I knew more about the styles - I'm learning some... I've learned a little about Baltard, Hausmann, the Belle Epoque... and I want to learn more... I imagine Paris, France in its more glorious days, or in the so-called Belle Epoque and I sincerely believe that Parisians have a treasure of a city. There is so much art, so much beauty, so many vestiges of history that you can still see and touch all around the city. But then, in a more global comparative perspective, I think about Mexico in the 1800s. Why do we not have 200 year-old beautiful buildings? Why do we not have feudal castles and centuries-old churches? Why are there no palaces?

I feel proud after realizing that we would have centuries, millenniums-old temples if the Spaniards hadn't destroyed many of them. And who would occupy themselves in building beautiful monuments and buildings when they were busy fighting for their independence? Then, independence wasn't sufficient for peace, and Mexicans had to fight invasions from the north (the U.S.) and the east (France) in the middle of the 19th century. Architecturally, the most "sophisticated" construction pieces in my hometown of Tampico are some New Orleans-inspired balconies brought from Europe at the turn of the 20th century that adorn the buildings surrounding the main plaza downtown (Plaza de Armas). Not many people know about these, and they are certainly not one of the most impressive features of Tampico.

Then I return to the canal St. Martin. In my eyes, it's neither beautiful nor impressive, and I realize that maybe that's why it's so full of Parisians instead of tourists.