(Square Alex Biscarre, 75009)Parisian parks and gardens are another classic example of the French paradox. Often heart-breakingly beautiful, they are also often fantastically impractical and over-regulated. Like many aspects of the city, they are there primarily to be looked at, and not somewhere that you can run around and enjoy yourself. In case you should be in any doubt about the purpose of these facilities, the city of Paris displays a full list of rules and by-laws to explain exactly how you should be using them at the entrance of each park. Unfortunately once again, although the frame in which this list is displayed is wonderful, the protective grill covering the tiny characters makes it impossible to read.
The Square Alex Biscarre is a classic case in point. It is a tiny, tidy pocket of peace, hidden away behind a metal fence, but push through the swing gates and the first thing you see is the list of reglements. Just what by-laws could you possibly break in such a small space? In fact, this garden only seems to have two purposes. To the right as you enter, a small, sandy play area gives young children somewhere to burn off energy, but the rest of the park is simply a circle of benches where people can sit and observe a patch of grass.
This garden is a mature one with trees dating from the 19th century, testament to the fact that these were once the private gardens of the Hotel Thiers. This fine building was destroyed by the Communards in 1871, but later rebuilt and it now houses a library which calmly overlooks the park. The city deciders obviously felt that it resembled an English garden and thus honoured it with the word ‘Square’ when they transformed it into its present form.
The choice of this English word though is somewhat ironic. France and England are less than 20 miles apart at the narrowest point, but somehow the ability to grow and maintain grass has not managed to cross the Channel. In France, grass cannot be both admired and used, so it is simply reserved for the eyes. How can the grass of London parks survive football matches and picnics, but Parisian grass be so delicate? In this particular Square, the grass is the principal attraction which the lunchtime benchwarmers gather around. They observe the lush, green fenced in feature as if it were an exotic beast in a zoo.
The Square Alex Biscarre is a classic case in point. It is a tiny, tidy pocket of peace, hidden away behind a metal fence, but push through the swing gates and the first thing you see is the list of reglements. Just what by-laws could you possibly break in such a small space? In fact, this garden only seems to have two purposes. To the right as you enter, a small, sandy play area gives young children somewhere to burn off energy, but the rest of the park is simply a circle of benches where people can sit and observe a patch of grass.
This garden is a mature one with trees dating from the 19th century, testament to the fact that these were once the private gardens of the Hotel Thiers. This fine building was destroyed by the Communards in 1871, but later rebuilt and it now houses a library which calmly overlooks the park. The city deciders obviously felt that it resembled an English garden and thus honoured it with the word ‘Square’ when they transformed it into its present form.
The choice of this English word though is somewhat ironic. France and England are less than 20 miles apart at the narrowest point, but somehow the ability to grow and maintain grass has not managed to cross the Channel. In France, grass cannot be both admired and used, so it is simply reserved for the eyes. How can the grass of London parks survive football matches and picnics, but Parisian grass be so delicate? In this particular Square, the grass is the principal attraction which the lunchtime benchwarmers gather around. They observe the lush, green fenced in feature as if it were an exotic beast in a zoo.
Today though when I visit, it is the scene of a revolution. Sitting in the middle of the grass is an old, sponge football. There are only two other people in the park with me, and the owner of the ball is nowhere to be seen. Has the child broken a sacred law and been whisked off somewhere for punishment? It takes me back to my childhood and the times when I looked forlornly at a miss-hit ball sitting guiltily in the pristine and forbidden garden next door. Did the owner of this ball attempt a daring rescue or simply admit defeat and go off to purchase another toy?
