Paris

THE train pulled into a grey and windy Paris, a city known for its beauty but also one with a dubious past. Communities with deep roots in French history and culture have been made scapegoats and vilified during the capital’s chequered history. Yet, the roots and historical connections between France and other parts of the world are very visible in Paris and form an intriguing and popular tourist trail. This includes the splendid architecture of the Institute of the Arab World and the Mosque of Paris, and the solemn dignity of the Memorial to the Unknown Jewish Martyr.

First stop, however, from the Gare du Nord, is La Goutte d’Or, just a few minutes walk behind the station. This is the North African sector, with its Muslim bakers and colourful clothes and materials shops. There are many seemingly typical Parisian cafes, full of local men. The streets, though, have a stark empty quality about them and with the sandy-coloured almost crumbly buildings, the area reminded me of pictures of Algeria.

La Goutte d’Or leads on to the Barbes. I had been warned not to go here due to Brixton-type disturbances. However, that day, Barbes’ various ethnic shops and small bric-a-brac markets were lightly buzzing with commerce and little else. Recent protests had been aimed at measures brought in last year by Interior Minister Charles Pasqua. These included spot passport checks and the forming of a new uniformed immigration police for patrolling these areas. A local boy had died in their custody.

Just off Boulevard Barbes are the series of discount clothes stores called Tati. A permanent rush of people bustle for the cheap clothes, the whole system spilling onto the pavement. Fighting my way out of the crowds I walked on to Pigalle and from there took the Metro to Place Monge and La Mosquee de Paris.

The first mosque to be built in Paris, completed in 1926, is an exquisite maze of courtyards and gardens with little fountains, marble décor and a tall minaret. I walked through to the adjoining restaurant.

The tea room serves sweet mint tea, authentic loukoums and sticky pastel pastries. This is partitioned off from the restaurant where I sat down for lunch.

Comfortable sofas line the walls in semicircles forming the open alcoves of the restaurant. In front of you are large bronze tables on which the food is served. The designs on the walls and the decorative furniture all make for an atmospheric Islamic setting.

The set three course meal comes to 90FF (£10), not including mint tea. Starter was Brik, a poached egg covered with herbs and wrapped in a very fine poppadom type layer. Main course was couscous and lamb accompanied by a bowl of either stew or soup, difficult to tell.

Customers had come and gone since I had been sitting down and I peered over into the tea room to watch the clientele there. It seemed like the mosque’s restaurant was a chic and trendy hang-out; in the darkly lit tea room there was a group of loud rich Parisian students and individual sophisticated looking young people and travellers, reading newspapers or writing while sipping mint tea. The greying moustached waiter was the only recognisable Muslim I had seen in the restaurant. All the customers while I was there had been white Europeans, mostly tourists.

Finally, the waiter brought dessert which was a small block of loukoum, the stuff Turkish Delight is a cheap copy of. It had been a varied and filling meal, washed down with superbly sweetened mint tea the restaurant is famous for.

I had to walk round the white walls of the mosque to get back to the domed entrance. Inside, a group of people were waiting for the guided tour. A plump, friendly west African woman took us round the mosque. Built between 1922 and 1926, it was a reward to North Africans for their service during the First World War.

The guide went on to talk about the basics of Islamic religion and practice. There were about 30 people on the tour, of all age groups, though the majority were youngish student types. All seemed interested in the talk and tour round the halls and gardens and peek in the prayer room.

A letter was pinned on several notice boards from President Mitterrand to the rector of the mosque, giving his best wishes to those who prayed in the mosque and all other French Muslims at the time of Ramadhan and the festival of Eid-ul-Fitr.

Islam is presented in a way here, and receives a kind of recognition, that is rare elsewhere. Exotic décor, authentic atmosphere, sense of history and a refreshing lack of pontificating make it somewhere that non-muslims find intriguing, becoming curious for knowledge of the culture and history behind such a place. The tea room adjoining the reatuarant is a sophisticated and laid back hang out; a positive yet unassuming piece of Islamic imagery.

A short walk through the beautiful Jardin des Plantes with its various botanical displays, conservatories and zoo, and then along the Seine takes you to the Institut du Monde Arabe. Time can be spent just admiring the outside of the building, which is made up completely of windows.

The Institute of the Arab World, designed by French architect Jean Nouvel, was one of the ‘Grands Projets’ of the eighties. Screens of Moorish palaces provided the distinctive design of the high-tech windows, which open and close according to the amount of available daylight.

Inside there is museum, library, shop and rooftop terrace. The museum holds a superb collection of art, tapestry, ceramics, scientific instruments, coinage, carpets and manuscripts from Tunisia, Egypt, Spain, Morocco, India, Turkry, Algeria and Iran ranging from the eight century to the fifteenth. The displays included copies of the Quran from the ninth to the fourteenth century, scenes from battles in the crusades done at the time, astrological instruments from ancient Iran, and art from Mughal India.

The other side of the Institute houses the library which was packed with people studying. A spiral corridor lined with books takes you up and down the three floors. The library also has its own glass elevator separate from the main one which took me to the rooftop terrace on the ninth floor.

I felt tired as I looked over the panoramic view of Paris. I ordered a coffee and once again noticed I was only muslim in a place dedicated to muslim culture. Even the waiter was of the typical arrogant Parisian type. The cod North African pop music playing in the background seemed ridiculously out of place.

The French had put together an excellent institution for the preservation and display of Arab history and Islamic culture. Yet I could not help thinking of the people of Arab origin who live in France and the kind of treatment they receive. I wondered what the middle-class white Europeans sitting on the roof of the Arab Institute thought of North African ghettos in French cities and young Franco-Arabs getting beaten up by the CRS. Maybe many see this as a monument to a foreign civilisation which should stay thus.

There were a lot of high school kids milling around the Institute. A few of them were of Arab origin, and otherwise they seemed indistinguishable from their white colleagues. A generation born and educated in the French system should take its place in mainstream society when older, a position that has rightfully been theirs since the first French colonists stepped into North Africa. A successful middle-class of Arab origin is noticeable lacking in France, yet this should emerge in the next 20 years.

Walking across The Seine and north towards Le Marais I came to the Memorial to the Unknown Jewish Martyr. Founded in 1956 the Memorial holds a crypt, library and various exhibitions. Outside was a paved square enclosed by granite walls and steel bars and a bronze cylinder rising in the centre. This symbolised chimneys from death camps, the names of which were written round the cylinder.

Inside and below was the crypt, known as the Hall of Remembrance. In the far section of the hall stood a huge black marble Star of David rising from the slightly sunken floor, a symbolic tomb for six million unburied Jews. An eternal flame burnt in the centre of the marble star in memory of the departed. Next to the stairway was a miniature model of the Warsaw Ghetto. There was a dignified serenity about the crypt, yet it was also powerful and moving.

The exhibitions included a pictorial history of L’Affichage Rouge, a Jewish brigade in the Resistance who were murdered by the Nazis, and photos and descriptions of Jewish children being rounded up by Nazis in Marseilles.

Having looked round everything I stepped into the crypt again. It was late and the few people wandering round the Memorial seemed to be mostly elderly Jews. I was feeling a bit awkward and walked out and on to the heart of Le Marais. The narrow footpaths and Yiddish shops of the old Jewish sector seemed like a throwback to another era, a deceptively comforting image.

Jewish communities in France had received horrendous treatment during the Second World War and earlier. Heavy handed measures used by the French Army during the Algerian War of Independence in the early sixties had put a blight on how communities of African and Arab origin regard mainstream French society. Jews and Muslims still have to endure continual racist slurs and public pronouncements attempting to demean their role in French history.

Regardless of its pretentiousness, the Arab Institute marks a concerted effort to show how society is much more enriched by its multi-cultural aspects. This message is certainly taken to heart by those who make the Mosque of Paris a popular site. And the Memorial to the Unknown Jewish Martyr stands as a reminder that the Jewish presence in France is very much part of the historical landscape.

Standing in front of the Sacre Coeur basilica the whole of Paris was before me. The splendour of the church was in stark contract to the solemnity of the Jewish Memorial.

France is a secular country and in a way this means there is more respect for different faiths and religious practices. Efforts to give diverse communities their rightful place in the mosaic of European culture must continue. Then all can realise the potential of a continent enriched by its multi-cultural layers.



	*ANOTHER PARIS:* THE train pulled into a grey and windy Paris, a city known for its beauty but also one with a dubious past. Communities with deep roots in French history and culture have been made scapegoats and vilified during the capital’s chequered history. Yet, the roots and historical connections between France and other parts of the world are very visible in Paris and form an intriguing and popular tourist trail. This includes the splendid architecture of the Institute of the Arab World and the Mosque of Paris, and the solemn dignity of the Memorial to the Unknown Jewish Martyr. First stop, however, from the Gare du Nord, is La Goutte d’Or, just a few minutes walk behind the station. This is the North African sector, with its Muslim bakers and colourful clothes and materials shops. There are many seemingly typical Parisian cafes, full of local men. The streets, though, have a stark empty quality about them and with the sandy-coloured almost crumbly buildings, the area reminded me of pictures of Algeria. La Goutte d’Or leads on to the Barbes. I had been warned not to go here due to Brixton-type disturbances. However, that day, Barbes’ various ethnic shops and small bric-a-brac markets were lightly buzzing with commerce and little else. Recent protests had been aimed at measures brought in last year by Interior Minister Charles Pasqua. These included spot passport checks and the forming of a new uniformed immigration police for patrolling these areas. A local boy had died in their custody. Just off Boulevard Barbes are the series of discount clothes stores called Tati. A permanent rush of people bustle for the cheap clothes, the whole system spilling onto the pavement. Fighting my way out of the crowds I walked on to Pigalle and from there took the Metro to Place Monge and La Mosquee de Paris. The first mosque to be built in Paris, completed in 1926, is an exquisite maze of courtyards and gardens with little fountains, marble décor and a tall minaret. I walked through to the adjoining restaurant. The tea room serves sweet mint tea, authentic loukoums and sticky pastel pastries. This is partitioned off from the restaurant where I sat down for lunch. Comfortable sofas line the walls in semicircles forming the open alcoves of the restaurant. In front of you are large bronze tables on which the food is served. The designs on the walls and the decorative furniture all make for an atmospheric Islamic setting. The set three course meal comes to 90FF (£10), not including mint tea. Starter was Brik, a poached egg covered with herbs and wrapped in a very fine poppadom type layer. Main course was couscous and lamb accompanied by a bowl of either stew or soup, difficult to tell. Customers had come and gone since I had been sitting down and I peered over into the tea room to watch the clientele there. It seemed like the mosque’s restaurant was a chic and trendy hang-out; in the darkly lit tea room there was a group of loud rich Parisian students and individual sophisticated looking young people and travellers, reading newspapers or writing while sipping mint tea. The greying moustached waiter was the only recognisable Muslim I had seen in the restaurant. All the customers while I was there had been white Europeans, mostly tourists. Finally, the waiter brought dessert which was a small block of loukoum, the stuff Turkish Delight is a cheap copy of. It had been a varied and filling meal, washed down with superbly sweetened mint tea the restaurant is famous for. I had to walk round the white walls of the mosque to get back to the domed entrance. Inside, a group of people were waiting for the guided tour. A plump, friendly west African woman took us round the mosque. Built between 1922 and 1926, it was a reward to North Africans for their service during the First World War. The guide went on to talk about the basics of Islamic religion and practice. There were about 30 people on the tour, of all age groups, though the majority were youngish student types. All seemed interested in the talk and tour round the halls and gardens and peek in the prayer room. A letter was pinned on several notice boards from President Mitterrand to the rector of the mosque, giving his best wishes to those who prayed in the mosque and all other French Muslims at the time of Ramadhan and the festival of Eid-ul-Fitr. Islam is presented in a way here, and receives a kind of recognition, that is rare elsewhere. Exotic décor, authentic atmosphere, sense of history and a refreshing lack of pontificating make it somewhere that non-muslims find intriguing, becoming curious for knowledge of the culture and history behind such a place. The tea room adjoining the reatuarant is a sophisticated and laid back hang out; a positive yet unassuming piece of Islamic imagery. A short walk through the beautiful Jardin des Plantes with its various botanical displays, conservatories and zoo, and then along the Seine takes you to the Institut du Monde Arabe. Time can be spent just admiring the outside of the building, which is made up completely of windows. The Institute of the Arab World, designed by French architect Jean Nouvel, was one of the ‘Grands Projets’ of the eighties. Screens of Moorish palaces provided the distinctive design of the high-tech windows, which open and close according to the amount of available daylight. Inside there is museum, library, shop and rooftop terrace. The museum holds a superb collection of art, tapestry, ceramics, scientific instruments, coinage, carpets and manuscripts from Tunisia, Egypt, Spain, Morocco, India, Turkry, Algeria and Iran ranging from the eight century to the fifteenth. The displays included copies of the Quran from the ninth to the fourteenth century, scenes from battles in the crusades done at the time, astrological instruments from ancient Iran, and art from Mughal India. The other side of the Institute houses the library which was packed with people studying. A spiral corridor lined with books takes you up and down the three floors. The library also has its own glass elevator separate from the main one which took me to the rooftop terrace on the ninth floor. I felt tired as I looked over the panoramic view of Paris. I ordered a coffee and once again noticed I was only muslim in a place dedicated to muslim culture. Even the waiter was of the typical arrogant Parisian type. The cod North African pop music playing in the background seemed ridiculously out of place. The French had put together an excellent institution for the preservation and display of Arab history and Islamic culture. Yet I could not help thinking of the people of Arab origin who live in France and the kind of treatment they receive. I wondered what the middle-class white Europeans sitting on the roof of the Arab Institute thought of North African ghettos in French cities and young Franco-Arabs getting beaten up by the CRS. Maybe many see this as a monument to a foreign civilisation which should stay thus. There were a lot of high school kids milling around the Institute. A few of them were of Arab origin, and otherwise they seemed indistinguishable from their white colleagues. A generation born and educated in the French system should take its place in mainstream society when older, a position that has rightfully been theirs since the first French colonists stepped into North Africa. A successful middle-class of Arab origin is noticeable lacking in France, yet this should emerge in the next 20 years. Walking across The Seine and north towards Le Marais I came to the Memorial to the Unknown Jewish Martyr. Founded in 1956 the Memorial holds a crypt, library and various exhibitions. Outside was a paved square enclosed by granite walls and steel bars and a bronze cylinder rising in the centre. This symbolised chimneys from death camps, the names of which were written round the cylinder. Inside and below was the crypt, known as the Hall of Remembrance. In the far section of the hall stood a huge black marble Star of David rising from the slightly sunken floor, a symbolic tomb for six million unburied Jews. An eternal flame burnt in the centre of the marble star in memory of the departed. Next to the stairway was a miniature model of the Warsaw Ghetto. There was a dignified serenity about the crypt, yet it was also powerful and moving. The exhibitions included a pictorial history of L’Affichage Rouge, a Jewish brigade in the Resistance who were murdered by the Nazis, and photos and descriptions of Jewish children being rounded up by Nazis in Marseilles. Having looked round everything I stepped into the crypt again. It was late and the few people wandering round the Memorial seemed to be mostly elderly Jews. I was feeling a bit awkward and walked out and on to the heart of Le Marais. The narrow footpaths and Yiddish shops of the old Jewish sector seemed like a throwback to another era, a deceptively comforting image. Jewish communities in France had received horrendous treatment during the Second World War and earlier. Heavy handed measures used by the French Army during the Algerian War of Independence in the early sixties had put a blight on how communities of African and Arab origin regard mainstream French society. Jews and Muslims still have to endure continual racist slurs and public pronouncements attempting to demean their role in French history. Regardless of its pretentiousness, the Arab Institute marks a concerted effort to show how society is much more enriched by its multi-cultural aspects. This message is certainly taken to heart by those who make the Mosque of Paris a popular site. And the Memorial to the Unknown Jewish Martyr stands as a reminder that the Jewish presence in France is very much part of the historical landscape. Standing in front of the Sacre Coeur basilica the whole of Paris was before me. The splendour of the church was in stark contract to the solemnity of the Jewish Memorial. France is a secular country and in a way this means there is more respect for different faiths and religious practices. Efforts to give diverse communities their rightful place in the mosaic of European culture must continue. Then all can realise the potential of a continent enriched by its multi-cultural layers. *THE SOUND...*