I had high bicycle hopes for Paris. I’d heard on the grape vine that Paris was a bicycle city.
I had visions of beautiful Parisians, in flowing fashions, bicycling down boulevards, casually calling Bonjour to each other on their way to the morning market.
Why does Paris have this odd reputation for being so delightful and beautiful and picturesque?
Where is that Paris, because it’s sure not the one I located on the map of France and flew to.
The Paris I landed in is 24 hours of a honking steaming bog of cars and I wouldn’t ride through it if you paid me, nor would anyone else it seems.
Paris boasts a big bicycle share scheme, but I saw no one actually using it, except a few tourists making a dash to the Louvre.
Did I arrive just on the one day of the year everyone chose to drive, or is Paris’ love of bicycles a myth?
Well, I waited a week for the bicycles to appear in Paris, but I waited in vein.
I even went in search of answers, but got few satisfactory ones.
And as for anything worthy of an active bicycle lobby, well I tried to get in contact with Paris Cycle Chic, and only got a reply some days after I’d left town in dismay.
I hate to burst the Parisians bubble, but they do not live in the city of love, they live in a city where everyone is having an elicit affair with their car, while telling the world they are wedded to the bicycle.
Paris, you have a long way to go, and a reality check to take, before anything your Mayor says actually comes to fruition. You’re all smooth talk, and no action.
Nothing we didn’t know about the French already.