Paris. Paname. City of Light. Whatever you call it, the French capital occupies a certain importance in the public imagination. A city of sophistication, romance and robust insouciance to the point of self-confidence.
But some visitors find the reality of an ordinary city, perhaps an even dirtier and harder-to-deal-with-city than most others, brings them down to earth with an unwelcome bump and can even cause mental illness.
Those who suffer the most from this culture shock must surely be the people diagnosed with Paris Syndrome, a disorder defined in the 1980s by psychiatrist Hiroaki Ota. Its symptoms include dizziness hallucinations, nausea, and rapid heart rate. In this Olympic year, when Paris expects record visitor numbers, it’s worth taking a closer look at what it might really be like when you hit Paris.
A curious risk factor for this malady is being Japanese. The vast majority of those who receive treatment for it are from Japan. It seems that the image of Paris is so idealised in Japanese culture that the harsh reality on the ground – smelly backstreets where people urinate, waiters so perfunctory they seem rude, a lack of effort with anyone who does not speak French, and no apparent need on the part of retailers or administrators to be polite or helpful – can cause a sort of mental breakdown.
I lived in Paris for three years, and – full disclosure – am besotted with the place. I eventually grew fond of the gruff nature of many encounters, and every day I felt headily smug walking home past the flying buttresses of Notre Dame with a view of the city skyline beyond.
But at times dealing with the city’s officious bureaucrats and crazed paperwork was enough to make me cry. My mother came to visit and had a choking attack on the underground, to the point where I had to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre on her. Friends in France’s laid-back southern ‘ville rose’, Toulouse, warned me against going north to the capital. I would be pickpocketed, they said. I would be attacked in the street. They were right. I also suffered daily verbal abuse and an attempted sexual assault late one night and the police hung the phone up on me when I reported it. I have never experienced any of the above in any other city. Paris is a beautiful but difficult town to be in.
Living in Brussels now, Paris’s laid-back Belgian sister, I meet many Parisians who have chosen to make the Belgian capital their home instead. They too complain about how awful Parisians are. One young Parisian film-maker and artist told me recently that Parisians deliberately cultivate that very attitude of arrogance and “je m’en foutism”. For them it is a part of their identity and a matter of pride.
They may then be uncomfortable in the knowledge that they are not unique and Paris is not the only city in the world badass enough to push people over the edge. Jerusalem Syndrome happens to some visitors to that holy city, where it seems proximity to iconic religious sites induces a sort of religious paranoia or schizophrenia.
And of course, while the Japanese may be particularly sensitive to the brutality of Parisian life, it is far from unknown for “western” visitors to Asia to experience a culture shock of their own. The vastness and crowded feel of Asian megacities, the complete lack of recognisable alphabets or icons in public signage, and the unfamiliar foods are just a few of the factors that might trigger an episode that could require hospitalisation or repatriation.
