Clochard

n. – homeless person
Sadly the problem of homelessness has only escalated due to the crisis, but I find the situation much more prevalent here than it was in New York. It’s ironic that in a country with such a strong culture of helping those in need that the problem is as bad as it is. At the same time, perhaps it’s that very culture of respecting the rights of others that prevents a round up, if you will, where the homeless are taken off the streets and forced into shelters, even if only temporarily.

I find the situation in stark contrast to the background it’s painted on. The other day for example, my husband and I visited one of those ultra high-end haute couture designer boutiques. It’s the kind where you don’t really go to shop and certainly not to browse, but rather call in your order being a regular client and have things sent to you or ready for your assistant to pick up.

I am by far not the clientele, but I went at the request of a friend in the US who wanted to know what the new line looked like. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to describe the clothes so luckily, with the aid of my husband, who I dragged along for support, I secured a look book.

It took about half an hour and four people to get it. There were Amazonian women teetering around in impossibly high heels clopping noisily across the vast expanse of the showroom’s parquet floors. My husband read the paper as I paced back and forth pretending to feign interest in the clothes, but not sure how any mere mortal like myself could even wear them, much less afford them!

With look book in hand, we exited as gracefully as possible and headed down the trendy street in equally trendy neighborhood only to be confronted by a group of homeless men who, unlike in most cases, looked rather menacing. My tendency is to panic, but my husband calmly responded to their request for change that we didn’t have any. Something I found ridiculous because here we just came out of this hideously expensive store and dressed for the occasion. (Yes, I did dress in one of my best outfits knowing I was going there!)

We chose to grab lunch at a fast food restaurant just near by and as we sat down to eat, there was another homeless man in the restaurant not just casually asking for food or money, but literally harassing people – lingering at their tables until they either gave him something or snapped at him to leave. (I’m embarrassed to say we did the latter.)

It’s awful really because it makes me feel like a monster. This happens to us often in these types of restaurants I hate to say, but it was the first time I saw a homeless person of that condition. Usually, it’s women with sleeping children tied to their chests. I’ve often wondered if they replace the child with a smaller one as they get older because I’ve seen the same woman with the same sleeping child since we moved almost a year ago and it’s impossible that that child wouldn’t have outgrown the harness by now. I wonder too why it’s never awake.

I wonder about so many things. I can’t imagine the lives these people endure. I see them in the subways either sitting or pitched forward with foreheads pressed to the ground and outstretched hands. I see them all over the sidewalks near our office. Some are alone, but some have dogs or cats. It’s both heartbreaking and strangely comforting when I see the pets because I feel like they at least take care of each other. The animals look relatively well fed and their owners make an effort to wrap a little scarf or sweater around them on the days when it’s cold.

I know the situation here is nothing in comparison to places like Egypt or India. And the misery throughout the world, not only in third world countries, but even in the US, is impossible to reconcile. Again the stark contrast of extreme poverty against opulent wealth is difficult to fathom. But it grows more and more difficult to look away and even the beauty of Paris can’t hide this very real problem. The solution, on the other hand, remains sadly elusive.