Oui oui, Paris is the city of light, romance, fashion and fine food. But what happens after finishing that bottle of champagne when nature calls while you’re strolling down the Champs-Élysées? Welcome to peeing in Paris.
Quel problème?
When a city of 2.1 million people has over 30 million visitors a year, it’s obvious that there are only so many thrones one can install without chipping too much into a palace’s royal rooms. But as a tourist who recently experienced the perils of public peeing, I observed a few things that could make or break your day.
Not even a Royal Throne
The grand Palace of Versailles is sight to behold—enough to distract any bladder until the end. Alas, I almost missed my tour bus because I had to wait 30 minutes in a line to go to the loos. And listen to over-tanned Russians having an argument—probably about why the bloody hell people were taking so long.
Waiting
Maybe it’s a chick thing, but I swear some women were in there for a minimum of 10 minutes. Are they reading Madame Bovary? Doing their Lancôme makeup? Searching for wrinkles? It takes an average of 30 seconds to pee. Surely anything else can wait. The men have the right strategy: there never seems to be a line.
Pee-pay
I found it strange that in the land of ‘Liberty, equality, fraternity’ that one would charge others to pee. Yes, the equivalent of Australian 75 cents is not too bad, but imagine that multiplied by three times a day x 21 days. Or even then, at a café, having to buy a drink—which could range from $3 to up to $9—to use the loo. At least in Vienna, spending a penny to spend a penny gets you into a burgundy silk-coated room with gilt edging and a Mozart ditty to taps one’s feet to.
Commodes without the mode
If loos were fashion, then Paris ones are those tossed into after-season sale bins—with missing buttons. Or maybe their loos are like dirty y-fronts with skid marks, flung in the corner of a mouldy bathroom. Compare the French fashion faux-pas with Changi Airport toilets in Singapore, which are like Givenchy silk haute couture, fresh from the drycleaners.
Je ne comprends pas
After the wait, finally entering the cubicle, it’s not as easy as it seems. Firstly, some don’t have toilet seats, so you either have to crouch, get a cold butt and risk falling in. Then the head scratching moment: whether to flush: push, pull, yank, foot pedal or leave for automatic.
Where to go: Types of loos
Right, so now you know that to do something biologically simple is logistically tricky in ‘gay Paree’. What to do then when those three espressos to rouse you from jet-lag catch up with you?
The Loovre
Public monuments usually have loos, but there may only be three cubicles, in an area tucked behind some obscure art display. And don’t mistake Marcel Duchamp’s artwork in Georges Pompidou for a quaint European public peeing area. But then, desperate times call for desperate measures. Perhaps that’s why I saw a guy willing to risk relief on a tree behind the Eiffel Tower, which is patrolled by chaps with automatic rifles.
Blast Off
Walks between one beautiful building to the next is perhaps why Paris have the sanisettes. These single cubicle, permanent street fixtures feel like an escape pod, except instead of space age technology, you need a peg to hold your nose, and the door could open at any moment ‘in flagrante de squatto’. There’s even a rumour going around about small children being trapped in the wash cycle that occurs after 15 minutes.
Cash to Dash
Then there’s the Relais Toilettes, aka, you pay to pee. Usually found at train stations, the system works by the pe-er deciding from the menu (pee only, or shower, or both (or not!), then handing over the money to someone behind a glass screen. Usually a heavy-set lady with a sour face; ‘she who allows who pees’. So for two times the price of a two-litre bottle of water, (ranging 50-70 centimes from a supermarket) one can again walk the cobbled stones without cringing.
Bar-humbug
So why not just go into a bar? In the rush, you may not notice that the quaint little corner brasserie doesn’t even have a toilet: tricky after you’ve just gulped down a glass of mineral water to justify your presence. Or the locals perched on stools swearing at the football game sneer at ‘l’étranger’ and make you feel like Al Gore at a Shell company cocktail party.
Code of silence
Even family-friendly tourist havens like Maccas and KFC have the trick of locking their loos with keypad codes. One day, after sculling a tea, I felt like throwing a seated Ronald through the glass upon pulling the lock-tight door. Alas, it was with minor mirth that while in Nice I looked at my receipt for the first time. Yep, you guessed it. A code for the loos. Sigh.
Shopping centres may not even have public toilets, or if they do, then the signs lead you through the entire shop to reach it, right next to impulse buying items such as Evian water and tranquil water devices.
Lid of luxury
There are also the fancy toilets, but I never had the pleasure of manicure services or glossy magazines. Called the ‘PointWC’ at about 1.5 euro a visit it’s a stretch, but when you can undo all the good work with a coffee from a vending machine or buying some fake nails at the same time, why not?
General Advice:
- The key is not to wait until you need to go: use the can when you can, not when you must.
- To make this trip less random, buy Philippe Dorcourt’s booklet ‘Paris-Pause-pipi’, which lists and maps where all the sanisettes are in Paris. Available online for approx 2,80 euros. http://www.paris.pause-pipi.fr/
- Try not to think about water while waiting in line. And set a good example. Get in and out like a rescue mission to the Congo…
- Which you’d probably want to do anyway due to the filth. And as for how to use, remember the four ps: push, pull, pedal, automatic. Well the last one isn’t, but I’ve mentioned pee enough haven’t I?
Toilet jokes aside, there are many people out there with conditions who need to consider in all seriousness the availability of a toilet when going places; for men, an enlarged prostate; for women a smaller bladder during pregnancy, or a weakened pelvic floor post-pregnancy. The Australian solution to this need manifests in a government-run website for public toilet locations. The British have the ‘British Toilet Association’. But, just as we tourists cannot force the Parisians to serve tea with tealeaves, we cannot dictate the standard and quantity of public toilets. But being aware of where to go and not go can see you strolling down those Champs-Élysées instead of sprinting cross-legged until the miracle ‘W.C.’ appears.
