I like Paris on the weekend! It is calm – it seems that the police are taking a break along with the terrorists, for the sirens have stopped polluting the beautiful streets and sights of Paris and the lovely sensations that one can feel just walking here. The doctors must also be off as there are no ambulances speeding through the traffic bringing back to them bodies to repair or hearts to restart. Fire does not roar through the windows of Haussmanian buildings, so there are no fire engines loudly wailing their urgent task and foretelling doom. Sirens are asleep, and Parisians can start enjoying Paris.
As I suffer from the tirade of sirens every day of the week, I recall the sirens of New York which had something charming about them. They brought a sort of energy that blended itself into the vibrant city. I never found them aggressive. Yet their role is the same as it is in Paris. Sirens in New York shriek and howl day and night, but they have a way of reminding the inhabitants that things are going on out there, that life is pulsating. The vibrato of the sirens is a reminder that things can go wrong and that it is necessary to live now!
My hands covering my ears to protect my eardrums, I feel assaulted and life is pulled out of me till the screaming stops. While I am immobilized on a sidewalk in the Latin quarter waiting for the oppressive sound to wane, I wonder how the decibel level of Parisian sirens compares to that of sirens in New York. As I resume my walk, I dream of the day when all police cars, ambulances, and fire engines will be ordered to have their screeching cries altered to a tolerable decibel for the human ear. Who will ultimately care and issue the order?