City that never sleeps or City that never stops?

Cliché has it that New York is the "City that Never Sleeps". London, Moscow, Tokyo are commonly seen as belonging to that same Sleepless in Seatle category. Paris, despite its late dining and clubbing culture, but with its socialist-marred traditions like early subway closures, is not generally placed in the same insomniac category. Though no-self respecting Parisian will set his or her foot in a nighclub until well past one in the morning, Paris does not have a reputation of as an overactive broker, more like a semi-retired lady. Maybe as disturbed occasional consumer cocktails, leading to some overly philosophical discussion, but definitely not insomniac.

Perhaps it is a result of our supposedly shorter working hours which protect the fragile and narrow Parisian streets from the hoards of traders, lawyers and other unlucky overworked folk who pour out on the streets of London and New York in search for that beer or cosmpolitain to calm the nerves. Perhaps it is because the foreigners visiting Paris never make it past the steak, frites and vin formula, to make it to the late night establishments. Whatever the historical reasons are, everyone knows that the epicenter of action is across the channel. Even considering the disasterous consequences of the financial crisis on the "square mile", Her Majesty's land is still more reputed for lights and action that the supposedly sleepy Paris.

Frustrated by customer service (or more lack thereof) and in a spout of misguided nostalgia, I bravely overcame my fears of being permanentl stuck in the tunnel and later escavated by an archeologist looking for a lost species of dinosaures, logged on on the eurostar website and booked a ticket. An not just any ticket, but a first class ticket! After all, given the startling price for a 2 hour train ride, who can be bothered to notice the difference? And then, the marginal inconvience of shelling out an extra couple of euros is declining as the euro and the pound (and I cannot believe the words as I am writing them) are almost on par! London on the cheap, now that's what they usually say in eurostar commercials, but every sensible Parisian knows ce n'est pas vrai and every drunken British lad knows that's bullocks. And yet it's not, at least not entirely. London is on sale, victim to its own overambitiousness, its overzealous Adam Smith endorsed accumulation, deregulation, and its mechanical libertarian tendencies.

But has London on sale been able to protect its reputation as the City that never sleeps? Judging from the yawning faces of people on the infamous tube, it seems that not only the city, but its whole population has not slept in months. Forget about the swine flu, the real disease in London is exhaustion - it is chronic and everpresent. A telling example is that perhaps the only business model that has come out of the financial crisis in shining armour is the coffee chain. Nero, Starbucks, Costa, you-name-it are adorning every corner of the city. Uncaffenated is one thing you cannot be in London. And that caffeine is not simply a splurge on extra low fat soya latte (though I have nothing against those), but more of a daily necessity, a low cost, trendy, addictive drug. Having a coffee in london is not a closing note to a lunch as it is in Italy or a welcome to the new day as it is in Canada. It is a constant antidote to exhaustion.

In London, I feel like a piece in one of those toy kaleidoscope where the different coloured pieces, when turned, assemble a different picture every time they are turned. In London, everything and everyone is turned all the time and there is no stop button to be found anywhere. Everyone is rushing nowhere, late somewhere, catching up with time, tring to beat it, yet constantly failing. No wonder that British are always in a rush given that the buses crawl, the tube is typically experiencing "close to normal level of service" and the taxis are not an option even when London is on sale. Down the tube stairs, up the tube stairs, down the platform, down the street, across the crowd. My strategy is always to go through the crowds as if they were invisible, whith my eye closed. Say excuse me, elbow someone, say excuse me, step on someone, just get through, don't faint.

It is not enough that the hustle-bustle-all-around is like being being caught in an unstoppable hurricane or being flushed down the toilet (take your pick). All this is accompanied by what it is tempting to characterise as an accustical nightmare, or a decibels party (take your pick). I could not count the number of times I was told to "mind the gap" or how many announcements about "regular service on all lines" I have heard in a space of three days. Though I always thought my math skills were not so bad, I really cannot count these. I suspect it's a matter of higher mathematics.

Lingering in my mind was the still unanswered question of necessity of all this public guidance. Perhaps the French are lazy, but in Paris - and as far as I can remember in every other city - they only announce when the service is IRregular. Now I can't help but wonder whether the tube employees have some sort of a perverse incentive system where they get paid per annoucement? Surely, the tabloid salesman announcing the next biggest scandal in British history (usually there are 365 of them per year), get paid for every overexaggerated annoucement they make? "Did you know a British MP got reimbursed 50 cents for a Kit Kat bar?" one of them screams in my ear as I walk by. I felt like asking whether he knew what the cost of the bailout of the American banks was, that Iceland is bankrupt and the the UK is not so far away. In the grand scheme of things, is Kit Kat that sensational? Does it really matter than that some overly thrifty MP has unhealthy eating habits? With the UK financial sector in shambles, I just wanted to tell him "buddy, you have bigger things to worry about than Kit Kats". I knew he wouldn't understand and would continue screaming in my ear.

Even at dinner, the waiter is trying to outscream the overeager DJ who was trying to outplay the nearby table where the conversation has reached a normal post-few beers level: deafening. Sweating, he kneels himself down to figure out what I "fancy". I didn't say that fancied him to stop screaming for starters. Stop screaming as an appetiser? That's not on the menu madam. Pity. So, we get a few extra salads at the end, at least he heard the broad lines of the order, the rest is detail. It's not fish and chips in yesterday's tabloids, what are you complaining about lady? Good point...

But, that's just the thing, what am I complaining about? I think what I am trying to do here is to officially protest against the categorisation of Paris as the city that is asleep and London as the city that never sleeps. I can accept as an argument that London never sleeps, but for what reason? I am not convinced that even after the removal of the "no booze after 11 rule", the reason for London insomnia is that Londoners are out and about having good ole time. None of the Londoners I saw on the tube looked like they were having a jolly good time, more like people in a cage, exhausted by the parameters, but unable to change them. All of this leads me to conclude that Lodon may be a city that never sleeps (or more like never stops), but it's also a city where one cannot dream. Paris, on the other hand, maybe a city that sleeps more, but also dreams.