When we visit a new city, tourist guides encourage us to get to know it by walking, and suggest good routes for exploring, interesting places to see, nice spots to rest and find refreshment. Walking may seem as if it’s too fundamental to human life to have a history, yet this whole way of behaving, of enjoying a city by passing through it on foot, is far from timeless. It’s part of a culture — and a set of habits — that rose up in the city that the critic Walter Benjamin called “the capital of the 19th century”, a place that, for a while, was the centre of the world, the home of everything fashionable and new.
I spend a month in Paris every year, teaching creative writing to American students, and when I’m not in the classroom, I walk around, much like any other visitor. I often stay in the same apartment, on the fringes of the Latin Quarter. I was there when France won the World Cup and the streets were filled with happy chaos. I was there during the Gilets Jaunes protests, threading my way down the Boulevard Saint-Germain past burning scooters and improvised barricades. I will be there this summer, in the run-up to the Olympics, and I’m looking forward to seeing how the city takes on this new role.
Like generations of writers before me, I like to sit on the terrasse of a café, watching the world go by and occasionally writing down my thoughts in a notebook. I’m an observer, as well as a participant in the crowd. I’m sometimes walking with a purpose (on my way to work, or dinner, or the supermarket) but just as often not, drifting through the city for the pleasure of it, to experience all its sights and sounds. This is the Parisian tradition of the “flâneur”, what the poet Charles Baudelaire called the “passionate spectator”, the quintessential city walker who looks for aesthetic pleasures in the hurly burly of urban life.
The Parisian elite has always understood the power of the crowd.
We don’t think twice about this now, and it’s no longer the preserve of opiated poets, but walking around for pleasure would have been unthinkable in earlier times. The very possibility depends on a substrate of technologies, the most fundamental of which gave Paris one of its 19th-century nicknames, the “ville lumière” or city of light. Street lighting—first gas, then electricity—transformed dangerous gloom into inviting social space. The invention of plate glass allowed shopkeepers to display goods to passers-by, rather than hiding them away. Suddenly “window shopping” emerged as a leisure activity. Railways made it possible to travel into the city and make it home again, and the automation of textile production suddenly put fashion within reach of vast numbers of people who previously had little or no control over how they looked. Suddenly the crowd was interesting to itself. It had a culture, a new way of being. The possibility of chance encounters, of faces seen once and then lost forever, of strange events, offered a tantalising combination of pleasure and danger. Was that well-dressed fellow really a gentleman, or just a con artist? If you followed that beautiful woman, where would she lead you? People who had previously lived within very circumscribed social worlds were thrown together: aristocrats and plebeians, rich and poor, the virtuous and the vicious, all jumbled up.
The Parisian elite has always understood the power of the crowd, particularly when it organises itself to overthrow authority. After the monarchy was toppled in the revolution of 1789, there were regular and bloody uprisings—in 1830, 1848, 1871... Near where I stay, a statue of the revolutionary Georges Danton rises over the entrance to the Métro station that bears his name. When he and his fellow rebels rose up against the king, they could escape the royal soldiers by vanishing into a warren of tiny streets in the Cordeliers district. So impenetrable was this area that Camille Desmoulins, another revolutionary, pronounced it “the only sanctuary where liberty has not been violated”. The streetscape worked for the crowd against the masters. There’s a daguerrotype, from the revolution of 1848, that’s the first-known image of a barricade. The very word comes from the“barriques” or barrels that the Parisians rolled out of cellars to block the way.
The authorities always feared losing control of Paris, and after the first success, revolution was always put down with a firm and bloody hand. The ultimate solution was to change the geography of the city. After the revolution of 1848, Napoleon III made himself emperor and commissioned Baron Haussmann to undertake a massive programme of public works. For the next 20 years, Paris was a huge building site. Whole neighbourhoods, including the Cordeliers, were razed to the ground, and in place of the medieval maze, wide boulevards of elegant apartment buildings emerged. They were beautiful, but they also had a military function. You could march troops and artillery right into the heart of the city. The people no longer had the upper hand.
In the 1950s and 60s, the artistic radicals who called themselves Situationists declared that beneath the paving stones of the city streets lay the beach—though the powers that be might seem to control everything, there were still utopian possibilities for those who knew how to look. They engaged in a kind of deliberately aimless walking that they called the dérive or drifting, trying to find ways to resist the organisation of space dictated by the masters.
So as I walk, I’m following a tradition, of pleasure-taking, but also refusal. The protestor throwing a stone at the riot police is sanctified by tradition just as much as the artist in the café or the tourist taking pleasure in a walkable neighbourhood. The next time I visit, Paris will be putting on its best face for its Olympic visitors. What will await them? I will be in the crowd, looking to see what I can see.
Originally published on Esquire UK
Ah, Paris... The city of love, art and culture. The perfect place for a summer vacay. And at the heart of it, Cheval Blanc Paris has opened its terraces for visitors to take in the iconic sights of Paris. The hotel itself is a veritable museum in its own right. Located within proximity to the Louvre and the Marais, Cheval Blanc Paris embodies the Art Deco essence, showcasing the French art de vivre that is inspired by a bold, contemporary spirit all through its 26 rooms and 46 suites, along with splendid living areas, restaurants and wellness facilities.
The Cheval Blanc Paris terraces are open to the public. Perched on the seventh level, each terrace is a window to the magic of three culinary masters: Chef Arnaud Donckele; Chef William Béquin and Pastry Chef Maxime Frédéric. Under the purview of these talented chefs, each terrace promises an unforgettable gastronomic adventure against the stunning backdrop of Paris’ romantic cityscape.
Le Jardin de Cheval Blanc Paris is a verdant haven that is the picture of summer. Vibrant and adorned with red and white furniture and chic yellow accents, the terrace celebrates Parisian epicureanism. Delight in Chef William Béquin’s curated menu that features dishes like cherry tomato tart with pineapple tomato and basil sorbet. A strawberry ice cream sundae—crafted by Pastry Chef Frédéric—is a fitting topper to a meal. This idyllic retreat is wrapped in the heady aromatic scent of herbs and scarlet flowers.
Offering unobstructed views of the Seine, this contemporary brasserie invites you to embrace Parisian life through the palate. With flavours imagined by Chef William Béquin, featured dishes like green bean tart with stracciatella and smoked velvet with black olive. Treat yourself to lobster, red mullet, monkfish and sea bass in a saffron-infused bourride. End your culinary journey with a rhubarb vacherin, a modern twist on iconic French gastronomy.
With a name like Langosteria, you do come in with certain expectations. But the restaurant manages to surprise you with its convergence of Italian and French cultures on a plate. The restaurant opens on to a terrace that looks over the surrounding sun dappled rooftops, providing a painterly vantage. Reflecting Italian vibrancy and summery influences, the menu’s offerings include Sicilian gambero rosso, red tuna carpaccio with eggplant, and tagliatelle with royal (of course) langoustines. Desserts get the same sort of magic, again, created by Pastry Chef Frédéric, the Langosteria’s signature tiramisu, sans crustaceans, bien sûr.
Cheval Blanc’s restaurant terraces are now open. For more info, click here.
When Victor Montalvo’s shoulders hit the floor, they glide. He’s a whirlpool, spinning round and round, pulling you closer with every impossible rotation. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the floor—not Victor—was revolving. He pivots from his back to standing on his head to a full 360 degree spin on the palm of his left hand.
This is the world-champion breaker’s signature move: the Super Montalvo. It’s cheeky, cocky, and a downright nuclear weapon that has made Montalvo the face of breaking (or breakdancing—the sport has enjoyed a rebrand since you originally watched You Got Served). In August, the 30-year-old will represent Team USA at the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris.
“I honestly don’t have rivals,” Montalvo tells me in a video interview a few months before he takes the global stage. And there’s not a hint of ego in his voice. The man hardly blinks, and his head is perpetually tilted ever so slightly to the side, sizing me up as if I were his next opponent. Pity the poor schmucks who have to face him in the Olympics.
Montalvo has earned his unmitigated confidence. In his career, he’s won every major international breaking competition in the world. He is the reigning gold medallist at the World Games, a two-time champion of Red Bull BC One, and the most recent winner of the WDSF World Breaking Championship. Quite simply, he broke breaking.
After a while, though, even winning felt repetitive. Montalvo lost the love of the sport . . . but that didn’t last long. “I already did everything I wanted to do in my breaking career,” he says. “I just got bored of it. It felt like a never-ending cycle. Same events each year, every year. Like, man, I want something new.”
When Montalvo heard that the International Olympic Committee (IOC) had added breaking to the slate, his passion was instantly reinvigorated. Another mountain to climb. Another nation to conquer. He remembers thinking, Perfect. That’s another goal I can achieve. His chances of taking home the gold medal are extremely good.
David “Kid David” Schreibman, a breaking legend and Red Bull commentator, recently told Rolling Stone, “[There’s not] another competitive breaker who is as consistent and has the full package.” Montalvo blends the Tasmanian Devil’s unhinged energy with Allen Iverson’s creativity. But for all of his aplomb, a win in Paris would mean more than just another hearty chuckle from his throne. He’s fighting for the survival of the sport itself.
Breaking is a little different today from what it was in its ’80s heyday. B-boys no longer crowd the street corners of the Bronx, where the sport originated. In the early aughts, Red Bull provided an upgrade by organising a competition among eight elite crews, who were fighting for a $4,000 grand prize. That paved the way for the global BC One event that Montalvo has won twice. Now the energy-drink company sponsors him.
Modern contests feature one-on-one battles on a dance floor—with each breaker taking roughly one-minute turns, trying to outperform their opponent. As in rhythmic gymnastics and figure skating, judges score their performances and announce a winner. In Paris, Montalvo will compete against 15 other international B-boys, all likely just as revved up as him. “It’s new, evolved, refreshed, and refined. I just can’t wait to showcase it at the Olympics,” Montalvo says of his sport. “They thought it was stuck in the ’80s. Hopefully we’ll change that.”
At the 2024 Olympics, breaking will be featured alongside surfing, sport climbing, and skateboarding—four events that IOC president Thomas Bach hopes will bring in Gen Z viewers. Still, breaking is only a guest in Paris. It won’t appear in the 2028 Summer Games in Los Angeles—the IOC made the decision before Montalvo could showcase his talents this summer. But if anyone can capitalise on this opportunity to convince the IOC to bring breaking to the 2032 Brisbane Olympics, Montalvo believes it’s him. Serving as an ambassador for his sport is a calling. “This is something that I never would’ve thought I would be, but I have to,” he says.
Breaking is in Montalvo’s DNA. In the ’80s, his father and uncle, Victor and Hector Bermudez, were big-time B-boys. The Bermudez twins helped popularise the dance trend throughout Mexico, performing across the country before giving it up and moving to the United States. Back then, you couldn’t make much money in the breaking world.
For Montalvo, it’s a whole new ball game. When he was just six years old, his father pointed at the screen as the family watched the breaking film Beat Street and said, “Look, I used to do this back in the day.” Montalvo burst out laughing. Bermudez wasn’t joking; he put on a hoodie and started “busting out head spins and windmills,” Montalvo recalls. “We thought, Wow, this is amazing.”
As the story goes, Montalvo and his cousin, who goes by Static, joined a crew in Kissimmee, Florida, at a time when breakdancing was big in the state. “I would sneak out of my house to go to different events around Florida, sometimes out of state, and [my father] would let me get away with that because I was doing something positive,” Montalvo remembers. “My dad was always on the sidelines. He supported me 100 percent. He tells me all the time, ‘I’m living my dreams through you.’ ”
The Olympics is an event in which tradition meets innovation, and according to Montalvo, that’s exactly what sets him apart from the competition. “I love keeping the tradition of breaking alive,” he says. “Your body is the instrument, and you’re bringing that instrument out.” He adds, “I love seeing people’s faces after they watch me dance. Like, God, this is so incredible.”
Speaking to Montalvo, you can tell that standing still is a burden. It’s easier for him to spin—to point his feet to the sky, stopping only to taunt his opponents with picture-perfect freezes. At the moment, he’s all smiles. More often, he’s smirking. “I understand the formula now,” Montalvo says of the road ahead. “Beat the system.”
Photographs By Laurel Golio
Three classics of the genre to watch before the sport’s Olympic throw-down.
“Style Wars is a graffiti documentary, but it’s really dope because it talks about the culture of breaking and just hip-hop in general.”
“The Freshest Kids is a documentary about the origins of breaking and what it means to be a breaker. Hopefully, after the Olympics, they’ll have a little breaking documentary. We need a new one for this day and age.”
“That’s a movie,” Montalvo says about the hip-hop film starring the famous Rock Steady Crew. “Watch that one.”
