What Parisians hate (almost) more than anything

I hosted a small gathering at my apartment in Paris last week and, naturally, the conversation turned to the thing Parisians hate more than almost anything else. I am talking about calcium build-up. Do not laugh. The struggle is real.

Let me explain. There is so much calcaire (calcium carbonate) in Parisian water that it is like coronary artery disease for appliances. It kills water heaters, washing machines, coffee-makers and dishwashers. It makes wine glasses and shower doors look as though they have been splashed with watered-down white paint. And worst of all, it can leave your hair dull and flat. 

When I first moved to the city, I would stand blurry-eyed in front of the array of anti-calcaire products at the grocer’s. Sprays, tablets and complicated descaling kits for a range of appliances. Even irons needed to be protected from the dreaded calcaire, a substance so pernicious it requires a large defensive arsenal and constant vigilance. What an odd French obsession, I thought. I bought nothing.

Not long after, I lost my young water heater to calcium at the tender age of four. The repairman took a look, shook his head and said one word: “calcaire.” Everything that Parisians do is for a reason, whether it’s the order in which they eat cheeses, when to close the windows in a heat wave or which cleaning products they need. I will never doubt them again.

I was unable to save my coffee-maker, which I learned was supposed to have had a biannual calcium-oscopy with vinegar to keep it from seizing up. So, when I had to buy a new washing machine and the salesperson asked whether I wanted to purchase a magic magnetic anti-calcaire device for 29 euros, I said, “Yes, please!”

There was, however, the ordeal of getting the washer and the device installed. When the French installation technician arrived, he informed me that the bathroom doorway was a maddening half centimetre too narrow. If it didn’t fit, I would need to pay to send the appliance back to the shop, triggering god knows how many levels of bureaucratic hell.

There would be no point in getting all New Yorky and telling him that I had measured it and that he was wrong. That attitude does not work here, not to mention it is also possible that I actually measured wrong. The best option was to dissolve into helplessness and offer copious flattery. Dignified? No. Sexist? Maybe.

I managed not to laugh when he asked for dishwashing liquid to slather on the bathroom doorway, using the same urgent tone that a TV doctor might use when asking for a pen to perform an emergency tracheotomy.

Me: I don’t know what I will do if I have to return it! 
Installation technician: Madame, I would never leave a woman in such a state. We will make it work.
Me: Thank you, thank you! You are a true chevalier!
Installation technician: The only thing we can do is to take the door off. We are not usually allowed to dismantle the machines but I will do this for you.
Me: Thank you.

20 minutes of dismantling and re-mantling later

Me: Here is something for you and your colleague. I promise not to tell anyone that you took the door off.
Installation technician: Thank you. I am the chief of deliveries for this area. You may call on me anytime.
Me: I hope I won’t need any more new appliances for a while. I have the anti-calcaire device now.
Installation technician: Ha ha. Could you please use this QR code to leave me a Google review?

I told some of my guests that my new washer was protected by this cool calcium-fighting gadget. Not surprisingly, they wanted to see it. So we crowded into the bathroom. The small metal attachment is supposed to magnetise the calcaire right out of the water before it gums up the washing machine’s innards.

Does it work? Who knows. The anti-calcaire product market is half faith, half science. This launched a discussion of other calcium-fighting tactics: shower-head filters, special shampoos and an R2-D2-sized water filter that someone’s husband bought to trap all suspect minerals.

I thought that I finally had the battle against calcium under control until I went to my French doctor. She wanted to prescribe medication for me but before she could, she said, “You need to have a CT scan to be sure the arteries of your heart don’t have calcium deposits.”

My first extremely paranoid thought was: even human pipes get clogged with calcium in Paris? I’ve only lived here 18 months but I do drink a tonne of tap water. No one told me not to. Famous last words.

But no, it was just calcium PTSD. I Googled “score calcique” and it is a routine test, done all over the world. My score was zero, my heart is calcaire-free and theoretically, so is my washer. 

Susanna Schrobsdorff is a former New Yorker who has relocated to Paris. She writes the It’s Not Just You newsletter on Substack. She was previously an executive editor at ‘Time Magazine’.