by Angela Sanford
Though the true story of our recent adventure in Paris lies in the accolades of our son, I thank-you for indulging my interests in sharing our experience of the city itself, asking you to indulge me another opportunity or two to step beyond the Olympic experience and share the travel chronicle. This week it’s the comparison of Paris throughout the Olympics and Paris after the Olympics.
In Canada, while I believe most of us have the privilege of feeling comfortable and safe daily, it is not so in other countries. With civil unrest and crime rates beyond what we experience in rural East Hants, many people will never experience strolling down a street to be greeted by police and military, carrying weapons we only see in media and film. And we should be so lucky to not ever have to experience this as part of mainstream living.
Years ago on a vacation in South America, I saw my first machine gun and was rather taken aback. Since then, I have toured several countries where this sight was common as officers patrolled streets. However, never have I witnessed the enforcement as expansive as it was in Paris during the Olympics.
In preparation for our trip, I participated in a virtual session for parents where we were advised to take extra precautions as Paris has a high petty crime rate during the tourist season along with experiencing frequent protests and rallies for a variety of reasons. We were advised on how to handle such situations, however, during the bulk of our adventure, we only felt safe and questioned the likelihood of these questionable activities as we couldn’t look in any direction without seeing an aggregation of police and/or military teams, quite literally. On the block leading to the Olympic village, it was common to see upwards of 30 officers from one corner to the next, and each battery had at least one or two officers carrying machine guns in hand. It was easy to feel safe.
That safety was blind, until the eve of the Olympics final call. On several occasions it was necessary for us to walk from the train station to our apartment well after dark, after the buses had completed their final run hours earlier. Our arrondissement of Paris could easily be compared to Wolfville, away from the bustle of the inner city with fewer officers on patrol but still common to see police vehicles each time we were outside. Immediately upon stepping out of the train station there was an unease, something felt different, but we couldn’t put an understanding to it until late the next day. That unease was valid, as we were accosted by a couple who were demanding cash. We were able to hold our ground and not surrender any money, while picking up our pace and glancing over our shoulder regularly the rest of our way.
The next day we ventured into the city centre and met the stark contrast to our previous experiences. Though there were still patrols, they were significantly fewer, and for the first time we witnessed homelessness, street fighting and protests, the distinct smell of urine met our nostrils and trash lined the busier streets. We were approached multiple times for money, to engage in some slight of hand, or solicited for various campaigns and we realized that the true Paris was not what the Olympic attendees had most likely encountered. Where we had begun to wonder about all of the cautions we had received, we now understood exactly their necessity.
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