The First Day

Again, the view from my hotel window down to the rue Saint-Antoine. These are the peaceful but angry protesters againsts M. Le Pen. Police cares lined both sides of the street.

After settling into the hotel, I still had the whole afternoon and evening free. What had made me the most curious on my way from the station was the people crowded on the sidewalks: this certainly couldn’t be a usual occurrence? There were gendarmeries at all corners around Place de Bastille and along rue Saint-Antoine, with clear shields and serious faces, their cars parked along both sides of the street. What was going on? This was the moment I learned about the importance of protests in French culture. Citizens were protesting a candidate in the upcoming election, Jean-Marie Le Pen, with signs charging him with racism and discrimination. They had taken to the streets and were marching with signs down rue Saint-Antoine and up to the Place de Bastille. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out why they were protesting and trying to get my bearings in the Marais district, as the city as a whole seemed too intimidating. Dinner was a panini at one of the street-side shops where the young men always seemed to be smiling and flirting with the passing women. I was asked to go for a drink at one of the bars at the Place de Bastille that night but decided to pass: my body was starting to feel incredibly heavy as the long flight and no sleep began to catch up with me. It was an early night to bed on my first day in Paris.