While they looked impressive, I moved on as it was already 12:30 and quite a late start for me. After a long walk from Montmartre, I sat on the small wall in front of the building and rested a bit. As I munched on an apple, I saw some people refused entry at the gates. There was nothing obviously wrong with the people - they looked like normal tourists. I kept looking and more were turned away. I realised there was a large police presence there, much larger than usual.
Three people were sitting near me on the wall, two ladies and a toddler. Past us (from the gate) two cops walked, carrying a barricade. One of them stayed at the barricade, blocking the path of pedestrians.
My curiosity that we'd been allowed to stay there was short-lived. The other cop approached the other three, about five metres from me, and spoke to them in French. We all had to move. He came to me but knew I'd heard, so I was already up and moving. I asked him in French why, and he mentioned that there was a military ceremony. It would be open again at 3pm. Too late for me to see everything I thought, so I decided to give up on it for the day, and walk around the corner to the Musee Rodin for an hour or so in the garden.
Still glowing to myself for doing so well with my French, I walked around the corner and saw a few more cops. There seems to be about 20 different types of police in Paris, but I remembered these from Pont de la Concorde, in front of Assemblee Nationale. They had shoulder padding and to myself I mockingly dubbed them RoboCops.
With all-too-shallow benefit of hindsight, I should have called them Kaiser Chiefs.
My mockery was to be short lived. As I turned he corner I saw a heap of them standing the width of Boulevarde des Invalides, with police vans behind them. They were protected here too - there was a row of them with shields and helmets, as well as a few behind the main line talking to each other. They must be there for the ceremony, I thought, and casually walked through them.
They let me pass through them along the sidewalk. It was only when I passed through that I realised why they were there in the first place.
On the other side of the barricade were a few angry chaps. My French was nowhere near good enough to tell you what they were angry about, but they had a ringleader, standing in front of about 80 men. He was yelling and screaming at the cops, and the crowd behind him had banners.
Their presence clearly made the cops nervous enough to call out the riot squad (i.e. RoboCops). That made me nervous.
I looked back. All of a sudden there was no exit along the sidewalk where I had entered. I looked toward Musee Rodin, which is accessed via a side street. The way was blocked, sidewalks and all. A couple of old ladies also in the middle of this asked to get through but were denied. They, like me, had become part of the riot without realising it. Having seen them fail, I knew I had no chance of getting through.
Then the riot really started. Flares were thrown by the mob, and smoke was coming from somewhere. I don't know what the old ladies were thinking but I was starting to get worried. I looked up to the third and last possible exit to the riot. It was to the south, near Napoleon's Tomb. It was similarly barricaded, with riot squad cops covering the width of the street, but the sidewalks weren't totally blocked off. I walked up towards them. It was only about 150 metres but it felt like miles. Even though I'd done nothing wrong, I felt guilty and terribly sheepish. I was wearing a black jumper and jeans, nothing that would betray me as not involved or connected with the riot, much less as a tourist.
I got closer. 100 metres. It seemed they hadn't seen me until now. They were on to me now though.
Sixty metres. I veered to the sidewalk. They moved also. Two guys with shields moved to block my exit. I was petrified.
Forty metres. They were in place and I was still moving towards them. I tried to look innocent but realised that's what anyone, guilty or innocent, would do.
Twenty metres. They said nothing but weren't going to let me pass. Like so many nightclub bouncers I have encountered, they didn't need to say anything to tell me "no entry." But I had no other option but to keep going.
I realised this probably wouldn't be covered by my travel insurance.
Ten metres. All of a sudden, something clicked. I went wide eyed, still walking towards them. Now only a couple of steps away, and looked directly at them. In English I innocently asked "Oh, am I unable to get through here?"
Without a word they let me through. I was so relieved I almost needed a colostomy bag.
Ten minutes earlier I was stoked to be able to scrape together a little French. But I have never been happier to be monolingual than when I walked through that barricade.
I found out later the rioters were striking Metro workers. Let them eat cake I say!
I do not know the fate of the old ladies.
They let me pass through them along the sidewalk. It was only when I passed through that I realised why they were there in the first place.
On the other side of the barricade were a few angry chaps. My French was nowhere near good enough to tell you what they were angry about, but they had a ringleader, standing in front of about 80 men. He was yelling and screaming at the cops, and the crowd behind him had banners.
Their presence clearly made the cops nervous enough to call out the riot squad (i.e. RoboCops). That made me nervous.
I looked back. All of a sudden there was no exit along the sidewalk where I had entered. I looked toward Musee Rodin, which is accessed via a side street. The way was blocked, sidewalks and all. A couple of old ladies also in the middle of this asked to get through but were denied. They, like me, had become part of the riot without realising it. Having seen them fail, I knew I had no chance of getting through.
Then the riot really started. Flares were thrown by the mob, and smoke was coming from somewhere. I don't know what the old ladies were thinking but I was starting to get worried. I looked up to the third and last possible exit to the riot. It was to the south, near Napoleon's Tomb. It was similarly barricaded, with riot squad cops covering the width of the street, but the sidewalks weren't totally blocked off. I walked up towards them. It was only about 150 metres but it felt like miles. Even though I'd done nothing wrong, I felt guilty and terribly sheepish. I was wearing a black jumper and jeans, nothing that would betray me as not involved or connected with the riot, much less as a tourist.
I got closer. 100 metres. It seemed they hadn't seen me until now. They were on to me now though.
Sixty metres. I veered to the sidewalk. They moved also. Two guys with shields moved to block my exit. I was petrified.
Forty metres. They were in place and I was still moving towards them. I tried to look innocent but realised that's what anyone, guilty or innocent, would do.
Twenty metres. They said nothing but weren't going to let me pass. Like so many nightclub bouncers I have encountered, they didn't need to say anything to tell me "no entry." But I had no other option but to keep going.
I realised this probably wouldn't be covered by my travel insurance.
Ten metres. All of a sudden, something clicked. I went wide eyed, still walking towards them. Now only a couple of steps away, and looked directly at them. In English I innocently asked "Oh, am I unable to get through here?"
Without a word they let me through. I was so relieved I almost needed a colostomy bag.
Ten minutes earlier I was stoked to be able to scrape together a little French. But I have never been happier to be monolingual than when I walked through that barricade.
I found out later the rioters were striking Metro workers. Let them eat cake I say!
I do not know the fate of the old ladies.
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