I stroll out of the train station and after several minutes walking about the feeling is inescapable: Paris is practically empty. It’s the day before the Olympic Games opening ceremony. So where is everybody?
For months advertisements in metro stations had been warning Parisians to prepare for the upheaval the Games would bring, as millions of spectators and tourists descended on the French capital.
The response of many was to get out of town. A lot of people leave Paris to take holidays around this time of the summer anyway. The expected chaos, visions of packed metros and the planned security lockdown of the city centre along the River Seine for the opening ceremony meant many more than usual opted to flee. Those who stayed were mostly working from home in the days leading up to the start of the Games.
Parisians are known (pretty accurately) to be fond of complaining. There was no shortage of that in the run-up to the Olympics. The rolling construction works, as well as metal barriers and spectator stands springing up around the city in the weeks beforehand, made it impossible to avoid the inconvenience.
As a journalist you look forward to such chaos, as it usually makes for great colour. Arriving in Paris to report on the Olympics, I had a plan to head out and spend one of the days riding various metro lines, hoovering up scenes of packed carriages and speaking to irritated French people. The piece will write itself, I thought.
Imagine my disappointment when the city transport system was running fairly seamlessly. There were no scrums of people heaving on and off departing metros, or being wedged sweating into carriages.
Even heading out to matches in the large stadiums, Stade de France and Parc des Princes, the journey was pretty smooth. Most stations had helpful assistants from the train network on hand, guiding the masses in the right direction, helping people to buy tickets and offering directions to lost tourists. Often the metro rides were in spacious carriages. One man felt confident enough to go shopping for a large flat screen television and bring it home on the metro.
The mood of the city shifted after the opening ceremony last Friday. The months and weeks of disgruntled French eye-rolling was replaced by what seemed to be a genuine sense of enthusiasm. A group of Parisians I chatted to over beers one evening earlier this week, after the sun had come out, were delighted to have stayed in the city.
As most of the Olympic spectators were around the stadiums or tourists hotspots, the exodus of other locals meant those who hung on had much of the city to themselves. There was a scramble for spare tickets to the sports as people suddenly found themselves keen to be included.
A last-minute opening ceremony pass for a spot in a stand along the river would have set you back between €990 and €2,970. Most of Paris watched the at-times-kitschy spectacle on the Seine in the cafes and bars around the city. Those who had tickets probably wished they were in the pub, given the torrential rain on the night.
Prime ministers were exposed to the downpour, leading to undignified scenes where the leaders of nations had to awkwardly take turns helping each other shake the rain off their drenched ponchos. Taoiseach Simon Harris went through two ponchos during the four-hour event, and some leaders were on to their third by the end of it. It seems UK prime minister Keir Starmer was the only one with the good sense to bring proper rain gear.
Thousands of tourists had rocked into the city centre to catch a glimpse of the flotilla carrying athletes up the river, but only got as far as a security cordon.
After speaking to a few fans in the crowd to write the obligatory “rain fails to dampen the party spirit” article, this reporter found a nearby bar in which to watch the ceremony. The chosen seat offered a perfect line of sight to a television in the corner. A colleague from the Irish Independent joined to watch from the same vantage point.
Afterwards even the French seemed practically giddy walking home through Paris in the rain. Having not eaten properly all day, I stopped off for a kebab on the way back to my hotel. It was after midnight at this point, and the tiny TV in the kebab shop was playing the highlights of the ceremony.
Listening to a rerun of Celine Dion performing Hymne à l’Amour from the Eiffel Tower, it was hard not to get caught up in feeling something special. Perhaps it was the Olympic spirit, the grumbling of a kebab threatening to sit uneasily, the first hints of the next day’s hangover or a mix of all the above, but Paris wasn’t so bad a place to spend the last week.