Paris, paused

It's an in-between week, when nothing is as it was or as it will be

“How was Paris during the Olympics?” my friend Kyle asked when I called her at her home in Brooklyn. “Was it awful?”

It was a fair question. It’s what everyone expected—most of all the many, many Parisiens who deserted the capital to avoid the predicted misery of endless ID checks, closed metro stations, and annoying crowds of clueless tourists. Instead, we got magic, with police officers dancing in the streets and a sense of friendly camaraderie that was decidedly un-French.

That ended the moment the Olympic flame was snuffed out. We are all waiting for Wednesday, when the cauldron will be re-lit for the Paralympic Games and will once again illuminate the skies above the Tuileries every evening. Friends have already been in touch to figure out what events we should buy tickets for. I’m just trying to decide where to watch the opening ceremony.

That’s not the only thing Parisiens are collectively holding their breath for. The rentrée—when the French end their months-long vacations and life returns to normal (i.e. endless demonstrations and protest marches)—is not until next Monday, but people are already trickling back and shops are slowly starting to open again. It’s both depressing to think of summer ending and a relief to be able to go pick up my dry cleaning, which has been trapped for weeks.

News outlets seem confused as to where we are. They’re providing details about President Emmanuel Macron’s meetings with various political figures as pressure on him to appoint a new Prime Minister mounts—he, too, decided to bathe in Olympic enchantment for a few weeks and put that task off—but almost reluctantly. The presenters on the radio show I get my morning news from seemed far more eager to talk about the paralympics and to try to revive a bit of the collective joy we all shared. I would love to believe that possible, but when the lead story is an explosion outside a synagogue, it’s difficult to imagine.

Even the weather seems confused, with sunshine one day and rain the next. I got an unwelcome surprise last night when I realized that it was 10pm and already dark outside. And this morning I choked up as I put a load of laundry in the dryer—the last that will include my son’s clothes. He’s currently in an airport lounge waiting for his flight back to the US, where he’ll start his second year of college.

This week of suspended animation seemed as good a time as any to launch this Substack. Within days, France will be back at full speed and there will be plenty to report on, both personal and political.

Watch this space.