Among the Yellow Vests in Paris

This was the third time I had to enter France first to get into Europe. I had no choice but to either spend eight hours at the airport or book a hotel and head into the city. My friends weren’t in Paris either, so staying at their place wasn’t an option. I decided to spend one night in Paris. I booked a hotel on the Champs-Élysées at a surprisingly low price. I found it strange that a hotel in such an area could offer a room that cheap.

When I arrived at the airport, I bought a metro ticket and headed toward the station closest to my hotel. But the train passed right through the station without stopping, and I had to get off at the next one. After asking around, I found out the station was closed for some reason. That meant I had to walk all the way from Châtelet to the Arc de Triomphe. The route was beautiful and interesting, which made the 50-minute walk seem easier.

I started walking toward the hotel. After a while, I noticed that the police had blocked some streets near the Louvre Museum. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen police around the Louvre, so I simply changed my route and continued through a side street. The farther I walked, the more police officers and security vehicles I saw. Eventually, I reached a point where there was no alternative route. I approached the armored vehicles blocking the street and asked what was going on. A young officer, speaking broken English, explained that there was a protest near the Arc de Triomphe and that I couldn’t enter the area. I showed him my hotel’s address and booking confirmation. He thought for a moment, checked my backpack, and finally allowed me through.

I had never imagined the protests would be this intense. After walking a little farther, I could smell smoke. Several tires were burning in the middle of the Champs-Élysées. I crossed the street and tried to continue through smaller side streets. As I went on, the number of security forces kept increasing. Every now and then, officers would stop me and ask questions. Once they realized I was a tourist, they were extremely kind and helped me find the safest possible route. Since I didn’t have a SIM card, I could only roughly estimate where I was going. I had already been walking for almost two hours, and with the main streets blocked, I still had another hour ahead of me. Gradually, I started hearing explosions in the distance. The smell of smoke was getting stronger, and there were fewer and fewer people on the streets.

Suddenly, a massive explosion nearby made me jump. All the security forces immediately went on high alert, put on their masks, and took cover behind their shields. I stood there, staring at the scene in complete confusion. A group of protesters stormed into the street, making an enormous amount of noise. Some were setting shops on fire, while others were smashing windows with stones. Police sirens were constantly ringing out, and every now and then an ambulance or fire truck would pass through the street.

Fear took over me. I tried to find another route. Several times, I thought about giving up on the hotel altogether and leaving the area, but my curiosity and the desire to experience something new kept me from turning back.

I continued walking. My eyes started to burn. A little later, tears were streaming down my face uncontrollably, and a sharp smell made it difficult to breathe. I looked at the map. No matter how much I walked, the route seemed endless, and now, with tear gas all around me, moving forward had become even harder.

The explosions and the shouting of protesters were getting closer. Fire was everywhere, and every so often, the sound of another shop window shattering would make me jump and become even more frightened. My hotel was on a street just behind the main protest area. I was very close now, but I was moving slowly and hesitantly.

I finally gathered my courage and stepped onto the main street. I headed straight toward the hotel, trying to ignore everything happening around me. When I reached the entrance, I realized the hotel was locked.

A man inside was watching me carefully through the glass. He got up and, from behind the glass door, asked whether I had a reservation. Then he asked for my name. After checking, he unlocked the door, and I stepped inside with a huge sigh of relief. At least I had made it there safely, and that alone was something to be thankful for.

I asked the hotel receptionist a few questions and then went up to my room. I hadn’t slept the night before, and after four hours of walking under such difficult circumstances, I was so exhausted that I went straight to bed.

I woke up several times to the sounds of explosions and shouting, but each time I fell asleep again. It was around 6 PM when I woke up properly. The explosions had become less frequent. It reminded me of Chaharshanbe Suri, the Iranian fire festival, when late at night you can still hear occasional explosions here and there. Every now and then, another explosion or distant shout would break the silence.

I sat halfway up in bed, picked up my phone, and started searching online. I said to myself, “Well, that’s what happens when you don’t follow the news.”

I left my room and went down to the lobby. I asked the receptionist how long the protests would continue. He said until tonight. I asked, “So there won’t be anything tomorrow?” He replied, “Normally, no.”

I went back to my room and took a shower. My legs were aching, and I could still feel the exhaustion from the flight and lack of sleep throughout my body.

I was hungry, so after showering, I left the hotel to find something to eat. The receptionist asked me to be careful and not wander too far from the hotel. I nodded and thanked him.

The next day, everything had calmed down. I left the hotel and walked outside. Everywhere I looked along the Champs-Élysées, I could see luxury shops with shattered windows, some of them damaged by fire. Fortunately, the metro had reopened.

I decided to head to the airport a little earlier than planned, so I packed my things and left the hotel for the airport.