I certainly didn’t expect to go dark for a month, but the events of November 13th caused a wave of emotions that hit me harder than I expected. Fear and sadness overtook my daily life for a full week afterward, to the degree that I avoided being outside as much as possible.
Talking about food in Paris seemed trite and trivial in the wake of what happened, and then it was time for my trip to Japan just a week after the attacks. I was relieved to get to leave Paris and to not have to constantly envision men with guns every time I was outside. During those two weeks in Japan, it was nice to feel normal again, to feel safe.
The neighborhood where the attacks happened is where I spend most of my time because so many great restaurants thrive in the area. I’ve eaten at Le Petit Cambodge many times. I’ve been to Bataclan. It becomes a lot more real, a lot scarier, when it doesn’t just happen in your city but on your regular stomping ground. It could have been me sitting there at Le Petit Cambodge with my bowl of bo bun, chatting with friends when the gunmen started aiming.
What made it difficult to get back to normal life was that it wasn’t an attack on an organization, a religion, journalists, or a political group. It was just people out for dinner, spending time together. It could have been any of us.
While the attacks were happening that Friday night, I felt scared and helpless, knowing that friends were out in the midst of it, not knowing how it would end. I stayed up until 4am watching the news, crying over the numbers, and texting with friends. As I turned off the lights, I knew I had to face the next day, and I wondered what it was supposed to be like facing a Paris that had armed gunmen ready to kill as many innocent people as possible.
This is a place known for beauty, love, and enjoyment of the good things in life, and overnight, it was transformed to a place where people were afraid to step outside. That’s a Paris I never wanted to know.
On Saturday morning, the day after the attacks, I cleaned every room of my apartment, trying to create some sense of calm and order. I cried a lot that day, trying to come to terms with what had just happened in my favorite place in the world. Sometimes it was just silent tears rolling down, and sometimes it was that audible kind of crying with gasps in it. I was a mess.
I cried because of the tragedy of innocent people, out on a Friday night, losing their lives for what cause? What message? What purpose? I cried because I no longer felt safe. I didn’t want to go outside; didn’t want to open my window. I didn’t want to leave my apartment or go to restaurants or cafes anymore. I cried because of the bigger life questions this raises. How could something like this happen? What kind of world do we live in?
We were so on edge that while we were at work at 8am on the Tuesday after, we jumped at the sound of a man sweeping at the door. Sweeping. I got waves of panic on two separate occasions when men rounded the corner in motorcycle gear, dressed head to toe in black in the type of jacket and pants you might expect an attacker to wear.
It’s funny how you take something like safety and peace of mind for granted. What a precious and underappreciated commodity.
The few times I did leave my apartment, I constantly surveyed the area, eyes scanning around for signs of sudden movement, for men carrying guns. Everything felt like a target. A monument, the metro, anywhere on any street. My very freedom was taken from me because my peace of mind was taken from me.
I know we’re not supposed to “let them win” by being afraid, but that’s easier said than done when something like that happens and you don’t know who else is out there, what else is planned.
My trip to Japan couldn’t have come at a better time. It was nice to get some distance. The risk still fills my mind when I’m out, but it feels better now. Things are getting back to normal.
Since I work for a tour company, we had an inbox flooded with cancellations in the days that followed – cancelling tours and cancelling trips in the months to come. I hate that so many people have decided not to visit.
I know this won’t mark Paris forever; She’s too beautiful and too full of culture and life for that.
The truth is that we are at risk no matter where we go. Nowhere is exceptionally safe. Even in the U.S., you see shootings in schools, in movie theaters, in shopping malls. Statistically, there are more deaths from car accidents than from terrorist attacks, but we don’t let that stop us from getting in cars. I cling to stats like that.
I stopped writing for a few weeks because it seemed so petty, in light of all this, to talk about where to eat in Paris, but I’ve come to realize that food is the great connector. It brings us together, across the table, to share meals and share life. The Parisians know this. Good food is the essence of daily life here, and it is done well.
A perfect warm baguette, a four-hour meal with friends, the thousands of flakes that fall over you when you bite into a good croissant. These things that the French do so well are the little things that make life so enjoyable.
Paris is unique in the world. It’s a city that’s worth visiting and deserves to be enjoyed. That’s worth talking about. And so as Paris has continued to come back to life, to her normal self, I will continue to talk about all the wonderful things there are to see, and to do, and to eat, here in this singularly beautiful place.
