The Olympics

The time spent in Paris was one of the highlights of our trip while in France. It was the final weekend of being in Europe before we flew back to Boston. Needless to say, we were both ready to sleep in our own bed. We had decided that we wanted a place that was a little bit out of the way but easy to walk to different places. When we booked, we lucked out and found a place near Arc de Triomphe. 

There were a few places that we really wanted to see, one of those places being Basilique du Sacre- Coeur de Montmartre. One of the reasons why so many people went to this place, aside from the architecture, was that it is one of the highest points in Paris. To get to the basilica, we walked through one of the more flamboyant areas of the city known as Pigalle which is located along Boulavard de Clichy, just south of Montmartre. This area, not only known for being a bit more on the flamboyant side but also could be dangerous for those who are not seasoned. As we walked, we suddenly came to an iconic spot in Paris, Moulin Rouge. Of course, for myself, I began having flashbacks to the movie starring Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor, the song El Tango de Roxanne on repeat, running through my head.

We made our way up one of the narrow streets, lined with fruit, cheese, and of course macarons, and eventually came to a long narrow stairway. At the top of the stairs, we were met with another road and many, many people. In the front of the basilica, there were multiple sets of stairs that led up to the front doors. On each step, a row of people perched. I chuckled to myself, as it reminded me of rows of pigeons. Of course, we joined the flock. A young man stood halfway up the stairs chirping out songs. I thought to myself, is this Howie Day? As time passed, we walked around the structure and then began making our way back down the hill, going a different direction than what we had come. 

It was when we were nearing Boulavard de Clichy that both Deb and I began hearing a voice on a megaphone. The voice would shout, then was answered with a chorus of voices and whistles. I, naturally, was drawn to it, though Deb was very apprehensive. We eventually met with the bodies of those voices that we had heard and followed. The group was of Congolese descent and were marching to bring awareness to the plight of the Congolese people. Peacefully, escorted by riot police, they walked past us, asking for justice, pleading for those who's pictures had become the reason. As we stood there, an older man walked by and began making monkey grunts and monkey calls. I had observed overt racism before in Europe, blackface, and racial epitaphs.  The anger I felt at hearing those noises, from that man, as people unambiguously pleaded for justice. I simply could not let go of what I had observed. Oh, let me make it clear in no way had or have I ever experienced the daily inundation that many people of color have continually encountered. My experience has simply been one viewed from the side for the most part. 

We made our way past the crowd and began walking towards the Eiffel Tower. Soon, the sound of voices and chants faded and we were greeted by the generic cookie cutter celebrations of the Olympics. In a matter of blocks one could escape the uncomfortable truth of people's realities. 

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‘Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.’- Albert Einstein