To lead into my next entry, I would like to point out that I am currently sitting outside of Starbucks, only 100 yards away from Place de la Bastille. On this street alone, there are about 20 police (CRS - Police Nationale) vans, which seat about six men a piece. Right now the officers are just waiting, looking tough and drinking espresso, but several of them are wearing full-body "armor." I'm supposing that they expect another manifestation tonight.

The presidential elections were Sunday. Sarkozy won, which means that the east side of the city is pretty upset. Sunday night we were coming back from Oberkampf when we overheard on the metro that the station at Bastille was closed. We got off the train one stop before and began walking. We were still several blocks away when it was clear that une manifestation had, well, manifested.


My nose burned by teargas and my passions stirred by the possibility of a new adventure, I was eager to venture closer to the barricades. Rodrigo stopped me. He said he had been involved in protests before and that it wasn't an experience he had any desire to repeat. When we passed by the intersection later that night, the streets were covered in trash, bricks, broken glass, and empty cans of spray paint. Street lights and bus stops had been smashed, but already crews were out cleaning up the debris.


The next morning they were still there, now rewiring the electrical system so that the traffic lights could work. Three days later, the memorial to the July revolution is still graffitied.

Last night I was in my bedroom reading when I heard the sounds of people marching, yelling, and breaking windows. Leaning out of my window, I could see the procession making its way down Rue de la Roquette. I shut my window after catching the smell of tear gas and smoke.


I went outside an hour later. Already there were city workers repairing all of the broken shop windows. Again, it was impossible to avoid the broken glass. This time a motorcycle had been set on fire and was still aflame. Cat told me that a car was torched in her neighborhood.



All this made me realize my country is a very boring one. The only time I hear of people rioting is when Michigan State loses a basketball game.

I feel a little bit more in touch with the rest of the world. Life in the United States (or at least in mid-Michigan) is very quiet, passive and easy. I have always known it was different in other parts of the world, but it is easy to forget that when I'm not directly affected. My safety was not even threatened during these demonstrations, but for twenty minutes I knew it might be if I left my apartment. My time was temporarily at the mercy of the passions of these other people. Other than the inconveniences I faced with the crowds congregating on my front lawn during football Saturdays, this was my first experience with such a thing. Some people have to deal with this every day of their lives.