Just north of Paris, where I’d moved with my husband Ben a year earlier, the French national football team was playing Germany at the Stade de France. Among the attendees was the President of France, François Hollande.
The first news alerts appeared on my phone around 9:30pm. There had been a series of explosions outside the stadium. It appeared to be suicide bombers. While the President was being discreetly evacuated, the match continued inside with players and fans both equally unaware, the noise of the stadium drowning out the blasts.
The world is such a crazy place. How very sad.
Moments later, my phone buzzed again, the posts coming too quickly to keep track of. Le Monde, Le Parisien, BFMTV, The New York Times, The Washington Post. All reporting attacks were now occurring across the eastern part of the city, including at restaurants and a music club, the Bataclan. Residents were being urged to seek shelter immediately.
How close was the shooting? Which arrondissement are you in? Hope all is well.
I instinctively picked up my phone and posted a status message on Facebook.
Craziness happening in Paris tonight, but Ben and I are fine.
As I did that, Facebook asked me to mark myself safe during the Paris Terror Attacks. I clicked the green button, feeling oddly numb despite the violence raging around me. Walking towards the window, I looked down at our peaceful courtyard far from the attacks. In the distance, I could see the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Everything okay? Just saw the news! Hope you are safe and far from the scare!
The next few hours were a blur. I paced back and forth in our small apartment, watching the news while simultaneously scrolling on my phone and responding to messages from concerned loved ones.
We’re hearing about shootings in Paris. Please let me know all is well with you both.
Around midnight, President Hollande announced France would be placed under a State of Emergency and the borders would be immediately sealed. I thought of Ben. I had taken the liberty of saying he was safe. And he was, but he wasn’t with me. He was currently flying over Greenland. I could only imagine what he would see or how he would hear the news when he landed in Amsterdam a few hours later, and then Paris after that. Due to his residency status, he would be one of the few allowed into the country despite the new restrictions.
So glad you’re okay. Safe travels for Ben!
That night I slept fitfully, waking every two hours to check my phone for the latest news. By then, the attacks were over, and the reports were focused on the manhunt and the number of victims. I eventually texted Ben.
Me: This probably goes without saying, but please don’t take a train from the airport. I think it’s better to be in a taxi right now…
Ben: Will do. See you soon
It had been ten months since attackers stormed the offices of Charlie Hebdo, the satirical French newspaper. During those attacks, I remember walking through downtown Paris and being shocked by how life could continue so normally on one side of town while all hell was breaking loose on the other. I passed an electronics store that had televisions displayed in the windows showing live coverage of the attacks while here I was, taking a stroll around Paris. Perhaps that memory was what kept me from panicking the night of the attack and in the weeks after.
I’ve been thinking of you both since I heard about the shootings yesterday. How are you?
In the days that followed what was now the second terror rampage of the year, the city took on an air of defiance. An informal night out was organised a week after the attacks, with Parisians being urged to spend the evening in their favourite restaurant. We went out to a nearby wine bar. Despite the feeling of conviviality inside, it was impossible to forget what had happened just a week earlier to people doing exactly what we were doing at that moment.
I’m sure you’ve been deluged with a ton of mail from folks checking in; I’m not trying to pile on, but wanted to let you know that we are thinking of you guys. We hope that you two & your friends in Paris are safe and doing OK.
A few days later, I took my first métro ride since the November 13th attacks. I was staring into space when a man boarded the train and sat across from me. There was something off about him, but I couldn’t immediately place it. Then I realised it was his coat. The weather had barely turned fall-like, and yet his coat looked as if it was meant for the dead of winter. Underneath, he wore a puffy black turtleneck.
Sending good thoughts to the Paris community. We live in a crazy world. 💝💝
After the attacks, we learned more about what had happened that night. My mind raced through all of it. A pregnant woman hanging from an upstairs balcony at the Bataclan, begging for someone to stop running and help catch her. A husband saying he would not allow the murder of his wife to make him hate, and that he would raise their child to love. The ways people hid, and the moment they realised something was terribly wrong. And one thing we heard a lot about was the coats. Massive winter coats worn by the attackers before the chill of autumn had taken hold. Coats that were meant to hide their machine guns and explosive vests.
So glad to hear you are safe! Sending lots of good thoughts your way, friend!
I looked around to see if I was the only one who had noticed him. I thought about getting off the train and waiting for the next one. I didn’t want to be blown to pieces in that stuffy, stale-smelling métro car. But looking around, everything was just so ordinary. Several people were reading books, others were scrolling on their phones, and a few were just looking off into space. Perhaps if I had seen someone else react to him, I might have panicked. But the collective calm of my fellow passengers helped me keep my composure. Finally, he exited the car. I watched him walk towards the stairs past a group of soldiers on patrol.
We’ve been thinking about you both. You guys okay?
I eventually got off the métro at Place de la République in the heart of the neighbourhood where the attacks had taken place. A circle of news crews ringed a massive bronze statue of Marianne, a national symbol of the French Republic and, at that moment, a makeshift memorial to the victims of the attacks. Pictures of the people who had died blanketed the base of the statue. Candles that had been lit in their honour flickered with each gust of wind.
Ce soir, la Tour Eiffel est en deuil. Elle restera éteinte en hommage aux victimes des attentats. (Anne Hidalgo, mayor of Paris)
As I stood under that grey sky, I thought about the horror those people went through, but also the kindness it brought out in others. I remembered hearing about a wine bar owner who pulled in everyone off the nearby street and packed them in so tightly that no one could move. He barricaded the doors and blocked the windows and refused to let anyone leave until the next morning. But in the meantime, he served them wine to keep them calm.
Je voulais vous écrire mais heureusement je vois déjà que Ben et toi sont en vie. Bon courage!
When I think about the best of the French spirit, it’s moments like that I always come back to. The more I learned, the more moved I was by how people had chosen to help one another. While this same spirit could just as easily exist anywhere, I had experienced it in France. And I was beginning to realise it would be one of the things that would further deepen my connection to this country. I wondered if some of our relatives thought we might consider moving back to the US after everything that had happened. Yet far from making us want to leave, the attacks and the camaraderie that came after made us feel more attached to France than ever before.
We will be thinking of you and are holding both of you in our hearts always.
Two weeks later, Ben and I marked our second Thanksgiving in France with chicken and dumpling soup. That night, we also celebrated some especially welcome news. While I had sat at home on Friday, the 13th, watching the terror unfold around the city, a baby had just started growing inside of me. Soon, she would be calling Paris home, too.
