I walked back, ducked through one of the gaps in the fence – the only police officer at the nearest checkpoint was busy with someone else – and made my way through to Pont Neuf. The intersection, which is gnarly at the best of times, was completely empty. I was well in the zone: no one would ask me any questions now.
Several restaurants on the Île de la Cité were open, with a smattering of customers. There were staff outside Sainte-Chappelle but no queue (usually it’s enormous); a tourist left a Google review saying they couldn’t get past the checkpoint with their ticket. A tour boat was somehow still ferrying passengers between Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, which is also in the grey zone.
Friends had been in the Louvre grounds the day before, posting videos and photos on Instagram of its emptiness in full daylight: they told me they’d walked afghanistan phone data through a checkpoint and hadn’t been questioned. When I got to the Louvre, all its gates were closed, and several police vans blockaded the road.
only one bouquiniste (riverside bookseller) was open. The city had intended to shut them all down during the Olympics, but relented after they protested; the grey zone did the job though. She was sitting under the shade of a black umbrella, taking advantage of the quiet to tidy up her stall and re-cover the books in plastic sleeves. Like the other businesses in the zone, she had no idea whether the government or city would reimburse her for lost income: a commission was announced by the prime minister, but at the moment there isn’t much more than an email address. The bouquiniste wasn’t sure how long she’d be missing footfall, with various races scheduled to go past her stall. I asked if she was going to take August off. ‘I don’t care about taking holidays,’ she said. She always worked through.