The Demonstration
When I ascended the St-Michel metro stairs, I could tell something aboveground was off. There were few pedestrians entering the station and no traffic noise. The smell of grilled food wafted through the air and Green Day blared over a loudspeaker.
I stepped into the sunlight and was surprised to see the usually busy thoroughfare Quai des Grands Augustins, that runs along the Seine, closed. I turned to cross over Pont Saint-Michel to head toward my intended lunch destination, but a line of policemen barricaded the path.
Police Barricade
Okay. I had walked into une grève, one of the strikes for which Parisians are infamous. These are usually daylong affairs and include food, wine and music. I’m not sure what the music is for since the acoustics are horrible and the playlist is, at best, questionable, filled with miscellaneous songs unrelated to, um, say, bureaucracy, rights, negotiations or anything else demonstrations typically represent.
Speaker Rallying the Crowd
This demonstration didn’t have a lot of energy, but it still warranted street closures for at least a three-block radius. The group stood around smoking cigarettes, shouted and cheered at the speaker, waved a couple of banners and tossed firecrackers.
Fully Equipped Press Motorcycles
And I still couldn’t figure out exactly what it was for.
Paris, France, grève, manifestation, demonstration, strike
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