In the Grey Zone

The streets around the Seine have gone silent: restaurants are almost empty; there are only a few people walking along the footpaths; bike traffic is practically non-existent; the odd car and motorcycle goes through, still stopping at red lights, even though the way’s clear. This is the ‘grey zone’, a restricted area set up by the Paris préfecture to secure the river before the Olympic Games opening ceremony today.

Metal fencing has been going up for the last couple of weeks. Those who live and work inside the zone have had to apply for a QR code that would grant them entry; a friend who lives outside the zone got a phone message about it in May: labelled ‘extreme alert’, it was sent using the same geofencing technology that’s used during emergencies.

Another friend who lives on one of the islands in the river went for a run which took him through five checkpoints: two worked fine, but two couldn’t scan his code and the fifth asked for identification. Someone else who lives near the zone was stopped and asked to provide proof of residence last weekend, even though he wasn’t required to have a code; he ended up having to find his lease in his emails.

Businesses inside the zone can remain open: an online reservation was apparently enough to be allowed in to go to a hairdresser or restaurant; art galleries were told their clients would be allowed in, but they often weren’t, so many galleries have closed early for the summer.

Last Friday, I took a walk around the perimeter. Most of the bridges across the Seine have been completely closed off. On the Pont Notre-Dame, which remained open, a dense pack of tourists squeezed against people pushing their bikes southwards (the carriageway runs north only). Restaurants just outside the zone, caged behind the fences, were open but there weren’t many people eating there, even though it was lunchtime.

The fences zig-zagged around Saint-Germain-des-Près. The area was busy, but far less crowded than on a normal Friday, let alone in the high tourist season. Perhaps the wealthy enough residents had left, while those coming for the Olympics hadn’t yet arrived. La Palette, where it’s notoriously hard to find a table, was stuck on the wrong side of the fence, and looked mostly empty.

As I went up Rue Mazarine, I noticed a few gaps in the fence. At a police roadblock I ran into an acquaintance whose gallery was in the zone. We chatted a little, and I mentioned the holes I’d seen in the fence: ‘You should pay us a visit,’ he joked (his gallery had closed the day before). I guessed that some disgruntled person had taken a screwdriver to the fences the previous night, and decided to try my luck.

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 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.

Near the Musée d’Orsay, 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.