Last Saturday, on the aforementioned warm and sunny day, Séb and I decided to take a stroll around the northern parts of the city. The 65 degree day was spent capturing street art and soaking up vitamin D as we knew snow was going to blast through the city at least one last time this winter. Walking along the 20th arrondissement side of Boulevard de Charonne (opposed to 11th which is just across the street), we passed the apartment building where we were going to live had we not landed our current place.
And here it is...
Not the actual demolished building (although that would have been pretty funny), but the building that was it was adjacent to. I'd say we dodged a bullet there, as I can imagine annihilating and gutting out an entire building of this size was a noisy operation to conduct...to say the least.
So what happened next on this gorgeous, picturesque Parisian afternoon was not so funny. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Boulevard de Charonne is fairly wide hence sharing two arrondissements, and when approaching the intersection where Philippe Auguste meets the sidewalks gets slimmer to make room a smaller sub-street provided for parked cars.
Just as I was pointing out the Italian market CasaItalia, reminding Séb that we should pick up coffee, a man approached us wearing a red knit snow cap. Normal I thought, and scooched behind Séb to proceed in single file because the sidewalk was too slim for the three of us to pass at the same time. Within a matter of seconds, the man pushed Séb out of the way and pinned me up against the wall of the building I was alongside of, sleazily whispering in my ear in Spanish, calling me chica. Not understanding completely, I was able to gather that he had mistaken me for someone else. Clearly someone he did not like. Locked in his hold as he had my shoulders pinned back against the building, I wasn't able to hit him with my bag and before I could knee him in his man parts, Séb managed him off of me. I tried to escape while Séb held him back, but the man was making his intentions clear that he wanted to get to me by trying to get around Séb.
Worming my way around this brouhaha, making my way off this small and desolate sidewalk, with Séb holding his hand out to let me pass I managed to get out onto the mini street. Just then a car came and had Séb not yanked my arm, semi-pulling me back into this scene, I would have gotten hit by the mini Cooper approaching that I hadn't seen over the parked cars. Once the car passed, we ran across the street where the Spanish man proceeded to follow us. At this point I was hysterical because he was more than a drunk panhandler trying to get money, he was fixed on me. His gray eyes were glassed over, and based on his irrational approach it had occurred to me that this man was possibly on crack and really did want to hurt me. Séb who is not at all violent ended up having to punch him in the head, trip him so he fell to buy us time to get all the way across the street into the 11th. This all happened in a matter of fifteen seconds.
Trembling as Séb called the police, we stood across the street watching him pull himself up by grabbing the spoke of a moving Vélib bike and taking down the cyclist.
As if the demolition wasn't enough, now I'm really glad we didn't have to take the apartment.
Having lived off the Marcy stop in Southside Williamsburg (which yes, is getting gentrified now, but five years ago it wasn't close to there yet), and Silver Lake where I heard gun shots every so often on Hoover Street, I now realize how lucky I am to not have experienced this before. So many thoughts have been bouncing around my head ever since: what if I was alone as I have been on this street many times (I tutor a family in the area), what if this happened with my mother who would have been screaming bloody shiksa murder, or worse with my three year old students. I'm still really shaken up and that day I spent the rest of the afternoon turning to see if someone was behind me.
Walking off the violent turn of events, eventually we stopped at one of my favorite cafés Aux 3 Passages on Rue Saint Maur for a Perrier and a noisette. Séb spent a better part of our date ferociously Google searching Tasers for me.
Okay, first of all, I am not carrying around a Taser with the option to "tase" people should the event present itself. I don't care if it comes in pink complete with a matching fitted leather case. And second, aren't they illegal? We compromised with a pepper spray key chain that should arrive in the mail any day now. But really, how dumb have I been to not have something to protect myself in any major city until now? I'm a pretty small girl.
It just seems like everyday I'm hearing about iPhones being ripped out of people's hands, where now the victims are getting attacked if they resist. Séb and I witnessed a man being jumped by two guys over in the 9th at 6 pm for his smart phone, and recently a girlfriend told me that she saw a girl whose phone was swiped actually chase the crook off the metro, resulting in leaving behind her groceries and H&M shopping bags on the floor.
Not wanting to burst anyone's Paris dreams as it really is an enchanting place to live in, but nothing is 100%. To my friends here, especially my ladies, please, please, please be careful. It's getting rough out there.
