Carnet de Voyage: an “Experience” in Paris

Travel notes from the real France. Carnet de Voyage is a weekly personal travel story in France sent in by readers. If you’d like to write a story for Carnet de Voyage, head here for details on how to submit.

In August 2014, I was the victim of a purse-snatching in Paris. It was a Saturday evening, 7:30 pm, yet broad daylight. I was in the 9^th arrondissement where I usually stay. Ironically, I was rounding the corner of the commissariat de police (the police station). In August, certain places are brimming with tourists, but the “regular” neighborhoods are quiet. All of a sudden, someone behind me politely said, “Excusez-moi, Madame,” and I stepped aside to let him pass. In one quick movement, he pulled the bag I wore cross-body. I tried to hang onto it, but he pulled with such force, that he dragged me down and I fell hard on the sidewalk. He tore the strap, grabbed the bag, and ran. I didn’t even think to see if I was hurt, but I did note what he looked like and what he wore. In retrospect, I realize how stupid I was to fight him for the bag. He could have been armed. I screamed so loudly, that people came out from buildings, even people from the next corner, to see what happened. I screamed “au secours!” (Help!) and “voleur!” (thief!). I picked myself up to go after him, but he was too fast. All I could think of: “my whole world is in that bag.” 

As I walked to the corner, a man came toward me and said, “nous avons récupéré votre sac, Madame” (we’ve retrieved your bag). I couldn’t believe my ears! At the corner, another man handed me my bag. I didn’t even look inside, but two minutes later, another witness came forward with my cell phone in one hand, and my camera in the other! Unbelievable luck. One of the witnesses had taken a picture of the thief and had already called the police. These kind bystanders took me to one of their local hangouts, an Arab coffee house on rue du Fbg. Montmartre. The manager brought me a glass of water with strawberry syrup. She said I needed sugar since I had a shock. Maybe it’s a cultural thing; it couldn’t hurt. The witnesses waited with me until the police arrived. I was grateful that these witnesses didn’t stand idly by.  

At the police station, I answered questions and gave a statement. The gendarmes were relieved to conduct the interview in their language. I received the best souvenir: the Procès Verbal (police report), which states that “Madame lit, parle, et écrit français parfaitement” (Madame reads, speaks, and writes French perfectly). My French was certainly much better than their English. They drove me to my hotel, where I kept replaying the incident in my head all night. 

The next morning, an officer from the commissariat in the 10^th arrondissement, came to bring me to his station to look through photos. I was able to identify the thief, a 25-y-o under surveillance, wearing an ankle bracelet. Talk about stupid. The detective asked if I was familiar with the Hotel Dieu, the city hospital next to Notre Dame. Yes, but only from the outside. Since he wasn’t busy, he drove me there, to the Urgence Judiciaire (the ER that deals with crime victims). I always wondered what was behind the tall wall of that imposing building. I didn’t think the opportunity would be under this circumstance: magnificent architecture and a beautiful garden complete with a piano and a piano player at the top of the steps. Inside, I was happy to learn that Xrays showed nothing was broken. I went into Notre Dame and started my Sunday agenda grâce à Dieu without incident.  

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Lead photo credit : Hotel Dieu in Paris