PARIS IS SAD TODAY

A gray Sunday, boulevards nearly deserted, and a city that seems to have lost its luster—at least for the day.

On this October Sunday, Paris felt sadder to me than ever before. Even when it rains heavily, the city usually retains its pulse, its characteristic bustle, and draws people out into the streets. Today, however, everything felt somber—as if, beyond the autumn clouds, a palpable sense of unease had settled over the City of Light.

It was the day after a magnificent academic event held in the elegant setting of the Salon Opéra at the InterContinental Paris Le Grand—an evening of honors, culture, and encounters that allowed us, for a few hours, to forget the world’s worries. Yet, it was also the day after demonstrations that brought over a hundred thousand people to the streets—protests marked by incidents and moments of violence, though not on the scale of other confrontations the French capital has witnessed.

The evening before, I had already observed the imposing security measures: large numbers of police, mounted officers, wailing sirens, and a constant presence of law enforcement. Today, official warnings and restrictions continued to cast a shadow over city life. The fear of further incidents, limitations on public gatherings, and movement restrictions in certain areas—especially at night—likely prompted many to stay indoors.

We did the same. This time, we didn’t cross paths with the Eiffel Tower, nor with Notre-Dame. We stayed near the Opéra Garnier, hoping to rediscover—at least here—some of the atmosphere of days past. But even the surrounding boulevards seemed devoid of life. The café terraces, usually bustling, were nearly empty, and the cold alone could not account for it.

We stopped at one of them, nonetheless. We exchanged a few words with the waiters, who greeted us with subtle smiles, though they, too, noted the absence of people. All around, shops—either still closed or shielded by boards and metal shutters—reinforced the image of an unusually quiet Paris.

There are moments when a city no longer speaks through its monuments, the glow of its shop windows, or the bustle of its streets, but rather through what is missing. Today, Paris spoke to us precisely through this absence: through unoccupied tables, lifeless boulevards, the sparse footsteps of passersby, and the sense that, for the time being, people prefer the safety of their homes to the joy of being together.

Tomorrow morning, we head to the airport. We hope the journey goes smoothly, though security warnings serve as a reminder that the situation could change at any moment.

We were leaving Paris with the memory of a brilliant academic evening and the image of a heavy, somber Sunday. Two facets of the same city, separated by only a few hours: one celebrating culture and the values ​​of the human spirit, the other seeking solace behind closed doors. Perhaps tomorrow the streets will fill up once again, the terraces will come to life, and the lights will restore the city’s unmistakable charm.

Until then, we too look forward to calmer days—boulevards bustling with people, smiles, and that simple joy of discovering Paris on foot.

For Paris is more than just monuments and history. It is about people, encounters, the freedom to wander, and the sense that life is following its natural course.

And when all of this vanishes—even if only for a day—the City of Light seems to dim, for a fleeting moment, a portion of its radiance. 

Dorel Cosma, Paris, October 25, 2026