The Ghost of New Year's Past

Television really is the best seat to have when it comes to big events. I know the virtual experience doesn’t compare with the sensory overload and excitement that comes with being on the scene. There is nothing like the rumble of stock cars on a green flag or being among the thousands to watch the ball drop on New Year’s.

But big events can come with trade-offs of no concern to viewers. Let me tell you about my experience.

The largest event I’ve ever attended was New Year’s Eve, Paris 2003. I visited France for two weeks over the Christmas holiday. I was on vacation from teaching in Japan and decided on a vacation instead of going home. I would return to Japan on New Year’s Day but didn’t wish for the fanfare of the eve; yet my host insisted so I went.

The subway stations were packed with crowds headed to the same destination, La Tour Eiffel. My host and I took Line 1 to the Champs-Elysee, which was this night closed to traffic and thronged with thousands strolling about enjoying the night. We joined a river of people marching toward L’Arc de Triomphe and down a boulevard onward toward the event site.

I could see La Tour well before arriving, but getting there and taking in the sea of people was breathtaking. As I had witnessed over the last two weeks, there were people from every place on the planet evident by the many faces and languages. Folk were laughing, singing, drinking, and having fun. The Americans were the rowdiest and easy to spot! My host and I took a spot on a hillock across the Seine at La Trocadero.

Soon the countdown began—Trois! Deux! Un! —and La Tour lit up with thousands of glittering lights that did wonders in the eye. (If you’ve ever been to Paris you’ve probably seen this.) But I was slightly disappointed: How do you have New Year’s without fireworks? I suppose there were good reasons, but still…

Anticipation is often the main attraction of big events, so with it fulfilled it didn’t take long for the crowd of multiple thousands to disperse—fast! People scattered like bugs. My host and I made our way through the thicket toward the Metro.

Now, remember ‘trade-offs’? Any viewers had already clicked off the TV, but my nightmare was just starting.

For the next few hours I was below ground in the tunnels of Paris's subway system waiting for trains. There were people ahead of me toward the platform and there were people behind me still entering the tunnel, filling every space. Had there been an emergency, there would’ve been no way in or out. The masses were suffocating, and for once I understood what it felt like to be claustrophobic.

We stood in place for minutes on-end moving only a few steps at a time. When the crowd did advance, people toward the back would push forward in waves to get closer to the front (pointless); but the lurching—violent enough to knock a person down—would mash people’s bodies together in the most uncomfortable ways. I got separated from my host once, and another time I perceived that I was being pickpocketed, forcing me to turn and face the perpetrator. This scene was repeated at each station throughout the night.

We made it to Gare du Nord. I could see a commotion happening as we slowed to the platform. When the doors opened people were screaming and others ran. My mind flashed to the World Trade Center bombing. One woman coughed and vomited. There was smoke in the air and very quickly my eyes, nose, and throat began to sting from a gaseous irritant. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I hoped that it was only a smoke bomb. It was the most frightening moment of the night.

Nothing major came of the incident and we checked for our departure train: We had missed it and there would not be another. In fact, the entire subway system had closed. Thus, at three in the morning we set out on foot for Pierrefitte in the Paris suburbs. Cold and dark, it was about 3 a.m. To make matters worse, my host and I had grown irritable. Along the way I watched some delinquents attempt to steal a car and feared they might come after us.

We arrived after 40-minute power walk that found me lagging constantly. Never have I been so glad to find home.

It was good to have had the experience, but it was the very hassle I had wished to avoid. I don't envy those people I see in New York each New Year's eve. The next day, replete with snow, I deliberated one last venture to Monmartre before jettisoning back to Japan. But with a 14-hour trip ahead of me, I wasn't going to be the glutton for punishment. I’d leave that for the next visit.