When I first learned of the concept behind the opening ceremonies for the 2024 Paris Games, I was awestruck.
By allowing spectators to gather on the banks and bridges of the Seine River, Paris officials were moving this most exclusive Olympic moment from the stadium to the people. Instead of several thousand in the audience, France was making space for 300,000.
I wanted to be with them.
I bought a single ticket that popped up on the official Olympic website, downloaded the Paris 2024 public transportation app and set out four hours early.
I wish I had taken an umbrella.
Road closures and limited access to the route in the heart of Paris — four miles between the Austerlitz bridge and the Eiffel Tower — left me and other spectators able to walk down the middle of streets typically packed with congested traffic.
We stood in long lines at security checkpoints and walked together to the Seine. My seat was in the bleachers near Notre Dame Cathedral — which is still flanked in scaffolding as part of extensive renovation efforts after the 2019 fire. Directly in front of me was a huge screen so I could watch the program and the river simultaneously.
Spectators bought hot dogs and Olympic merchandise. I stood in line hoping to find an umbrella, instead I purchased a white and blue reversible bucket hat.
And then, amid overcast skies, I soaked up the atmosphere.
A woman in front of me spoke of traveling from Australia to support her friend who was competing. She spoke of the cost of her ticket and, like me, wished to have an umbrella.
A man and his wife took selfies with a large Mexican flag — the word “Mexico” embroidered on the sleeve of his jacket; two women wearing T-shirts with “Serbia” written on the back reached out to grab the corners of the flag, hoping to improve the photograph. A few minutes later the Mexican couple helped the Serbian ladies take photographs with their nation’s flag.
There was a collective gasp when the boats carrying the Olympic athletic delegations emerged through colored smoke that shot upward to form the vertical blue, white and red stripes of the French flag.
We cheered for Greece. And the refugee delegation. And others.
The spectators around me put down their national flags and instead waved the small French flags left on our seats. It was as if everyone was saying , “France welcomes you!” And so do we.
I put on my bucket hat as the sprinkle of rain turned into a downpour.
With limited access to the screens, the spectators focused on the athletes — who danced and cheered and waved.
I worried the cool rain would make them sick.
It was hard to see the performers dancing on the opposite side of the river or the zip liner crossing the river carrying the Olympic torch and landing near the historic Notre Dame Cathedral. The French Air Force aerobatic flying team flew above the Seine, leaving a bright trail of purple smoke forming a heart.
When the Mexican delegation floated by, their super fans stood in the aisle and yelled in Spanish. We all cheered too.
A few minutes later a man offered to help the Serbia women create a video — capturing them, their flag and their delegation in a short reel.
By the time the United States and French delegations brought up the end of the boat parade, everyone was wet and cold. But we stood again, cheering loud for the host nation’s delegation.
Then with the parade of athletes complete, the river-side performances finished and the water silent, we collectively focused on the screens. Some sang along with the performers in French. Water flooded the screens — making it hard to view the images.
My bucket hat had done nothing to protect me from the elements; I was soaked to the skin.
Many people headed out early, but a good number stayed until the end.
In stark contrast to the coming together a few hours earlier, the streets that had been filled with people and energy now felt quiet and empty.
As I walked to the train station and I thought about my night, a quote by Fraser Bullock, the president and CEO of the Salt Lake City-Utah Committee for the Games at a presentation to the International Olympic Committee two days earlier, filled my mind.
“The people of Utah love the Games,” he said. “it’s in our DNA. … We understand the value of the Games bringing the world together in unity.”
For a few brief hours I felt that unity. I had sat alone in a crowd but was never alone. I waved a French flag and cheered for Greece and the refugee team, Mexico and Serbia, the United States and France.
We had all waved a small French flag to welcome the athletes to Paris. We all cheered our home nations. We were all wet and cold.
For a few brief hours we had everything in common.
I am sure lots will be written in the coming days about the unique program and expanded access that brought record-breaking crowds — the fact that many spectators saw most of the event on a screen and not in person, or the security obligations or risks that come when an Olympic venue is extended to include a swath of a city, or the heavy, soak-to-the-skin rain.
But one simple fact about the night will always remain with me.
I was part of it.
