Did Anne Hidalgo crib notes from Taylor Swift? The ambitious mayor of Paris has taken all sorts of flack for her theatrical, grandiose approach to the Summer Olympics. But as the Games round into their second week, who’s laughing now?
Some of the most expensive Olympic Games in history are also shaping up to be the most magnificent. It takes a free spirit and an iron will to say: So what if it rains? Let’s hoist Celine Dion onto the edge of the Eiffel Tower, dangle dancers from a rooftop—by chains—and plop a medalist from Mauritius on a glorified canoe. Génial!
And why build a billion-dollar stadium on the outskirts of town when you can create temporary venues—from scratch—at the city’s most famed and fragile historic monuments? For once, C’est pas possible was not the default response. That’s why we have fencing underneath the glass dome of the Grand Palais, archery in front of Napoleon’s tomb at Les Invalides, dressage among the formal gardens of Versailles, a skateboard park at the Place de la Concorde.
Other countries would have thought better of such nonsense, for good reason. But, as its inhabitants always insist, La France is not other countries. The Pont Alexandre III was spectacular even before it was the finish line for the triathlon. Now, observing the ringed Eiffel Tower looming over the gilded pegasi and nymphs, even 50-year-old accountants from the suburbs of New York are turning on the waterworks. “Coming here was the best decision I ever made,” said one, wiping away tears after the opening ceremony.
Out-of-towners were prepared for a logistical nightmare, but so far, in Paris at least, it hasn’t manifested. (The July 26 arson attack on high-speed railways affected travel at the start of the Games.) Métro signage has been simplified to direct visitors to venues. Trains arrive punctually, every two or three minutes. Buses and taxis are plentiful, and while bike lanes are heaving, the traffic has been largely fluide since most roads and bridges reopened when the Games began.
And help is everywhere. It’s almost like the organizers rounded up the friendliest people in France—yes, they exist!—put them in ridiculous teal-and-pink sun hats, and installed them near the turnstiles of every Métro station, patiently helping foreigners wrestle with those stupid paper tickets.
It also helps that many Parisians have left town. (Their mistake.) “It’s the best advertisement in the world for Paris,” admits an art adviser who escaped the Seventh Arrondissement for Cap Bénat, before adding, “But did Paris really need another advertisement? What about Bordeaux? Nantes? Marseilles?”
Fair point. But for those who love Paris—and isn’t that most of us?—there’s never been a more memorable time to visit, especially if you like to eat. While the tourists are lining up for croque-madames at Les Deux Magots, this is the moment to waltz in to Septime, the hottest Nordic restaurant outside of Copenhagen; the Seventh Arrondissement’s stylish seafood spot Divellec; or even Girafe Paris, the usually impenetrable rooftop restaurant at the Trocadéro with views of the Eiffel Tower that will make your Instagram followers weep with envy. (Booking requires a Chase Sapphire Reserve credit card, but you’ll be instantly approved, unless you maxed out at Le Bon Marché. And with a 12 percent tax refund, who can blame you?)
Unlike the soul-destroying scramble for Taylor Swift concert tickets, the Games are accessible and affordable. Paris 2024 Tickets, the official app and ticketing system, is user-friendly. There’s something for everyone who’s up for some action. New batches for all competitions are released continuously. And there’s no price gouging in the secondary market, because the International Olympic Committee has made it impossible to transfer tickets outside of its own platform. Hit refresh enough times, and you’ll get what you want.
Why build a billion-dollar stadium on the outskirts of town when you can create temporary venues—from scratch—at the city’s most famed and fragile historical monuments?
In an ideal world, that’s beach volleyball at the Eiffel Tower Stadium. The Champ de Mars, once just a place to have a picnic, has been kitted out with a 13,000-seat open-air stade, serviced by dozens of cooling tents and “spritz stations” to mist overheated spectators.
The concession stands serve pasta salad, grain-free kettle corn, and non-alcoholic 1664 beer in recyclable cups, and the lines move quickly. Inside, the vibe is Knicks game, with presenters and D.J.’s ramping up the crowd, and acrobats suddenly materializing during time-outs. When the bum-smacking American team of Kelly Cheng and Sara Hughes took to the sand, the energy—“U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”—was irrepressible. It wasn’t quite as much fun as the “Eras Tour,” but then again, these were just the first heats.
Oh, sure, there have been snafus. During the opening ceremony, the announcer mistook South Korea for its neighbor to the north, in both French and English. A drag-show pagan tableaux—complete with a naked, bright-blue Dionysus—was mistaken by a spluttering Elon Musk, and pretty much anyone over 50, for a blasphemous parody of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper. All the heavy rain downgraded the water quality in the Seine so triathlon practice was canceled, and the eco-friendly apartments in the Olympic Village were too hot, leading some delegations from wealthier nations to buy or rent air-conditioning units for their athletes.
The absurd little marshmallow of a mascot, the announcers on France 2 declaring Tony Parker to be the greatest basketball player of all time, the hot-air balloon holding the Olympic “flame”—in fact an illusion of water vapor and electricity—the Eiffel Tower so glittering it could probably burn the retinas. It’s all so adorably, gloriously French. After this, we’ll never see Paris, or the Olympics, in the same way again. Your move, Los Angeles.
Ashley Baker is a Deputy Editor at AIR MAIL and a co-host of the Morning Meeting podcast
