Tuesday
Arrive at the Gare du Nord and go straight to the accreditation centre the other side of Paris. Am instantly reminded of how difficult the Métro is to use with a heavy suitcase – too bad if you have a physical disability. It turns out only 29 of the 320 stops are wheelchair accessible. The head of Paris’s regional transport network has promised a “Métro for all”, which will cost between €15bn and €20bn and take 20 years to finish – overdue, but it would be a fitting legacy of the Games. There are advertisements for the Paralympics everywhere – particularly for the fencing. This matches what we saw during our family camping holiday in the Pyrenees, the battle for the remote control in the central hub nearly always resulting in judo or fencing on the television. The Observer’s hotel is in an amazing location, a stone’s throw from the Place de l’Étoile and, to the envy of my 15-year-old son, has sparkling water on tap in reception.
Wednesday
Grab some lunch with Tom Jenkins, the Observer’s superstar photographer, at his favourite boulangerie chain, Éric Kayser, before he goes off to the evening’s opening ceremony. Tom says how much calmer Paris feels than during the Olympics. In the evening, I walk down the car-free Champs Élysées and, as I’ve made the novice mistake of not bringing my media accreditation, join the crowds queueing patiently for the free seats. Everyone coos when three fighter jets fly overhead leaving red, white and blue plumes of smoke behind them. The police seem rather surprised by the numbers, the free seats are full, and we are all sent away. I try to sneak a look by pulling apart the Velcro of the coloured gauze covering the railings, but am issued a sharp “non” by a soldier. Wander back up to the Arc de Triomphe where a multicoloured sunset curtsies to the crowd. The temperature is perfect, inviting bistros are showing the opening ceremony on television and well-dressed French people sip wine. It all feels rather lovely.
Thursday
Forty kilometres out of Paris on the RER to the sweltering velodrome. It’s like getting a train into suburban Surrey only with better trains, prettier lamp-posts and tastier boulangeries. A disaster for Britain’s Kadeena Cox, who falls off her bike at the first bend in the final of the C4-5 500m time trial – the heady atmosphere punctured immediately as the capacity crowd struggle to process what has happened. It’s heartbreaking to watch her weeping inconsolably in a heap on the floor. Chat to one of the relatives of the British team who tells me that at most cycling meets, even world championships, not many people turn up other than family, which is a real shame. The velodrome has a great buzz and is a peculiar mixture of high technology and tradition, such as the men who stand at the start with a little red flag like Phyllis and Bobbie with their flannel petticoats in the Railway Children.
Friday
It’s amazing how quickly you become blasé about athletes doing incredible things – like cyclists with one leg flying around the track and blind riders showing utter trust in their pilots as the pair hurtle about at 60mph. I really must stop crying at all the medal ceremonies though, it’s getting embarrassing. I can’t stop thinking about what Lizzi Jordan, who suddenly lost her sight as a teenager, says after winning gold in the B 1,000m time trial. “Life as I knew it was over, I had to start from rock bottom … I love the sense of freedom [being on a bike] gives me because being blind I need a guide for walking around, life’s a little bit slower now.” My colleagues Paul and Tom were at the pool yesterday where, in the penultimate race of the evening, Oleksandr Komarov of Ukraine won bronze and the neutral athlete Kirill Pulver silver in the S5 200m freestyle. Komarov refused to pose with the Russian after the medal ceremony, saying: “Unfortunately, our enemies were allowed to participate in the Paralympic Games and we have to put up with it.”
Saturday
Go for a short run in the nearby Bois de Boulogne, where columns of people are doing the same, up and down the paths where the plane trees have already started to shed their leaves. We all sit down at breakfast and try to work out what to cover over the coming week – there are so many brilliant stories and not enough time or space to cover them all.
