At a time when politicians across Europe are figuring out how porous their borders should be after the Paris attacks, whether or not they should plug the flow of Syrian migrants into their countries, I still can't stop marveling at Paris' ability to embrace visitors even as it was waking up to the morning after the attacks. I went to the French capital in the worst of times, but even a week later, I can't say it was any less of an experience that I've ever had in the city.
"They are suspending Schengen,'' said my assignment desk to me, wary of whether I would be able to make it to Paris with my travel documents. As I entered the St Pancras station in London for my Eurostar connection, I was more worried about the equipment I was carrying. Out of the NDTV crew of four that was covering Prime Minister Modi's London visit, only I had a Schengan visa, and so I was lugging a heavy bag full of equipment, hoping to broadcast live from Paris. What I knew, and what my French cameraman said to be repeatedly during the next four days, that the equipment with its endless wires looked suspiciously like some kind of a bomb. At that time, I didn't even know how to work it and so if they did what they do at Indian airports - ''Madam, show us how it works'' - I would be detained at some checkpoint for Lord knows how long.
I expected gun-wielding security guards, I expected grim faces profiling each passenger as they went towards border control, all I got were calm personnel helping passengers decide whether they should continue with their journey or not. "It's absolutely fine, the taxis and metros are all working,'' said one helpful official to a woman who was travelling to her family in France. As I introduced myself as a journalist, they didn't duck but gave me all the necessary information and also the number of their press office. One of them even held up my iPhone as I recorded my piece to camera (there was no camera paranoia which is another feature we're used to soon after attacks like this).
I sailed through passport control, and the security check and as I settled into my coach, I thought back to February 2007, another time, another assignment crisis and another instance of how the French never cease to surprise me. At that time, I was landing in Paris en route to Delhi, after an extended visit to Buenos Aires where we were chasing Bofors case related Ottavio Quattrocchi. We were only meant to stay in Argentina for a week, but as the story kept extending, so did our stay - till we realized that we had to leave, else our visa would run out the next day. The added complication was of course that our transit visa in France was expiring the very day we were landing.
I was with my colleague Neeta Sharma and I will never forget the terror we felt as the bus ferried us from the aircraft to the terminal. Then, just like this time, we were tired from an extended assignment, and we had had no time to get in touch with the Indian embassy since it was (again) over a weekend; all we wanted was to get to that hotel room to sleep till our flight to Delhi the next day. You could hope that one of our passports could be overseen, but how could both of us pass by French authorities with expired visas? And yet, we did, and it was only when we were leaving next day, that the official caught us. "But your visa is expired?'' he said, looking highly puzzled. Rested, and hoping that the worst was us getting deported home, we explained our strange circumstances to which the official just waved us through security and immigration. We couldn't believe our luck but a French journalist friend had a better explanation for it - "He looked at you two girls, and was just rational about it. He knew that you weren't terrorists and so, unlike the Americans, they were relaxed.''
I loved that attitude then, and I loved it even more now. Especially when I stood there underneath the Eiffel Tower with my 3G equipment spread out, all the wires scattered, trying to get the frequency through to my Delhi office so I could go live. The cameraman hadn't arrived yet and without a camera in sight, I looked really suspicious even to my own mind: a brown woman, looking a little frantic, trying to put wires together with a black bag and heavy black boxes. And I also started sweating a bit when the cameraman still wasn't there 30 minutes later, and I was late for my live report, and three policemen came walking by. But instead of sizing me up, all they said was "Bonjour'', and I indulged in some more nervous banter about when the Eiffel tower would open up.
Maybe it's something in the French air that tells people to relax, the calming effect of all the beautiful carbs being readied in all the boulangeries, the effect of the ever-present waft of coffee in the air, the knowledge of literature that made some write out Emily Dickinson quotes at blast sites and the love of arts that made one drag his piano out and play John Lennon's Imagine. Make no mistake, there was sadness in the air manifesting itself into empty streets and parks even on a beautiful sunny Paris winter day, it just didn't make them act strange like jumping at people who didn't act ''normal'' or look like them . If anything it made them nicer - like a man offering hugs at Place de la Republique and locals being more indulgent about speaking in English. ''What's wrong with them?'' said my Brazil-born French cameraman after coming out of a shop. ''Usually, if I go to one shop and ask for directions to another, they will spit on me. But people are being so kind.''
He spoke too soon, of course, because soon after, we went to a cafe to charge the batteries of my equipment and encountered the famous French Rude. We took permission from the waiter to connect the gear to the power point, ordered drinks so we were providing some business, covered it with a scarf so that the wires didn't scare other customers, and stepped out (after informing them) to do a live report, but came back to see it all dismantled. The manager, a very angry woman, shouted at me for five minutes for daring to leave my equipment in her establishment.
"Only in France,'' said my cameraman, without batting an eyelid, when I told him "Do they shout at their own customers. Now you will never go back again.'' I didn't really mind. I half expected it and was amused to find the infamous French rudeness finally catch up with me. I just hoped that they didn't change too drastically in the coming days. After all, it's some of these intrinsic qualities that drive so many of us back to the country time and again.
(Sunetra Choudhury is Editor, National Affairs, NDTV 24x7)Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this article are the personal opinions of the author. The facts and opinions appearing in the article do not reflect the views of NDTV and NDTV does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.