When the Notre-Dame fire began I was at the Sacré Coeur in the 18th arrondissement. It was a sunny afternoon, and crowds sat on the green before the church, making the most of the fine weather. Dance music was being played to a medium volume while a man with a football performed tricks at the top of the hill. A festival-like scene, this was Sacré Coeur as one of many tourist hot-spots. Busy, vibrant, unremarkable.
Joining fellow tourists in queuing to enter the church, we realised once inside that mass was being celebrated while some tourists milled around taking photos. As far as I could tell, those walking around were quiet, interested, respectful – but their presence, our presence, felt inappropriate at that time. Worshippers and tourists are equally welcome in a church, but it felt wrong to be there as a tourist during mass. We quickly left.
Taking in the view a final time before descending into the city, we saw the plume of smoke coming from Notre-Dame and the fireball inside at the base of the spire. Later that evening we joined the crowds by the Seine, looking on at the great cathedral in silent shock.
