Diary of a spectator

Adam Willems heads home for the Olympics.

Ahead of hosting the 2024 Olympics in Paris, several key questions plagued my home country of France: would the government lurch far right, would swimming really happen in the Seine, and—if so—would agitators poop in it? 

The state poured $1.5B into cleaning the Seine river through major infrastructural work on Paris’s drainage and sewer systems. Part of a stated commitment to transmute Olympic funding into public gain, cleanup efforts promised to boost biodiversity and make the Seine swimmable for long-distance swimming events and triathlons during the Olympics, and then for the general public starting in 2025. Scuttlebutt also suggested agitators might poop in the river, contaminating it before Olympic events to protest the use of public funds for this project rather than other issues like housing and public transit. 

It’s with that concern that I—an intrepid journalist and my parents’ favorite child—made the brave decision to fly home and attend the Paris Olympics. Among other events, my mom secured tickets to the women’s marathon swimming event just in case political and fluvial conditions aligned just so. 

But by the time I arrived in Paris on August 7th, a plurality of electoral votes had gone to a leftist coalition, defeating the fascists but somehow resulting in Macron’s second-place centrist party continuing to govern; and water conditions in the Seine were supposedly good enough for swimming. 

It’s not as if pollution and fascism have disappeared, and don’t call Saussure or Arendt on me, but, as my daily entries may suggest, the Olympics were largely banal as far as world-historic events go. And if successfully glossing over structural and historical evil through charm and aesthetics isn’t quintessentially French, then I don’t know what is. 

AUG 7 

Landed around 2pm, whizzed through customs and baggage claim, taxied home and zoomed past traffic in the official Olympics car lane. Taxis can use it but Ubers can’t lol, rumored to be Hidalgo’s doing? Violators get charged €135 for using the lane, which will become an HOV lane after the Games are over. Yearned for LA highways getting a similar upgrade. 

Took a little nap and headed to Bercy for a US vs. Nigeria women’s basketball quarterfinal. Devin Booker, LeBron James, and Michael Phelps were in attendance and got an on-screen shoutout. Terry Crews received the same treatment. Katie Ledecky did not. 

My high school friend Caroline had the seat next to mine—lovely surprise!—and we caught up/gossiped a little before the game started. Most Paris-based friends skipped town, maybe anticipating the chaos of millions of spectators. The city feels empty. (Waiters at the restaurant on my street complained to my parents about staying open in August; high-volume business didn’t materialize and they could’ve been on summer vacation like everyone else.) Brittney Griner received notably raucous applause as she ran onto the court. The US handily defeated Nigeria 88 – 74; Caroline ended up on the jumbotron.

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New from Anna Marie Tendler: a memoir that reckons with mental health and living under the patriarchy, and explores the conversations women have when men aren’t around that Carmen Maria Machado calls, “a testament to the work of healing, a raw howl of anger, and an indictment of misogyny’s insipid, predictable, infuriating reign.”

In early 2021, popular artist Anna Marie Tendler checked herself into a psychiatric hospital following a year of crippling anxiety, depression, and self-harm. Over two weeks, she underwent myriad psychological tests, participated in numerous therapy sessions, and experienced profound breakthroughs.

In Men Have Called Her Crazy, Tendler recounts her hospital experience as well as pivotal moments in her life that preceded and followed. As the title suggests, many of these moments are impacted by men: unrequited love in high school; the twenty-eight-year-old she lost her virginity to when she was sixteen; the frustrations and absurdities of dating in her mid-thirties; and her decision to freeze her eggs as all her friends were starting families.

This stunning literary self-portrait examines the unreasonable expectations and pressures women face in the 21st century. Yet overwhelming and despairing as that can feel, Tendler ultimately offers a message of hope. Early in her stay in the hospital, she says, “My wish for myself is that one day I’ll reach a place where I can face hardship without trying to destroy myself.” By the end of the book, she fulfills that wish.

AUG 8 

Woke up at 6am for women’s marathon swimming, and walked 30 mins with my parents to our ticketed seats along the Seine. We made it through security right as the swimmers dove in at 7:30am, carried by a downstream current quickly out of our sight. They didn’t come back for 20 mins, battling the current upstream once they turned around for one of six full laps. 

The bleachers were far from packed, and the camera helicopter above us made the announcers’ updates unintelligible. The person seated in front of me took a BeReal, which felt iconically French. As swimmers returned to our field of view, spectators stood up to cheer them on, and were quickly instructed to sit by volunteers assigned to the disabled viewers’ section behind us; one asswipe responded that they should move the wheelchair-bound spectators down the stairs to the front of the section, and nonsense ensued and subsided. 

Swimmers turned back downstream after picking up energy drinks from their coaches and tossing them into the water post-gulp. My dad loved the volunteers who swam in the Seine and collected the plastic bottles and put them onto colleagues’ paddleboards for disposal/recycling. He tried to start a “Ramassez ! Les bouteilles !” [Collect! The bottles!] chant but it didn’t catch on. 

Wild to see the Seine have people in it. I only saw one tourist swim—very drunk—in the river during high school and my friends and I, stupid high schoolers drinking wine at 1am along a riverbank, thought the swimmer was begging for trouble by doing that. Daydreamed for a minute about the US athlete who “microdosed E. Coli” to prepare for the river’s bacterial conditions, which are hotly contested; maybe he was the swimmer I saw in high school.

Sharon van Rouwendaal of the Netherlands won in 2:03:34.2, followed by Australian Moesha Johnson 5.5 seconds later. They nearly lapped the swimmer in last place. The Dutch fans festooned in orange were very happy with gold. 

My dad left for work and my mom and I schlepped to the Olympic store on the Champs Élysées. Bought some cute blue athletic shorts by Le Coq Sportif. 6in inseam but we’ll allow it. Grabbed an early Lebanese lunch. 

Supposedly, I have a future second-cousin-in-law (?) who’s on the US women’s volleyball team so we watched her play against Brazil in the semifinals in the 15th arrondissement. The Brazilian fans were so much cooler than the US fans and their chants were far more creative (US sports chants need an overhaul). 

A fan in front of me FaceTimed someone who looked like a sibling so that they could watch the game for free (BOGO!) as well as someone who looked like their daughter. A terrible dance group—BOTS Kingdom—came out between sets. Saw Phryge, the Paris Olympics mascot, do the macarena. My non-blood relative got the most points of anyone in the match which is cool and totally because of my unconditional familial love and support. The US barely clinched a win in five sets. Brazilian fans sang some bangers on the métro ride home.

AUG 9 

Had early breakfast/coffee with a friend. Caught the start of the men’s marathon swimming while I walked along the river from my place toward the 7th arrondissement. Spirits were so much higher in these unticketed sections, where passersby eyed an Olympic event for free by peeking off bridges and through quayside gates. The deep joy of a bargain. Vegas and Liberty Media could never. That Norwegian swimmer famous for his chocolate muffin obsession finished in last place. Also realized the swimming events are taking place a stone’s throw away from the Musée des Égouts de Paris—the sewer museum. 

Caroline and I went to the men’s soccer finals at Parc des Princes. No $17 beers for sale but also no alcohol at all for general Olympic ticket holders to keep things tame. France kept things close but ended up losing. Before overtime, the skies opened up and dumped rain for a refreshing 20 mins. Plausibly rendered the Seine unswimmable again for a few days, largely moot since riverine Olympic events have concluded. Lucky bleus. 

AUG 10 

Left Paris at 5:35am to beat traffic on our drive down to Provence, rejoining Parisians on their August vacation. Stayed outside the dedicated Olympics lanes but I think I may have gotten an automated speeding ticket. Waiting for a Venmo charge from my mom once a ticket comes in the mail. 🇫🇷