In the cold pink dawn of a Sunday in Paris, once again the police had barricaded the streets: rue Royale was just a silent sea of cobblestones, so I strode down the middle as I headed to the Place de la Concorde to see what all the tumult was. Gendarmes were everywhere.
Coming from the Champs Elysees there appeared to be an endless river of human beings, running in my direction. People were shouting, the police cars were wailing their sirens as they drove ahead of the masses. First came a throng of black men, leading the pack. The rest of the crowd followed close at heel.
A large oomp-pa-pah band began playing, celebrating the opening of the 30th annual Marathon de Paris.
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