The French Police

A little background context may help this story make sense:

I have this thing where I put effort into blending in when I travel. I pack clothes that will make me look less American. I learn how to say “please” and “thank you” in the local language. And…when traveling to Paris with a newborn, I read about breastfeeding norms in France. It was through this research that I learned that breastfeeding is NOT the norm in France. At all.

This made me very self conscious.

I suppose that in reality, I was self conscious enough about breastfeeding in public in general (pulling my boobs out in public was NOT my favorite thing), but learning that it was not particularly typical in France made me even MORE self conscious.

But the thing with newborns is that they eat every 1-2 hours, so unless I planned to stay within a short radius of my hotel, I was going to have to breastfeed in public.

As a solo woman traveler, there are times that I feel vulnerable. I do all the smart things. I never leave bags unattended. I wear my passport under my clothes. I walk with purpose and am careful to never look confused or lost. If I must look at my phone in public, I put my back up against a building while I do it so that no one sneaks up behind me.

Fun fact: Traveling with a newborn as a solo woman traveler makes the general “safety” things that women often do while traveling seem that much more vital. I was walking around alone with the most important thing to me strapped on my body in a city where I know no one. I felt vulnerable.

As I tell this story, keep the above information in mind: 1) I felt particularly self conscious breastfeeding in public in Paris. 2) I felt particularly vulnerable having my newborn with me as a solo woman traveler.

I was wandering around the 1st arrondissement in Paris with my 2-month-old when she needed to eat. I was standing across the street from the Louvre and trying to figure out where to stop to feed her. I wanted to sit down, but I didn’t want to sit on a park bench where a creep-o could approach me from behind when I had my breast out and my baby in front of me.

The courtyard around the Louvre seemed to be empty, so I figured it was closed that day (I think it’s usually closed one day per week). This seemed a great benefit to me, because I realized that I could sit on the stairs outside the Louvre and there weren’t many people around to see me or bother me.

I crossed the street and settled in on a step and began nursing L. I was alert and observing, feeling fairly vulnerable.

I noticed some young boys, maybe late teens, or maybe early twenties whispering to one another and gesturing towards me.

“Oh no,” I thought, bracing for them to come over and harass me.

Sure enough, one of them approached me. He said something to me in French.

I do not speak French.

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” I said to him in English in an irritated tone. (I have found that just being nasty towards creepers actually scares away more people than you might imagine, so this seemed like the right thing to do).

He said something to me in French, and then walked back to his friends. Seconds later, he returned with one of his friends. “Here we go again,” I thought.

“You speak English?” the friend asked.

I rolled my eyes, “Yes. What do you want?”

“Madame, we are the police,” he said. To prove this to me, he showed me a plastic band velcroed around his arm that said, “Police.”

In other words, he was showing me a piece of a crappy kids’ costume.

“I don’t care who you are!” I said, “Leave me alone!”

He looked perplexed. “Madame, we are the police. You cannot sit here right now. We have to clear this area.”

It was then that my brain put all the signs together. The Louvre courtyard was empty. Empty. The Louvre courtyard is never empty! Even with the Louvre is closed people love to go there and hang out and take pictures. These young men were not whispering about me from afar because they were planning how to harass me or rob me. The poor guys were trying to figure out how to approach the woman with her breast out sitting in an area that was supposed to be cleared because it was their job to get me out of there.

I.was.mortified.

“Oh!” I said. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

And I pulled my kid off my breast and covered myself up and gathered my things and ashamedly walked across the street where I fed my baby on a bench where people could certainly sneak up behind me. But…perhaps they’d choose not to since the police were right there, apparently watching.

Definitely one of my most embarrassing travel experiences.

In my defense: I still don’t understand why Parisian police would have cheap plastic armbands to prove their authenticity.