France flooding: What it's like to be a tourist in Paris right now

Locals and tourists alike wait with bated breath as the Seine's waters just keep rising

As I step over yet another kerbside gushing with water from an overflowing drain on an otherwise bone-dry pavement, I start to wonder how long it will be before the already bulging river Seine will reach its peak – over the last few days it has risen to nearly six metres above its usual depth and isn’t expected to recede until tomorrow.

When I arrived in Paris last Wednesday, there had been talk of the river Seine flooding for a few days, with authorities and locals all hoping the levels would fall before it inundates the walls that contain it as it flows through the centre of the city. As the last few days have gone by, friends from home and across France have been messaging me, asking, “Are your feet dry?” And, as I walk around the city researching my articles, more drains spew water out into the gutters, despite the skies above remaining dry.

Rainfall in previous weeks has meant the water level has crept higher and higher, causing the usually busy river to fall eerily silent. With the water rising under the arches of the various bridges, there is little room to pass under and tourist boats, such as the Bateaux Mouches, have ceased operation. On the banks of the Seine, close to the Louvre, I spot numerous sand bags piled up in preparation for an inundation, while the paths that usually lead down from the road to the footpaths alongside the river have been taped off.

By Sunday, crowds of people have gathered alongside the river to survey its levels, the murky beige water flowing much faster and stronger than usual. Trees that mark the footpaths along the river are half submerged and the little park at the point of the Île de la Cité (natural island in the Seine) near the Pont Neuf (oldest bridge across the river) is indistinguishable, apart from the trees poking out in a line.

Annalee Beverly, a Canadian ex-pat who lives part-time in Paris, tells me: “Usually we picnic in that park in the summer, but you can’t even see it now. Yesterday you could just about see the top of the gatepost above the water, but you can’t even see that today. It’s completely gone!” We walk together along the river towards Saint-Germain and she points out the houseboats moored along the river. “The weirdest thing is that you can now see the boats from the street. Usually they’d be way below the level of the walls, but now they’re up above and you can see straight into them from down the street.”

Trees along the river are half submerged (Carolyn Boyd)

Usually those living on them would step out of their boats via a short pontoon onto the riverside path, yet now the paths are underwater, many have had to build a variety of pontoons and ladders to climb out over the wall – all of it looking pretty precarious. As I spy a wooden chair speeding past on the water, I shudder at the thought of anyone falling in; I doubt they would stand a chance with the current so strong. Even the boats themselves have pulled their mooring ropes taught. If the ropes fail, it would be minutes before the boats would crash into the bridges’ low arches.

As I hustle for space between the crowds to see the water, I ask Annalee – who has lived on and off in Paris for 15 years – if crowds are usual on a Sunday along the river. “No, it’s usually pretty quiet on a Sunday – everyone has come down to have a look. I’ve never seen the river like this before.”

As the daylight fades, I enter the Saint-Michel Metro station to head back to my hotel, but with both the regional railway RER lines B and C closed I have to board a Metro line instead. Half the steps down to the entry barriers have sand bags piled on them, and water drips from the ceiling. Being just a few metres from the river, I start to feel a bit uncomfortable about being in an underground tunnel, and am glad to be heading to one of the city’s highest points – Pigalle. But even there, the drains gush with water.