I believe that, for the first time in my life, yesterday I was truly scared. It reached a point where instincts took over and I had to leave. It all started well enough – there was a carnival-festival, a music system pulled by a tandem bike, and even a samba band. I got talking to a few people, including a journalist from Greece, and all seemed well. Yet I could sense that something was building up; it felt like things were getting more and more tense. There seemed to be some people there who were spoiling for a fight; many were masked. Then, at about three, something snapped and the carnival atmosphere went completely. I heard someone say ”this is about to get nasty”.

It was then that I felt I had to leave. The police told us we were free to go. I had to go through the line of policemen in riot gear in order to get back across the river to catch the bus home. They let me through without question – the police, although intimidating in their riot gear, did not seem hostile. Contrary to the claims of some, it was the protesters who started the trouble – many seemed bent on it. As I left I saw sticks and bottles fly through the air – one hit me on the back of my chair. That was no place for someone who can’t dodge things or run. Never have I felt so scared.

As I made my way home I saw police vans go in the opposite direction – I’d obviously made it out just in time. I got home safe but shaken up, and with my wallet missing. What I thought would be a peaceful demonstration had been hijacked by hooligans and thieves. I never want to experience what happened yesterday again.