Dear friends and family,

Thursday afternoon, during my vacation in Paris, I got caught in the middle of a huge anti-war/anti-America protest in front of the American Embassy in the Place de la Concorde in the heart of the city.

It was not easy to see all the signs of protest against our country, even though I have mixed feelings about the war in Iraq myself.

Signs like "Yankee Go Home" and "No Bush! No War" as well as an American flag with rips and a peace sign sprayed on it were carried by people of all ages, races and political divisions, such as the French Communist Party and people with flags from Muslim countries.

Just how did I get in the middle of all of this? A Metro (the Paris subway) ride to the Arc de Triomphe became confusing when my three girlfriends and I who are visiting this beautiful city decided to stop first at the American Embassy to let them know we are in this country now that America is at war with Iraq.

Though we could get off the Metro, they would not let us out of the Metro exit we needed. When we asked a Metro employee why, he said it was because they were protecting the embassy. Interestingly enough, the same employee, who said he was an Israeli, gave us a thumbs up and said, "Go Bush." He could tell we were Americans because of our accents when speaking English.

We decided to get off at the next Metro stop to see what was going on. As a reporter traveling with girlfriends who have jobs ranging from editors (The Herald's own Kim Curry) to police officers, we weren't scared. Yet.

When we got off at the Madeleine Church exit, we came up onto the street and began to hear yelling. Then we saw and heard people running toward us in the middle of the street -- hundreds and hundreds of people and all of them were screaming. Without thinking, my reporter instincts kicked in and I began to go toward the swarm of people. That's when Kim grabbed my arm and pulled me into a store doorway and pointed to all the police officers lining the streets with protective gear, such as helmets and shields.

She told me later she thought someone had been killed in relation to the war. I thought someone had bombed our embassy because we were so near to it. But as the crowd got closer, they all looked pretty young and they didn't have scared looks on their faces, just peace signs painted on them.

We decided to walk down the sidewalk around them toward the direction they came from and when we came out onto a larger street area near what is called the Placa de la Concorde, we saw police officers lining the streets arm in arm, bottlenecking protesters going through so that they could be checked and separated a bit. Another 100 yards took us in front of the American Embassy and that's when we saw what would later be described by local news as close to 10,000 people in protest.

Several of us had our cameras and began snapping pictures at the scenes we were seeing. Hundreds of students sitting in protest in front of the consulate singing songs. The French Communist Party with huge balloons and a platform with a speaker making their point very clearly with music and loud announcements.

And though we could barely understand the language, it was very clear that the people were very much against this war in Iraq -- and also very much against America's involvement. On a lighter note, my favorite sign was "Smelly cheesemakers against the war."

Once again, with my reporter's instinct, I took my camera and began mixing in with the crowd, snapping shots left and right. That's when I lost track of my friends. For about 20 minutes I wandered the crowd searching for them, though I assure you I was not yelling out loud in my American English. I kept little eye contact and then spotted some media vans. I figured if I didn't find them, I'd stick close to the news people and if worse came to worse, I would flash my press pass and hitch a ride back to our apartment.

Protesters massed together in separate groups, then would latch onto other groups which got bigger and bigger. They were also getting louder and louder, holding up their signs against "le guerre" (the war). Though I was getting a little nervous, there were also hundreds of police officers lining the streets, so I didn't feel scared. I also couldn't help but be exhilarated by being in the middle of a once in a lifetime experience -- at least I plan on it being just once!

I finally found them against a perimeter fence with worried looks on their faces. We all grabbed hands and slowly worked our way out. We were eerily quiet, which was quite a feat for four intelligent and educated women who love to speak their minds. But we all knew that we needed to quietly get out of there and get to a safer spot in the city.

Later we all agreed that it was an experience we would share with our children and grandchildren.

Despite this protest, I want to make it clear that people in this city have been amazingly kind and hospitable to four Americans who can barely speak their language, and when we do, we massacre it laughably, I'm sure.

And though I am not thrilled about this war, that does not take away the fact that I am an American and proud to live in my country. Though we women planned our trip months before the war was a foregone conclusion, we all agreed to continue with our plans once they were set in motion, because none of us want to live in fear.

Isn't that what being an American is all about?

Staff Writer Sherris Moreira-Byers covers Hermitage for The Herald.