Our Corporate Blog. In a combined write- up, epa’s team of photographers covering the attacks in Paris on 1. November, 2. 01. 5 and the aftermath were asked to share a few thoughts and stories behind their images.

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By Yoan Valat. Wounded people are evacuated outside the scene of a hostage situation at the Bataclan theatre in Paris, France, in the early hours of 1. November 2. 01. 5. Yoan Valat. I was home enjoying a dinner with my parents who came to Paris from the South of France to attend the reception at the Elysee Palace for the Photography award* I received the same day by French President, Francois Hollande.

We were watching the soccer game France vs Germany and could hear the bombs on TV but did not realize what they were until TV commentators started to say something was going on. So I changed to a TV live info channel, and they were already mentioning bombs outside the stadium. I called Benjamin [Benjamin Légier, epa’s Bureau Chief France and Luxembourg], he was already aware and had a new piece of news about the shooting at the Café Carillon, about 1.

So I went immediately but got stopped on my way by armed forces police about one km away from the cafe. This is when I realized it was a series of attacks ongoing in the streets of Paris. Then Benjamin called me back to ask me to rush to the Bataclan concert hall, where I arrived about five minutes later.

Police and some army soldiers were already surrounding the place but it was still possible to be at a reasonable distance to take pictures. This is when I saw the first injured people being evacuated from the Bataclan.

People pay their respect in front the Carillon cafe in Paris, France, 1. November 2. 01. 5. At least 1. 20 people have been killed in a series of attacks in Paris on 1.

November, according to French officials. Yoan Valat. The most important thing to me is the reaction of the population. It cannot be compared with the aftermath of the Charlie Hebdo story. In January, people were really angry and combative, they were without fear, one could say. Today, it is so different. People realize it can happen anytime and anywhere in France. And the number of the victims is so big that we all know close friends who lost or who have injured friends.*Yoan Valat, epa staff photographer based in Paris, was awarded First Prize in “Prix d’Elysée de la Photographie 2.

The prize was handed to him by Francois Hollande in a ceremony held at Elysée Palace on 1. November, 2. 01. 5 at midday. By Ian Langsdon. Wounded people are evacuated from the Stade de France in Paris, France, 1. November 2. 01. 5, after explosions were reported.

Ian Langsdon. Everything was working fine. The Stade de France’s unstable internet connection was (for once) holding up, and pictures of the France- Germany friendly soccer match were rolling out at a steady pace. Then there was a bang.

Loud enough to make me look up from my computer screen. The crowd cheered, while fellow photographers looked at each other and shrugged it off, dismissing it as a big firecracker which soccer fans often set off during games. A few minutes later, it happened again. Louder. A flood of missed calls from the office suddenly popped up on my phone – the connection unable to establish in the 8. This couldn’t be a good sign. I finally reached Benjamin on the phone: “There’s a shooting in central Paris, many dead, and rumours of an explosion outside the stadium.”I packed up my gear and ran around the pitch to Etienne Laurent’s position, where he and a couple of other photographers had already packed up and were ready to head outside.

The only problem was, the stadium was in lockdown. The authorities kept the whole situation quiet, as the match continued playing – and the crowd had not seemed phased by the explosion sounds whatsoever. They had no idea. After retrieving our press cards from the front desk, a group of around six of us proceeded to the perimeter gate, which was being blocked by a security guard, refusing to let us out. He didn’t stand a chance. We flattened him as we pushed our way past him, out into the open grounds around the stadium. Outside, there was an eerie sense of calm, despite a heavy police presence.

Operating on a rumour that there had been an explosion near a fast- food restaurant near a small piazza where Etienne and I had parked out motorbikes, we made our way around the stadium, asking police officers on the way what the situation was. The summary of it was: ‘No idea.’We reached the piazza to find that it had become the medical and command centre for rescue operations.

Police with machine guns stood guard, and there was a general sense of confusion as to what the perimeter was. Some policemen allowed us to walk around and shoot pictures while others attempted to push us back to where a small crowd had gathered. Suddenly two firefighters appeared from around the corner, helping a shirtless man hopping on one foot. I photographed him being loaded into the ambulance, as three more injured people made their way towards us. At this point, I had not yet grasped the full scale of these tragic attacks.

I only saw four injured victims that night, unlike my many colleagues who witnessed gruesome, difficult scenes. With the stadium perimeter becoming increasingly difficult to operate around, and with unfolding events in Paris, I was called back into the city to reinforce the team. At 2am on a Friday night, crowds are usually spilling out of bars into the streets. But it was a ghost town, where only sirens echoed. That sound hasn’t stopped in five days. I came to photograph soccer. I left, having covered part of the worst terror attack Paris ever saw.

I never found out what the final score was. A large crowd gathers to lay flowers and candles in front of the Carillon restaurant in Paris, France, 1. November 2. 01. 5. Ian Langsdon. Candles and flowers. That’s how my year started, in the aftermath of the shocking attacks on Charlie Hebdo, a block away from where I live. And here I am again, surrounded by candles and flowers, this time at the Bataclan, a block away from where I live. Or at the Carillon, or Petit Cambodge or Cosa Nostra restaurants, all 1.

The response to the Charlie Hebdo attacks had quickly turned political, almost into a militant celebration, as the world rallied behind slogans like ‘Je suis Charlie’. We grasped pens to symbolize that freedom of speech will always prevail. We organized a march. But this time, Paris’ youth was targeted. The victims were all predominantly young adults, enjoying the usual friday night leisures we all indulge in. This wasn’t a targeted assassination of cartoonists who had angered fundamentalists. This was gratuitous killing, with the objective of inflicting maximal damage.

Despite the world’s outpouring of support – with ‘Je suis Paris’, ‘#Pray. For. Paris’ and red- white- and- blue Facebook profile pictures – nothing will turn this into a militant celebration. Things are different this time. There is only grief. Parisians awoke Saturday morning to a changed Paris. But they needed to take in the full scale of the horror in person.

Thousands flocked to Carillon, the Petit Cambodge, the Cosa Nostra, the Bonne Bierre, the Belle Equipe, Comptoire Voltaire and Bataclan. Some would leave flowers, others would spend hours battling gusts of wind to light and re- light candles. People left letters, drawings, pictures, bottles of wine. The silence was deafening at every site.