Lol, in 1968 my parent's huge tourist bus got rocked WAY back and forth by protesters in Paris.
In the mid '70s, I had to evacuate a huge dance bar in London for a bomb scare. The scare was real, the IRA had bombed the Woolwich Aresenal, the next stop on the line from Woolwich (London suburb) where I was staying in a house with a group of actors in the Royal Shakespeare Company, having met the ex-gf of one while crossing the US previously.
A couple of years later, a group of us in a car got "extra judicially" stopped in France right next to Monaco by a phalanx of German plainclothes operatives, automatic weapons drawn, searching for the Red Brigade folks who assassinated Hans Martin Schleyer. Unlike US swat teams, they were polite and professional.
Which reminds me . . . some years earlier in LA, I was walking/hitchhiking home to Hollywood from Venice Beach one bright, sunny Monday. I was crossing a big boulevard on foot in front of a long row of motorcycle mounted swatties. Unbeknownst to me, Nixon was visiting Century City. Anyway, I about halfway across this array, alone on the pedestrian path, long hair just a flowin' in the wind, don't you know, when I hear a big, booming voice say, "You're in trouble now, boy."
I just kept on walking.
Good times! :biggrin: