Bonjour, ca va ?
Happy anniversary! It’s been one year since Emmanuel Macron announced the first national confinement in France. And what better way to celebrate than to put certain regions of France back into confinement!
Last Thursday night the French Prime Minister Jean Castex announced another ‘lockdown’ to try and curb the crippling troisème vague of COVID. The Government is reticent to use the word confinement so as not to fuel a popular revolt—we all know how the French looove a riot. However, non-essential shops are once again shuttered and 135€ fines are being doled out left, right, and center for all those cheeky rule-breakers found outside after curfew.
I feel a bit flattened by it all and I was hesitant to align this issue of Café, s’il vous plait with the chorus of other personal essays on one year living with the virus. But there’s been something releasing and morale-boosting about revisiting the incredulous first nationwide lockdown with a light-hearted remembering. Especially now that Paris is once again so sticky with the memories of it all.
It’s strange reflecting on that first lockdown: the gentleness of hindsight has seared those two months in my memory as a rather rosy time when I was carefree to skip about my apartment, drink what I wanted, nap when I wanted, discover who I truly was—when I wanted. I guess like many other people, I’ve glossed it over as the staycation our modern frenzied souls all really needed.
At the beginning, my friends and I revelled in the hysteria of the unprecedented nature of it all. Some truly horrific rumours were flying about, such as the French government deploying military tanks to patrol the streets and keep us at home (see video below… turn sound on for ultimate effect). In a maniac defence against the uncertainty of it all, we outlined personal plans for self-improvement with each other via WhatsApp—the biggest COVID cliché ever and obviously none of us stuck to it. We all exited lockdown in May a little pudgy, hermetically pale, and starved of real human interaction.
Perhaps my favourite memory from that period was the 8pm clap for the healthcare workers. For the first couple of weeks, the streets were (somewhat) alive every evening with the clangorous noise of various household objects being thumped by Parisians out their windows in a sign of recognition for the incredible efforts of those working the frontline. Sometimes a little wave or a ‘bon courage’ was offered to a near neighbour. Humans can be nice, sometimes.
That being said, my personal diary entries from the time tell a painfully different story (please read lightheartedly! I myself laugh while reading back on them):
20/3/20: It’s hard to make sense of time, to make purpose without time. I realise that time is a vital constraint to human existence. And yet here we are robbed of the horological construction of reality by a virus. (One week into lockdown and on the verge of an existential crisis).
6/4/20: As someone who is very self-aware, I thought I could manage this period, even make the most of it. But very quickly, my grand isolation routine fell to shreds as depression crept up on me. I am gentle on myself: I let go of my grandiose ambitions (like writing an epic book) in this time. Yet I just can’t shake the mental malaise. (Dated 6 April… little did I know we’d be confined for another 5 weeks.)
23/4/20: Wow boredom is real. I am bored and there is no other way to make it sound poetic or emotional. My boredom is so boring that I am too bored to even write about it. (So glad I dedicated an entire entry to this insightful post.)
25/4/20: The end of quarantine is in sight! I am huge believer in daily mindfulness to stay in the present moment. But now the present feels like a time warp and I yearn for the future: for markers of progression of myself, of the world, even simply of time. (Things were looking up for confined Mad.)
Ne vous inquiétez pas, I exited lockdown mentally intact (although my boyfriend and I were a little too excited on the last day of confinement and drank so much that we remained confined in our apartment for a few days longer with a brutal hangover).
We are still a little too in the thick of it here for me to glean any profound life wisdom to impart on you all—except perhaps that humans are incredible at adapting. It’s reflex now to put my face mask on before venturing outside, the famous French bise (the kiss on each cheek) has been replaced with a sanitized fist bump, and I flinch every time I watch a TV series with people interacting sans mask in crowded spaces (my mind reactively interprets it as a COVID cluster waiting to happen).
Although this is our reality now, I still really miss incidental social interactions, with waiters, for example, or a neighbouring table at a restaurant. I miss human touch (a hug!). I used to snub anyone who bridged conversation with small chat about the weather but I even miss that now—anything, please, other than COVID conversation-fillers.
I realise that this week’s newsletter hasn’t really shared any insightful tips on how to navigate life in Paris—except don’t get too drunk on the last night of a national lockdown because, speaking from experience, no French champagne tastes better than liberté.
But I do encourage you all to reflect and to share individual experiences of this time. Retelling can help transform moments of trauma into reminders of personal strength. A simple ‘how are you?’ can go along way—and the Australian in me will also vouch for the power of a good-old belly laugh to lighten up tough times.
To those of you in France, hang on in there. To those of you in Australia, strike up conversation with a neighbour whilst eating indoors at a restaurant about anything other than COVID on my behalf. Even the weather will do.
A la semaine prochaine!