My favorite poet is Emily Dickinson and confinement has made me feel closer to her. She was a recluse, never leaving her father’s home, where she lived till her death. She gardened, wrote, walked her dog at night, and baked bread and cakes. Except for the dog part, it sounds a lot like the life I’ve led these past two months. In many ways, it’s been a good life, contemplative and relaxed. I’ve followed an inner rhythm and lived at a slower pace, which can only be good for a hyperactive person like me.
But I’m one of the fortunate ones. I have not lost my job, I never go hungry, my French health insurance never lets me down. Though I live modestly, I sit on a cushion of security that most Americans lack. It is not hard to understand why many are ready to get back to work—while risking their lives.
Which brings me to the heart of the matter: on May 11th, lockdown came to an end in France. After 55 days of restricted freedom and more than 26,000 deaths, the French are going back to work and school and discovering that ending confinement may be even harder than putting it into place.
At the time I write, Schuylkill Countians have not yet attained the degree of freedom that today is mine. You are still under a stay-at-home order. Schools are closed; strict social distancing is required (though, some county residents tell me, too many people are taking their cue from President Trump, refusing to wear a mask). Governor Wolf has put in place a three-color system, red, yellow, and green. Residents of northwestern Pennsylvania can move around more freely because their region has been declared “yellow.” No county has yet been given the “green light” to fully lift the stay-at-home order.
Even as confinement comes to an end, the map of France is splashed with green and red. In red regions, such as Paris and its suburbs or large parts of eastern France, parks remain closed though many retail stores have reopened. In the Paris region, affidavits are required to use public transportation at rush hour: you must be able to prove you are on your way to work. Otherwise, commuters risk a 135 € fine.
In green regions such as mine, we no longer fill out an affidavit each time we step outside, but that does not mean we are free to come and go as we please. We can travel 100 kilometers (62 miles) from home, but if we go further, we must have a good reason: a medical or family emergency. Even those of us who might want to go for a 100-km ride just to see a bit of countryside must carry some proof, such as an electrical bill, of where we live. Otherwise, we’ll end up with one of those 135 € fines.
The 100-km limit was partly chosen to keep Parisians close to home. Like New York City in the United States, Paris has been the epicenter of the coronavirus pandemic in France. On what used to be a “normal” workday commuters streamed into the city from as far as 100 kilometers away. Now that we are no longer under a stay-at-home order, workers can return to the city, but Parisians cannot leave it to escape to beaches, mountains or the open countryside, much further away.
In all of France, at the supermarket, in the retails stores that opened this week, at the hairdresser, customers are not required to wear a mask—though it is highly recommended. Employees, hairdressers, store-owners will be wearing one themselves. The problem is, there are simply not enough masks to go around. The Parisian metro system and the national rail company SNCF, however, do require them: no mask, no ride.
In hopes of buying a box of 50 disposable surgical masks for 25 € at the local supermarket, residents of my region must first register online. They will receive an email when the masks are available and they must reconfirm their order. Then they will be given a pick-up time. If they miss it, their masks will be sold to someone else and they’ll have to start the process all over again.
I myself have opted for cloth masks. A woman in my village makes and sells them for 5 € a piece. Across France, some municipalities distribute free disposable masks; others hand out a cloth mask, one per person. For the moment, free masks are being distributed in the underground corridors of the Parisian metro. From May 13th onwards, those without one will receive—yes—a 135€ fine.
Masks, masks, masks! They are now part of our lives, as are hand-sanitizer and social distancing, not always easy to respect. This morning I went to the local recycling center, open for the past week. I had packed my car with a winter’s worth of yard debris, including the branches of a very prickly rose bush. Emptying my bags into a deep bin, I dropped one. To get it out (no bags allowed in the bin!), I got pretty intimate with the man standing next to me. I was wearing a mask. He was not.
Here in France, we’re stepping out after a period of highly restricted freedom of movement. It feels strange, in some ways good, some ways bad. It feels good to no longer fill out a paper each time I go outside. Yet, on the downside, the invisible predator is still lurking everywhere. We have almost daily examples of new “virus clusters” (the French have adopted the English word) in places where people have let down their guard.
Cafés and restaurants remain closed at least until June 2nd. In Paris, outside gatherings that involve alcohol have been banned. We are all called upon to be cautious because a second wave of the virus may be just around the corner and health workers have hardly recovered from the first. It has now become our duty to protect them by protecting ourselves as we “déconfine,” a new word in French, invented especially for the occasion.
In a couple of weeks, we’ll know more. Readers, I’ve had a head start on you and I’ll soon let you know how my “déconfinement” is going.
