In Paris, on 23 July 2020, coffee buyers drink drinks on a long terrace made of popsicles and conducive to social estrangement due to the coronavirus pandemic.
PUBLISHED July 29, 2020
A friend called me from Paris after a dystopian April morning. He had walked about three miles east to venture into the woods of Vincennes and, as he approached the vast park, a drone buzzed over his head. “Go home, ” was his disembodied order. My friend, a performer by profession, got there.
The coronavirus crisis has stolen much of life in general this year. France has curbed its social tactics with a serious blockade to control the killer virus. In a few months and in time to save a summer vacation, the councheck out has discovered a better way than many others to succeed over fear.
In the early days, the non-public was limited to less than a mile and only by fundamental desires; that’s how my friend got into trouble. Travel limits have decreased as infections have decreased in particular and the maximum number of citizens seems to see COVID-19 as a resilient enemy.
France is far from perfect, of course. More than 30,000 people have died so far, the seventh in the world, and there have been horrific outbreaks of infection as tourists head to the beach. The government warned that it is watching for the symptoms of a resurgence, and foreign observers say it will be a question of when, not if, the pandemic will begin again.
In mid-July, when epidemics began in southern and northwestern France, mandatory masking spread. Anyone who enters a store in any component of the country must remain covered, from nose to chin, and mockers can be fined 135 euros (about 150 dollars). Jean-Fran’ois Delfraissy, the French government’s first clinical adviser, highlighted the new contagion teams and suggested that others play its component, with renewed efforts to social estrange, to control the virus.
However, France, and especially Paris, a pillar of the country’s tourist economy, has done so through its first episode of visibly self-confident coronavirus. The galleries are open, the roads for motorcycles are very busy and the restaurants keep visitors away socially, but very socially.
For foreigners like me, a Londoner who got on a Eurostar exercise as soon as the French government stopped following cross-border visitors, Paris is strangely free from the confusion and political fury that soars over the United States or even Britain because of the virus.
The city has developed hand sanitizers at bus and metro stops. Street symptoms inspire hand washing. Masks are mandatory, and especially used, through those who enter a subway station. Waiters wear masks, as do waiters and chefs. There are incidents of overcrowding on weekends, but acts of belligerence are rare.
(Related: Learn how to create a mask that everyone wants to use).
The French have faced an outbreak of coronavirus-related deaths in winter, and President Emmanuel Macron has ordered a strict closure in mid-March. Businesses closed their doors and residents, each and every time they left their homes, had to bring a written document explaining why they were in danger of traveling outside. Police arrested millions of people with blockade checks and issued around 915,000 fines in the first month, the government reported.
Daily walks were limited to one kilometer from the house, a little more than a mile. A Parisian woman said she was so afraid of the virus that she rationed her food ration from March to May. He left his little apartment only 3 times, just to go shopping at the supermarket.
(Related: see the Paris void under lockdown).
Infections in France peaked two weeks after the lockout. In the last week of May, the government decreed that schools, cafes and restaurants could reopen with caution. Hygiene and, above all, hand washing had to be a priority. Public transport is well equipped, however, anyone who needs to take a bus or subway will have to wear a mask all the way. Passengers discovered part of the seats delimited to the social assistance distance.
In June the parks and gardens were released. People were able to take buses and trains all over the country and even board the Eurostar. Coming from London, the first since February, I was nervous and, yes, super vigilant. I carried a backpack full of antiseptic wipes and temporarily washed my seat, the most sensitive table and even the empty seat next to me. The Eurostar also brought extra peace of mind. Every 35 minutes, staff walked through the cars, urging travelers to keep their masks on.
Strollers pass through the Eiffel Tower on July 26, 2020. The strict blockade of France this spring has helped save some summer holidays, the country is on guard for a resurgence of viral infection.
But France also realizes that the danger of coronavirus has not passed. It would have probably avoided the death rate of Europe’s most affected country, Italy, where the cities of northern Milan have been devastated, but the now quiet streets of Paris, adding some nearby attractions such as the Eiffel Tower, indicate that this is no time.
The museums are open, but the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, trusted tourist attractions, are among those who have limited their visits. Anyone over the age of 11 will have to wear a mask and visits are scheduled. This means fewer visitors (good for those who can see “Mona Lisa” with tens of viewers and probably very bad for observers of the gallery’s revenue) but a satisfied time for Parisians to enjoy national treasures in relative solitude.
James McAuley, a journalist in Paris and writer of The House of Fragile Things (a story of Jewish art creditors through World War II to be published next year), laughed a little when I asked if a generational culture or narrative had played a role in convincing French. Accordance. “There are all these comparisons to World War II, but what have we been asked to do?” He said. “Stay home, eat smart food and watch TV. It wasn’t exactly our most productive hour.”
“I’m not sure the war has anything to do with it, or just that it’s a society with a functioning public aptitude formula and competent leadership,” he said. “In the end, they had a transparent message that spread and communicated well.” And, to be sure, he added: “People don’t think they beat Covid. It’s in people’s minds, and it might come back quickly. But there is a sense that the blockade, however shameful it has been for so long, many – has been a success.
One day in July, my friends and I attended the brilliant exhibition of Christian Louboutin (iste), a main retrospective of the shoe designer. We paid online and, on the morning of our visit, packed hand masks and disinfectants and climbed motorcycles to pedal to the Golden Gate Palace, an art deco wonder with ample spacious gallery space. The guards temporarily checked our mask and price ticket time before waving.
It is worth noting that getting there was part of the excitement of the day: it turns out that Paris took advantage of its blockade to make the “city of light” a city of cyclists. Our urban road was largely in traffic and the trail followed the Seine for miles. One of the most walkable cities in the world had imagined a more airy way to laugh and see its sights.
What’s not a laugh is how coronavirus has replaced most Americans. Infections in the United States have skyrocketed with more than four million cases shown and nearly 150,000 deaths. European countries, concerned about protecting their citizens and their fitness systems, have largely banned American tourists, some of their most enthusiastic visitors and large trusted spenders.
The European Commission has drawn up a list, recommending restrictions based on a country’s infection rate, starting in July. France will only allow people from the United States if it is deemed essential and have supporting documentation.
(Related: this is where Americans can now. But do they deserve it?)
Restaurateur Moko Hirayama, who with her husband Omar Koreitam owns the creative and popular Mokonuts café in the 11th arrondissement, feels the loss. The couple, who met in New York years ago, have discovered a steady flow of American foodies vying for reservations at their small restaurant. Now they depend on the locals, who paint from home and are hungry for a gourmet break.
“For us, what hurts is the lack of tourists. 60 to 70 percent of our activities come here from tourists. And a lot of Americans,” he said. “Hit wood, we fill the room. So we’re very lucky.
In reaction to the government’s recommendation on social estrangement, he halved his seats and kept the dining room door wide open. He took over a sidewalk plot and added 3 tables. Customers arrive with masks. She’s dressed with one, too. She thinks small adjustments, and if other people see it as smart, they’ve helped Paris get back to their coffee-making life.
“A lot of those things are character for now. Wash your hands. We don’t broadcast menus. And after using the keyboard to pay, we use a hand sanitizer. The masks? It’s not easy. And it’s hot. But we’ve been open for a month and I’m pretty comfortable. »
“What’s happening in America is a little sad. It breaks my heart,” he said when asked how countries responded to the coronavirus threat. “I have a tendency to communicate it to Americans. I don’t think the French care. But it’s hard to see.”