We’ll always have Paris

When I hear the word Paris, my brain always goes in one direction before it hits a fork in the road. That first direction, the knee-jerk response to the word ‘Paris’ is romance. Not romance in the sense of falling in love with a person–although Paris is certainly famous for being the ‘City of Love.’ Pull up photos of Paris on the internet and you will find the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and a couple kissing, arms wrapped tightly around each other, with an iconic Parisian structure in the background. No, for me the romance is the feeling the city instills in one almost immediately. I remember when I first moved here, I would walk the cobbled streets and the quais along the Seine, and my heart would feel so full, it often felt like it would burst open. Uncontainable. The beauty of the Haussmann buildings with their iron terrace railings, the light, the fact that no building is allowed to be over six stories high so one can always see plenty of sky. From almost anywhere, it’s possible to see Sacre Coeur and Montmartre sitting on its hill over looking Paris. There is life lived out on the streets. There is a heartbeat, a bustle to the daily activity. It literally pulses around me–even now two years after the start of the Pandemic, the streets and the sidewalks of Paris are alive.

The Eiffel Tower at sunrise

The fork in the road?: I live in the 16th arrondissement. I am ten minutes from the Bois de Boulogne with its many gardens, Parc de Bagatelle, the two lakes near the Porte de Passy. The Bois is not the first thing people think of when they hear the word ‘Paris’. My shopping area is Avenue Mozart. I walk one direction and come to the neighborhood of Auteuil where my hyperCarrefour is. I walk the other direction and come to rue de Passy with the fancy stores that have migrated over from the Champs Elysées which no longer has any designer shops. If I’m lucky, on a clear day as I get close to Passy, I can see the top of the Eiffel Tower down a side street. The 16th arrondissement is not touristic. There are no iconic buildings that shout Paris. Only on walking down to the Seine and looking north and east, do I remember on a visceral level where I am.

Peacock at Parc de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne

Then there is the Pandemic. For two years, almost all my ‘networking’, getting together with friends and book clubs has been on Zoom. People my age have been very cautious about going out especially in crowded places. I was at a wonderful expo ,”The Morozov Collection” at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, a couple of weeks ago. I was listening to a guide give a short talk on the paintings on the first floor. We were packed around each other, leaning in with one ear closer to her than the other. I suddenly remembered reading an article on the risk of catching Covid in Paris. The article said that in a room, a closed space, that contained fifty people or more, the likely hood that someone had Covid was 98%. In a space with thirty people, the likely hood was 65%. I jumped back from the crowd listening attentively to the guide as if I’d been burned. I walked to a place where I could be six feet away from others. I felt angry. I knew there were other options for getting information about this expo but Covid was stealing this particular option from me.

I spend 75% of my day inside my apartment, I can stand on my terrace and look out over the courtyard. At night, on the hour, the lights from the twinkly Eiffel Tower bounce off the windows of the apartment building across the courtyard from me. I remember I’m in Paris. Paris is opening up but, after two years, it feels like it takes a cattle prod to unearth me and push me out to go Paris Centre and see all those sites that once made my heart swell to bursting. Fear of being around too many people has become ingrained in me. I’ve not kept track of how many tourists are here and whether the centre is crowded the way it once was. Walking near Notre Dame was like doing slalom skiing, a curly queue road to getting anywhere. I used to love it.

Plum tree blossoming on the corner of rue de l’Assomption, 16ème

Having returned from Oakland, California where there is so much space, where I live in a home with a backyard, where neighbors walk together all the time, I’m struck by the contrast. They follow the rule of two out of three. A mask, social distancing, outside. One tries always to do two out of the three. It is easy to walk or hike in the many parks mask-free. Free being the operative word. Such a freedom to not be afraid all the time. Cautious yes, but not afraid. And iconic?: my bedroom window looks out over the San Francisco Bay. I can see the Golden Gate bridge, the pyramid building, the fireworks from Crissy Field on the fourth of July and New Year’s Eve.

Mallards begging for bread crumbs–just like anywhere in the world. Only here it is in Le Vésinet

Would I move back to California? To the US with its insane politics, mean and cruel treatment of “others”, a polarity that has caused people not to entertain interesting discussions in fear of distressing someone? Would I leave Paris? And immediately the Paris of romance jumps into my head. It sets off a longing that is physical. And I’m right here in Paris! I long for the pre-Covid Paris. In truth, for the foreseeable future, there will only be ‘Paris in the time of Covid’. Until everyone is vaccinated, and I mean most everyone in the world, this is our lives. I read recently that Fauci was quoted saying that by the end of this thing, most of us will have had Covid. More and more people that I know are getting it–breakthrough cases.

End of the canal trail in Le Vésinet

For almost two years, I’ve woken up accepting life in the time of Covid. That was before three months in California with all that space, the ease of getting together with others, speaking the native language, the wonder of the state that I have lived in (excepting the past eight years) since 1971 and re-experienced the beauty of that area. So what is troubling me? What would stop me from fantasizing about a permanent move back to California? Two days ago, Sunday, I met my friend, Barbara, out in the western suburbs. She took me to a park in Le Vésinet that she had just discovered. It was a beautiful sunny day, still cold. It is February in northern France after all! We meandered around the park, a wide open space with an island in the middle of the river that ran through it. Then we walked over to a canal with a trail that changed names three times as it crossed over streets and other walking paths. I couldn’t help comparing it to my Friday hikes with Jeanni and Rocky while in Oakland. It compared very nicely. I turned to Barbara at one point and said “this is the happiest I’ve felt since I returned a month ago.” It’s not the same as California and Oakland but Paris and France has plenty of wonderful spaces to walk and to hike.

Wild primroses near the home of Mme Du Barry in Louveciennes

No, it’s the language. I took French as a middle schooler. I flunked it. My french teacher would preach to me, “stop thinking in english, you must think in french.” I could barely think an interesting sentence in english much less in french. I stared at her sullenly as I had no idea how to respond. I took French again in college and even won a place to spend 4 months in Dijon during my junior year. I lived with a french family who told the college administrator that I was far too “timide” and refused to speak french with them. That timidité has never gone away. I’ve taken immersion french, I took weekly classes and I have improved. I understand street french, meaning I can converse with shop owners where no more than a couple of sentences is required. I can follow a conversation with about 75% understanding. But I couldn’t go to a dinner party and give my normally quite opinionated views on the world. I’ve conquered so many things here: french administration, getting a bank account, getting the Carte Vitale so I have health coverage, apply for and renewing my residency card every year, having to declare monies to two countries every year. But unless one learns the language well or one is completely inconsiderate of living in a country that speaks a different language, only learning the language will make one completely comfortable. It is said if you move here and want to speak fluently, get a french lover or work in a french business or both! I’ve done neither. I’m trying to push this 74 year old brain to “keep at it” on will-power and an on-and-off desire to be a good citizen.

More on France/Paris vs California/Oakland next week!!!

A Bientôt,

Sara

Paris–Day 20

Around the world 720,000 cases of Covid-19 have been reported. Of those 34,000 people have died. Here in France, there are 40,174 reported cases and 2606 deaths. I hear people saying ‘just a little bit more time then we can go back to normal” I think that is wishful thinking. Not only will we not go back to anything but it’s my belief that we are in for some huge changes. This is all evolving organically. I think we will be living with some form of the virus for a year or two. Most people my age, the 70 and over group!, aren’t going outside unless they absolutely have to. But, we in Paris, have developed a marvelous sense of humor. Funny cartoons, songs, videos are going from phone to phone and it’s hard not to smile.

Someone sent me this poem:

Pandemic
What if you thought of it as the Jews consider the Sabbath— the most sacred of times? Cease from travel. Cease from buying and selling. Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world different than it is. Sing. Pray. Touch only those to whom you commit your life. Center down.
And when your body has become still, reach out with your heart. Know that we are connected in ways that are terrifying and beautiful. (You could hardly deny it now.) Know that our lives are in one another’s hands. (Surely, that has come clear.) Do not reach out your hands. Reach out your heart. Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils of compassion that move, invisibly, where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love— for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, so long as we all shall live.
    — Lynn Ungar  3/11/20

Walking home from shopping. Complete emptiness

I went out on Saturday to do food shopping. I don’t have to go far, just to the corner to get most everything I need. I’m wearing gloves but I stick them in my pocket until I leave the apartment building. Then, it suddenly occurred to me that I am assuming people have my best interests in mind. People are scared and probably not thinking clearly. How do I know they are wearing gloves when they push the elevator buttons? If I walk up the stairs on my way back, what makes me think the person before me wore gloves or didn’t sneeze on the handle. I don’t. I’m the only one who can take 100% care of me. My sister reminded me to wear gloves when I pick up the mail. She recommended leaving it outside for 24 hours. I asked and learned that the virus can live on paper for 48 hours. So I’m using gloves to also open my mail and packages and not taking the packaging to recycling until a good 48 hours has passed. I don’t like shopping with gloves on. I’m a tactile person and shopping for vegetables and fruit this way is terrible. But it may also save my life so…..I’ve learned to follow instructions.

rue de rivoli, paris

It has been recommended that Paris stay in “le confinement” until the end of April. Macron is reticent to do that. So it’s been extended two weeks and then “on verra”. The fine for being outside without our ‘passport’ has gone from 135euros to 200euros and then 3750euros for repeated offences. After the 4th offence, it’s 6 months in jail. From The Local:

Nice, France

‘Starting Friday March 27th, 2002, the Eiffel Tower pays tribute to people rallying around amid the covid-19 crisis by playing thank-you notes and encouragements to stay home. The City of Paris tells us that the Eiffel Tower will pay tribute to all people rallying around amid the Covid-19 crisis, playing thank-you notes and encouragements to stay home every evening from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. A tribute the Eiffel Tower was already paying by extending the sparkling session every night at 8 p.m. for 10 minutes. From now on, starting from 8 p.m. a “Merci” [Thank You] will be played on the Eiffel Tower to thank health caregivers, police officers, firefighters, agents of the City of Paris, paramedics, soldiers, cashiers, garbage collectors, store keepers, deliver men, volunteers, helpers, associations, and Parisians, all those rallying around amid the Coronavirus pandemic.’

The word “Merci”, the French word for ‘Thank you”, is emblazoned on the Eiffel Tower as France’s coronavirus death toll continued to climb, in Paris, Friday, March 27, 2020. Health workers fighting to save lives in France from COVID-19 have received a huge show of gratitude, from the Eiffel Tower. The new coronavirus causes mild or moderate symptoms for most people, but for some, especially older adults and people with existing health problems, it can cause more severe illness or death. (AP Photo/Thibault Camus)

A startling fact is being reported. Since the pandemic began, since the real slow down of society started, airplanes stopped flying, cars stopped going everywhere, trains are virtually still, pollution in major cities is reversing itself, going backwards. Even if they have limited opportunities to enjoy it at the moment, Parisians have rarely breathed cleaner air. “The air in the Paris region was 20 to 30 percent cleaner in the first days of nationwide confinement two weeks ago, compared with usual levels the same period, air quality monitor Airparif reported Tuesday. The monitor said the decrease was due to a 60-percent drop in the level of nitrogen dioxide in the air: 41 percent when confinement began last Tuesday, 62 percent on Wednesday and then 64 percent on Thursday and Friday.” rfi.

A bientôt,

Sara