Survived a whole day of isolation. There has been fierce debate on whether the french local markets are allowed to continue. One minister recognises these as a primary necessity so long as social distancing is respected. So it was with a measure of hope and curiosity that I wandered outside (declaration in hand) to see if my local food market was happening. It was not.
You see, this is another french cultural institution shattered. A french market is not like the push shove and grab markets of Wellington where everyone is processed efficiently. No, this is a place where you chat with the vendor, full of pride about their produce, where you ask questions and learn about where they are from, get introduced to new food – there are many different cultures in my village. So I‘ve tasted African dishes, moroccan, and been flirted with by the gorgeous Corsicans pushing their sweet juicy clementines (mandarins) for 2 euros a kilo. No one cares about waiting in line because you know you‘ll get the vendor‘s full attention when you‘re served and, anyway, you learn off the conversations of other customers. In fact, it becomes one big conversation with all customers contributing their piece.
They‘re often curious about where this woman with the strange accent comes from, and faces smile and shrieks of Les All Blacks! escape when I tell them. It‘s a strong community and today it was gone.
There was an old woman walking down the narrow footpath who thanked me as I stepped into the street to give her distance. There was a queue of people now taking 2m distance between them at the local ciggie shop. In the supermarket, I felt growing unease as I noticed UHT milk nearly empty. Still no bread. One solitary packet of toilet paper left. People resorting to shower gel as there’s no soap left. The pasta aisles empty except for Eiffel Tower-shaped pasta. FFS France you‘re clearly having a crisis of national identity thinking you‘re Italy. You don’t even cook pasta! Or maybe you are simply doing the french solidarity thing. The essentials seem to be running out. So it has hit my little village too.
Two metres distance marked out at the checkouts. Now the checkout operators are behind plastic screens. People stockpiling baguettes too – I have seen several people now carrying 4 baguettes instead of the usual one. It feels so sad.
But I am reminded there is still hope. There is still community. In Italy and Spain people have taken to coming to their balconies and clapping each night at 8pm. They are clapping in support of the healthcare workers, the doctors and nurses who keep turning up each day to treat and fight this virus even though it puts them at significant risk. They sing to entertain those in isolation.
Then there are the pleas from Luxembourg to the surrounding countries not to shut their borders because the Lux health system relies on the cross-border nurses and doctors. 1 in 1000 people are infected in Lux. So far the plea has been heeded.
I go into work tomorrow to change all the plans from last week to take into account the new 2m rule. But we will keep going. I have taken my Eiffel Tower-shaped pasta home. Sorry this isn‘t a funny post. But the meme is. Because there is hope.
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