Lyon in the Time of Coronavirus

As I have gotten older, I have started feeling more and more like life is, to put it simply, insanity. (Perhaps this is a direct result of the French seminar I took in college about absurdist and existentialist theory. Perhaps.) In some ways, I think that this ties into my “seriously?” mentality that plays on repeat in my head when the injustices I see in this world get worse instead of better. I really feel like this mentality started in November of 2016, and it has just gotten louder ever since. It’s a particular type of incredulity that, I fear, is making me apathetic: how much more 'weird stuff' is going happen? How much more will my idea of normalcy be stretched and altered? How much more energy will I spend into feeling so damn sad about everything happening in the world?

All of this is to say that as I track what’s happening in the world with the coronavirus, all I can think is: “Seriously?”

Three weeks ago, the coronavirus was barely in my thoughts. I was thinking about going to a Jonas Brothers concert, about seeing my friend Sophie in Lille, and about how excited I was to leave France for the first time since October. Then, people in the countries I was visiting started wearing masks in public. While in Vienna, a week before my sister and grandparents were supposed to come visit, I got the call that they were cancelling their trip because of the virus. That was only two weeks ago, and in those two weeks, life has become something out of a dystopian novel. It’s been just over a week since I returned from my big solo travel adventure, and now the entire world is entrenched in pandemic panic.

I remember the first notification I got about the coronavirus, an update from the major French newspaper 'Le Monde': "a patient in Paris dies of the coronavirus." I didn’t think much about it. But now, it’s everywhere, inescapable. Many world leaders and the people close to them have the virus. Italy and Spain, two countries that border France, are on lockdown. Society across the globe is essentially shutting down.

Here in France, things have been moving very quickly in the week that I have been back. While I was asleep on Wednesday, the US announced it was closing its borders to people who had been in Europe in the last two weeks. Not only have I been in Europe for much longer than that, I had been to many of the blacklisted countries in the last two weeks. Not a great prospect for my ability to reach Charleston easily. My mom asked me if I wanted to reconsider my decision to not come back to the States (up until this point, I was adamant that I was staying in France, as there was no reason yet to go back). I told her that I wasn’t changing my mind. I was staying put.

On Thursday evening, French president Emanuel Macron announced that all French schools would close until further notice, and by Friday morning, we learned that we were looking at a minimum of two weeks out of school. I was really worried- did this mean that I would have to go back to the States? Would my TAPIF contract and visa still hold up? Would I be allowed to still live at the school, or would I have to pack up all my things and find a new place to live? At the staff meeting at my school on Friday, I was more reassured. The director of the school laid out the plan for the next few weeks, making sure we understood that the school was only closed to the students and would still be open to teachers who wanted to be here, as the administrators would be working on a way to bring education to the kids if they were no longer allowed to come to the campus. I was also reminded that I am incredibly lucky to have such a fantastic support system at my school: the director made it clear that their priority is those of us who live at the school who are not French and have nowhere else to go. He even gave me his personal phone number to use in case I needed anything. My teachers have been so helpful, saying I could move in with them if I needed. They made me feel calm and safe, which I desperately needed to be.

On Friday, we were told that groups of over 100 people were banned. I didn’t think much of this, as I was already practicing social distancing and stocking up on groceries so that I wouldn’t have to go to the store every day (as I usually do for fresh produce). We were also told that schools would be closed for at least two weeks, which didn’t worry me: at that point, my family and I decided that I would stick it out in France for two weeks and then decide if I needed to come home. I was ready to be out of a job for two weeks. In fact, I was kind of excited- who doesn’t want paid vacation time? I thought I could take the time to work on my ‘art’, like the writers and painters of a different era who would just spend months in Europe working on their masterpieces. Now that I didn’t have to churn out any more lesson plans, I could just... hang out. Dreamy.

On Saturday, they announced that all non-essential public places would close: restaurants, cafés, movie theaters, bars, stores, and more. This worried me a bit- how would I survive this time without going to my favorite coffee place multiple times a week? I guess that’s a little insensitive, considering that the government is putting these measures in place to keep people safe. But I was getting nervous that we would soon be like Italy, confined to our houses for weeks.

Before Macron’s address tonight, I heard rumors of a lockdown that would last for over six weeks, and that made me uneasy. It’s not necessarily the idea of not being able to leave the house that sets me on edge: it’s the fact that I would be alone. I know I just ranted in my last post about the joys of being alone, and what a sick twist of fate the universe had in store for me! I’m not truly alone because there are other people who live on the school campus, which makes me feel loads better. But it’s the idea that the only thing I truly want right now is a hug (specifically one from my mother), and that’s just not going to happen. I’m away from familiarity and the comfort of home.

As for my job, I am a little heartbroken. I love my job- ask any of my friends how I feel about my students, and they will tell you that I adore them. The fact that I hadn’t seen them for two weeks on vacation was bad enough, and now I have no idea if I’ll see them again before I have to go back to the US. We had finally just gotten really comfortable with each other, and now… now we don’t know what will happen.

And I’m also (selfishly) thinking about what I might be losing if things don’t get better: my last few months at my job, my first springtime in Lyon, the ability to discover more of France until my visa ended, the chance to celebrate Pesach with other Jewish people in Lyon, and even spending my birthday with my friends. Maybe it’s not fear that is pressing against my chest but disappointment. And all I can think is: “Seriously?”

When the US said it was starting travel restrictions, I wasn’t ready to make the decision to go back. I said that I would look at the facts every day, taking it on a day-by-day basis, and still my choice has not changed, despite how the situation continues to deteriorate. My family and I decided that the best thing for us is for me to stay in France. I know that this is not some willy-nilly decision because there is nothing in this world my mom and my grandparents want more than to be able to keep our family safe, and I know that it’s killing them just as badly as it kills me that I am so far away in this scary time. But we have made the decision that I am going to stay in France, and every update I get on my phone solidifies that decision, as much as it breaks my heart and terrifies me. I know they aren’t testing in the way they should at American airports, so even if I did decide to come home, I’m afraid that I could unwillingly get exposed at one of the four airports I would need to travel through to get back to Charleston and then just be released from the airport, free to spread the virus if I did indeed have it. And then I would of course go into quarantine when I reached home anyways, but that would mean that I would be spending another two weeks away from my family. It seems out-of-this-world insane, but I know that staying here is the right choice. And even now that Europe is closing its borders, I am not as terrified because I know that staying is the right decision for my family.

Today is Tuesday, March 17, and last night, President Macron addressed the nation. I- and many of my friends- feared he was announcing a nationwide lockdown for forty-five days, which scared me beyond belief, but instead, his message was more optimistic: when he wasn’t reprimanding us (yes, myself included, because even though I’m not French, I am a part of the French community!) for still going outside, he was saying that we need to step up as a nation and start looking out for one another. I don’t know what it was about his speech that made me feel so prepared and ready for confinement, but I walked away feeling determined. It gave me hope. We are going into fifteen days of self-confinement, together, as the people of France. Reduced mobility, as he calls it- that doesn’t seem so scary! I can do two weeks! I heard rumors of forty-five days, and that really opened the floodgates of panic in my mind. But two weeks is feasible. Two weeks is vacation.

So I am staying put in France. I can do this. I am worried and feeling alone and freaked out a little, but even as tears well in my eyes as I write this, I know that I can do this.

It’s not the end of the world. It’s not war against other humans. It’s not a natural disaster, like a hurricane or a tornado. I can spend time outside on the school campus, so at least I will not be stuck inside all day (and the weather is finally beautiful!). I am staying confined to keep other people safe. I am staying confined to keep myself safe. I am part of a global community, and I am doing my part. This is what I will be telling myself every day for the next two weeks.

When I said I wanted adventure in France… this is not quite what I meant. It’s insanity to think that this is what my time in France has come to, but I’ve always been up for a challenge.

Courage, les ami.es !