Extra

At 8:00pm, it starts. First, the slide of terrace doors opening and the sound of balcony windows being unlatched. Lingering silence is broken as people lean out from above and applaud. Regardless of the neighborhood , the French people clap every evening at this time. Some households play music. Noise-making accoutrements that I don’t have in my home punctuate the patter: cow bells, groggers of sorts, and improbably, kazoos. This is all to appreciate healthcare workers battling COVID-19. I am an American living in the southern French city of Montpellier, and during the pandemic, my favorite activity is to jog during this daily event. Montpellieris a small city­—the population of Orlando—but has the density between that of Boston and Newark. Narrow streets radiate from the medieval center and meander through myriad neighborhoods. So I can jog a short distance but feel that I have covered much ground. 

As of March 30^th, there have been 40 000 confirmed COVID-19 cases in France, and the threat has been taken seriously by the French government. Its policy—a correct response—of shelter-in-place requires residents to stay home except for essential needs: food shopping, caring for family, pharmacy runs, doctor visits, and up to one hour of athletic activity within one kilometer of home, alone. Anyone outside must have a certificate indicating a sanctioned reason, either printed from the website of the French government or transcribed by hand. The certificate must be signed with the date and hour. Anyone found in violation of the this policy (Article 3 of the decree of March 23, 2020 prescribing general measures in response to the COVID-19 epidemic…) can be fined 200 euro for a first infraction and in the case of a fourth within 30days, up to 3700 euro and a six month prison sentence. 

The President of France has announced that we are at war, and so the French government has taken drastic measures. But what alarms me more is the inconsistent application of them in the United States and the confused messages and rancor from the top levels of American government. Governors are strapped forventilators. The president insists “We’re not a shipping clerk” as a response to requests from states for emergency medical supplies. The Lieutenant Governor of Texas affirms that the elderly can sacrifice themselves for the American economy. I think of my family in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco and worry what will be the ultimate toll in a nation that lacks a solid, coherent response to the pandemic. In France, the message is clear: stay home. Nonetheless, the élan of the country remains intact, and each night at 8:00 pm people open their windows. 

So if I leave my apartment by 7:40 pm to warm-up well, then by 8:00 I’m flying as the city is cheering. I forget the grim news on every French news program, in one out of two New York Times articles, in two out of three National Public Radio stories. My attention cannot stick to them as I race through the city, (within one kilometer of my home) tracing streets that pass from neighborhoods of the Belle Epoque to modern, residential high-rises standing sentinel to the Mediterranean sea. My brain bathed momentarily in endorphins, I witness a nation expressing its gratitude for those caring for the sick. I’m home by 8:30, and that little respite will carry me to another day.