With lockdown more or less over, we made a dash to the other side of the Channel and are currently languishing in the Vaucluse département, home to the wines of Châteauneuf-du-Pape et al. Mont Ventoux, known to cyclists the world over, is staring at me as I write, only providing a shield from the sun in the early hours of the morning before the heat hits. Exercise here, recently so highly prized (the French were allowed no further than 1 km from home to exercise during their lockdown), is necessarily limited to a gentle morning stroll around the village to collect bread from the boulangère. In time it may be possible to acclimatise but, looking at the locals, I wouldn’t bet on it.
France went into lockdown before us, of course, and came out earlier as well so, if we in the UK are fortunate, what I am seeing is a glimpse into the future. We are welcome here – I know plenty of people with concerns about this but it is the Parisians they fear most here it seems. The UK, until Covid, condoled with for its apparent decision in the 2016 referendum, is now pitied for its government’s failures in the wake of the virus.
We avoid large supermarkets and shopping malls but the smaller local Intermarché is well stocked and the SuperU has an excellent meat counter. People who frequent these spacious shops have long been using the sanitiser at the door and they were wearing masks before this became a legal requirement on Monday. There are inconsistencies, of course: you can’t be expected to wear a mask in a café, for example. Wine tasting through a face mask, anyone?
Everything and everyone here works on Provence time, a slow-living pace of life. After the stresses of lockdown, it’s a welcome change.
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