• Tim Morch

Anatomy of a Lockdown

Nice, France - March 18, 3:00 PM CET


When visiting my daughter in Nice, I often run my van up Mont Chauve to park for the night overlooking the city and the Mediterranean Sea. It is a short drive down to walk her school, pick her up, or go to the park. I have a favoured hairpin that offers the longest hours of sunlight before the glorious orb dips behind the mountain, not to mention giving up the strongest mobile signal around.


On Thursday, March 12, the government announced schools would close Monday, crowds over 500 were prohibited, people over 70 were recommended to stay home, yet, for some bizarre reason, voting in municipal elections would go ahead Sunday.


We closed school immediately and I spent Friday with my daughter. Around noon, her Mom called to request I go to the supermarket for staples as her lunchtime walk revealed shelves in Monaco emptying out. I admired the choices of the senior in front of me: 4 years supply of laundry detergent, a 6-months toilet paper, and bottled water – as if clean drinking water does not flow from the taps. I confess to taking the last 5 bags of the preferred pasta from the local Bio-Coop.


Covid-19 has had Italy on its knees for weeks, yet the French seemed cavalier as recently as 14 March, when the market was packed, cafes full of people paying zero attention to social distancing or proper cough/sneeze techniques. And let’s not forget the bise - the perfect French double cheek kiss of microbial migration.


I walked the tram tracks, distanced from the mob, snuck to my favourite vegetable vendor, loaded a basket and left out the back. Further up the hill, the clientele in the bakery were joking with the server about her gloves.


“Do you change them for every customer?” asks one. The server feigns to scratch her armpits in reply. Again, no distancing, with 10 people crammed into a 35 sq. ft.


A friend of mine at MSF in Geneva recorded an official communique that Switzerland is 2 to 7 days behind France, pleading for everyone to stay home for the weekend and noting the teens and young adults appeared to be “super-carriers”. Not surprisingly, that same demographic arrived on the mountain late Saturday afternoon, three cars full, and proceeded to share drinks and joints. Saturday night, the government closed all bars and restaurants.


As Saturday’s closures began to sink in, Sunday saw a remarkable number of visits to Mont Chauve, probably more people than voted as turnout, not surprisingly, was abysmal.


My daughter and I hunkered down Monday, drawing, playing “Pirate Attack” and making up stories. I walked to the supermarkets but chose not to enter the fray, noting lineups of 50 people and more. By end-of-day, the government had issued new regulations, effective noon Tuesday.


Remaining in Nice Tuesday, March 17, I watched morning movement reduce to near nothing in the afternoon. The occasional bus buffeted my van, random joggers went around in circles and dog walks were shortened as people are required to stay close to home and – theoretically – carry a signed “Attestation de Deplacement Derogatoire” to justify one of four allowable reasons to be out of the house.


Midday March 18 and I have returned to Mont Chauve where I have become accustomed to sounds of barking dogs and crowing roosters nearby getting drowned out by the din of the city as sirens sound, traffic tangles, horns blare and tempers flare. But this is Day #2 of the French lockdown, barely 24 hours since application of Article 1 of the government decree, 16 March, and the animals have the stage.


There is an eerie silence from civilization below. Birds create a symphony in the nearby grasses, nature has ascended, barking dogs seem loud and the roosters clearly have no idea it is not dawn. Impressive.


Meanwhile, the entire EU has reacted with varying levels of decrees, most borders closed and all but essential travel prohibited. This is critical moment in history. Time will tell how people react and what happens as there is a fortnight remaining in the French decree.


It is my sincere hope that people will be able to come together (at a distance of 2 meters) and support each other and those in need. Meanwhile, my daughter is safely in her home and her mother working remotely to isolate and I survey the city from above.

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© 2020 by Tim Morch

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  • Timothy Morch
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  • Tim Morch