Lockdown letter from France

“U.S. citizens who live in the United States should arrange for immediate return home or be prepared to remain abroad for an indefinite period. Have a plan to depart from France that does not rely on U.S. government assistance.”

That is the daily message we receive while on lockdown in a small village in southern France. We have no internet, or television, poor cell service, and every flight we have booked back to California has been canceled with no definitive departure dates from the airlines. Fortunately we do have a rented car that allows us to purchase groceries and make clandestine trips to the nearby woods to forage for the wood we use in the fireplace to keep our little house warm — which it isn’t most of the time.

When the virus broke out at the beginning of March, just 3 days into our stay in France, we were on a mission to furnish the little village house I had recently purchased in order to rent it out during the summer. Summer rentals would pay for the expense of running the house and allow me to also spend three or four months a year here. I had it all figured out — this dream come true.  The stone house with tile floors had a few pieces of furniture in it when we arrived. But mostly it was empty and cold. We needed everything — everything! I was looking forward to the fun of finding great deals from local flee markets and treasures in nearby villages.

Instead lockdown happened. Lockdown in France is like this: You must print and present a certificate stating your name, address and time of departure and destination. Police are around stopping vehicles to do a check. There are four reasons to be out of the house: Food, medical needs, exercise and essential services. If exercise, one is permitted only one hour and 1 kilometer from the house. No recreational biking is permitted except for children on bikes if they are outdoors with a walking adult.  Anyone caught violating the permissions is fined.  A lot. If you forget your certificate, you are fined.

The postal service no longer operates in our village. The police don’t seem to answer the phone either, which is concerning in case they are needed for an emergency. There are so many new ways of doing things and no one to ask when help is needed: i.e., cell phone recharging, where and how to replace the butagaz on the cooker, where to find a doctor, etc. It may seem as if a simple Google search would provide needed answers, but try doing a search with no internet and poor cell service. It is an exercise in frustration.

So, searching for wood, gathering rocks and wild plants for a rock garden, repairing what few pieces of furniture we have with makeshift tools, walking through the vineyards and apricot orchards that surround the property, hand washing clothing and draping them over trees to dry, creating face masks from an old T-shirt found on a walk, taking time to make simple meals and feel so grateful for the healthy non-GMO food available. These are the things that fill our days. 

The quiet is palatable — no sound from cars or planes: only birdsong. Oh wait a minute. That sounds pretty awesome! It is. It is like a step back in time, forced refuge, living moment to moment, finding pleasure in the simplest of things. I remember that on this very land my mother and grandmother suffered — really suffered — during years of war, no food and definitely no way to communicate to the outside world. I can still sneak over to the next village where my girlfriend has a summer house with Wi-Fi that I can use a couple of times a week. It is cold there and the connection is slow as tar — but it is a blessing so many did not and still do not have in the world. It is from there that I will send this little message to you , my community, with great love.

I do not know when I will be back stateside or when the planes will stop being canceled but I hope you are well, safe and appreciative of all the blessings that we do have amid all the challenges that exist.

A bientot!

Diáne Mandle is an Encinitas resident, author and Tibetan bowl sound healing practitioner.