Day 13 - SkyLines from the French Lock-down: Just Like a Sunday

Bonjour à tous!  (Hello everybody!)  You are helping us so much with your kind, funny, hopeful, and supportive posts and notes.  We hope we can do the same for you.  Here in the south of France it feels just like a Sunday.  But there is a noticeable difference...

Another beautiful day finds the streets empty in France

Day 13 - The clocks went forward this morning in Europe.  We didn't bother to set alarms, we just woke when we weren't asleep anymore. There was no worry about being late to arrive at the cafés.  They have been closed now for 15 days. (That happened two days before the quarantine.)    The sun streamed in as we opened the shutters and it told us it was very late in the morning.  But, as I said, there was no need to rush off for coffee or anything else.  Sundays in the village have always been a bit quiet anyway and today was no exception.  And, we were out of bread again.  (I do know how to make bread but I make it American style.  My partner has yet to develop a taste for it and it may be just too late in our lives for that to happen.)  So, it was off to the boulangerie.

With our required forms in hand, we walked the regulation meter apart.  It was father apart

than that most of the time as I was taking photos for you as we went on our way.  We went

This door in the city wall
leads to an apartment.

down through the rampart wall via the staircase and I took a shot of the second door in the wall.  I've often said hello to the couple who live there.  How groovy is that?  A front door that is inside a city rampart!  I'm guessing their windows are above the stores on the Route Nationale that is at the bottom these stairs.  I always wonder how long these stairs have been here.  Was there a stairway or ramp here in the days when Argelès sur Mer was a walled citadel?  Was this apartment once a room for soldiers on guard against  Pierre IV of Aragon in 1343?  (He took the city in just three days, so somebody was very clever or somebody else had not stocked up sufficiently on essential survival goods, though I doubt that toilet paper was big on the list of things you couldn't live without.)  

We stepped out onto the Route National and continued toward the bakery.  Y, my partner, saw Adrian on the other side of the street carrying a bag of mortar to continue the work on his house.  They discussed the fact that we would all have to do what we could with what we'd bought earlier in the month as the hardware stores now would only let us order supplies "of the first need."  That means things like parts for your water heater or light bulbs.  In other words, only the things that are used to repair or replace the items we need on a daily basis can be ordered.  In yet more words, you can't buy paint or a DIY kit bookshelf at this time.  Thankfully, Adrian and we have enough supplies to keep us busy for a few weeks.  But will it be enough for as long as this lasts?  They discuss this and then we wish each other, "Bonne Journée!" (Have a good day!) and head on up the street.

I wave to the lady above who is on her tiny balcony.  She lives in an apartment across the street from our terrace.  She and I exchange waves on a regular basis when Y and I are eating outside.  She's probably closer to eighty than seventy and has a happy smile.  Her voice is high and I can just hear her say, "Bonne Journée, madame!"  I call out, "Bonjour, madame!   Le

soleil fait du bien aujourd'hui, malgré le vent!"  (The sun feels good today in spite of the wind.)  She nods and says, "No terrace for you youngsters today!"  That makes us smile.  I agree and

Avenue de la Liberation - deserted!

say that the wind, like this quarantine, won't last forever.  We wave again and I walk on to where Y has already bought a baguette and is now looking into the window at the real estate agent.  With Brexit done, there are a lot of houses for sale that once belonged to British holiday makers.  They bought the village houses when owning a vacation home in the south of France was the thing to do.  The glut on the market has really brought prices down around here but it's still not cheap!

I walk on past him and continue to the end of the street.   I look over at the newly created Place Gambetta.  It's nearly deserted.  Instead of children

The new plaza should be filled with
families and joyful sounds.

playing in the plaza, there are only a few pigeons and some solitary people like ourselves.  One lady is wearing a mask.  This is the new normal.  I hope it won't be normal forever!  We walked down the Rue de la Libération.  It's as empty as a ghost town.  This is where we should be on a Sunday, but not just walking for exercise like we are today.  We should be at one of the many cafes here, people watching, writing, drinking espresso and chatting.  Oh well, I know that in time, normal life will return.  The recession that is going to follow this year will be hard.  When you put together the problems caused to the commercial sector, especially the small shops, by the 'gilets jaunes,' the general strike, and now the confinement, the economy is really going to suffer.  But we will survive it.  We will beat this.  We need to be patient and that's not easy.

We keep walking and I take a few shots of the street signs.  We have at least three types:  the

standard blue ones you see everywhere, the village ones that have the crest on it, and the pretty ceramic ones.  I like them all and it's interesting to think about the names.  Some are obvious like - the "Route de ___" with a town name after it, like "Route de Sorède" which eventually takes you to the charming town of Sorède.  "River Street" or to put it in the vernacular, "Rue de la Rivière" is pretty clear too.   Sometimes I see one and think, "that must have been the name of an important family... and now there is no clue here as to why the name wasn't changed like the others."

The Ramparts, or "remparts" in French, are still very much in evidence.  Our house stands on the top of one, but there are many other parts, like this one on the riverside that are still 

The renovation of this tower
 has taken years

standing.  I have to take another photo of the renovations that have been going on for years.  This tower is nearly restored now.  I've walked by it on occasion for almost 17 years now.  It is like we are.  It has had its hard times but it has risen again, thanks to human will, effort, energy, and funding.  We will rise again too.

Then there are a whole packet of them that were clearly renamed after the French Revolution.  Names like "Rue de la Paix" (Peace Street)  "Le Place de la  République" (The Republic Plaza) or "Rue de l’égalité (Equality Street), "Rue de la Liberté."  and those with dates like "Rue du 14 Juillet" are very patriotic and you will find these names in every town.   In the new outlying sections of town where the houses look terribly like computer generated plans of what a villa should look like, the street names are often flowers, birds, trees, famous people, and places. 

I take more photos as we turn onto the street by the river before we head home.  The floods the

village suffered in January are now a distant memory and the waters are low again.  The sky is blue.  People are walking their dogs on the grassy banks and we stand on the bridge  (about two meters apart, of course)  and for a moment we savor the feeling that it is almost a regular Sunday at the end of March.  The yellow daffodils nod in agreement.

It's too cool to stand there long because the Tramontane (north west wind) has begun to gust

across the village with a force that sends my hair flying into my eyes and bites at our faces.  We turn and head back to the center of the village.  The bread we've bought is for lunch and that can't be far off now with us getting up so late!

I hear someone playing a piano.  A bird trills from one of the trees and I see the pale green leaves of spring are making dappled shade on the sidewalk beneath my feet.  There are the voices of a family preparing their lunch.  We're running a bit late ourselves and I've planned a pasta with spinach and walnuts cream sauce.  Tomorrow it

The Music School in le
Place de la République

will be two weeks since this quarantine began.  I know everyone is beginning to chaff at the lack of human contact.  It will be another two weeks minimum.  But in some ways, we are living life that feels just like a Sunday every day.  It's a strange time.  But it's also a time when we can reflect on what it is that's really important.  The noon bell rings, the shops are closed just as they always would be on a Sunday.  We walk home.

It's the second Sunday of our lock-down and we're still here.  We have plans for the future.  That is what hope is all about.  Before I fix lunch, I'm going to think about that for a bit.  I'm thinking of you

too.  I'll upload the photos after we eat and share the morning walk with you as soon as I've eaten.  We need to share our blessings with each other.  I love the photos of nature and family you are all sharing with us via Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.  Thank you!  You lift us up.  And yes, that pantry that we stocked so well over two weeks ago is another blessing.  Sometimes it takes a reminder to see how lucky we are.  We have shelter, we have pasta, tv, and we have you in our lives.  The numbers are grim.  But stay as safe as you can and we will ride out this plague.  Hang on, we are doing this one day at a time.  Ensemble!  (Together!)

À demain, nos amis!  Link to Day 14