Paris Diary

24 November 2020

Well, here I am again, after a hiatus—everything seemed so repetitive I could no longer get out and chronic about the weather, the empty streets, which are again empty, though our November lockdown is, it seems, to be somewhat eased.

I like the empty streets, I like being able to walk straight down the middle of the rue de Vaugirard, though, I admit with a wary eye for the occasional driver enjoying the chance for speed. A bus trip to an appointment Place de l’Alma takes 10 minutes, as the bus driver rattles along with a little smile on his face. In our neighbourhood the powers that govern us have decided it is roadworks season. First intersecting coloured lines on the roads and sidewalks like a stripped-down metro map; then some portacabins, under our windows, actually, and a WC. Then teams of workers tearing up the sidewalks and carefully stockpiling Ikea-type bags but bigger full of granite paving stones and cobbles. The work starts not long after 6 when the workmen arrive and socialise, loudly. Seems churlish to complain, since they’ve probably trekked in from afar, and it would be understandable if they thought little of the privileged hoping for another hour of quilted sleep.

But I’ve licked all the windows (lecher les vitrines = window shop), and though more shops are open than in the spring lockdown and we can walk (one hour, no further from home than 1 km, carrying a certificate on our honour about why we have ventured outside) to the butcher, the baker, the greengrocer, the fishmonger and even the chocolateer and the most marvelous of hardwares, we would love to be able to go biking, or failing that walking up hills, in the country.