VAUCLUSE DIARY

Friday 27th March

Biking is out. Physical exercise outdoors (walking, ‘le footing’) is reduced to a perimeter of one kilometer from one’s house, one hour a day, alone or at least only with the people with whom one cohabits. My children’s doctor friends are writing nightmarish stories about the situation in the hospitals where they work, whether in Paris, New York or California. There is one case in our village, a person who is confined to their home in one of the outlying areas of the commune. A cousin of ours, in a senior residence in Marseille, is affected.

We get our daily baguette and Le Monde at our tiny village shop. In the next, larger village where we do most of our grocery shopping, three shops –fruit and vegetables (and a smattering of things like cheese, butter, yogurt), the butcher (who does pasta), and the bakery—have joined to offer deliveries. Yesterday they brought us a week’s supply of produce, and some treats for us and our neighbour: pains au chocolat, giant meringues, even to round off the bill at 10 euros, a chocolate chip cookie. It’s well-organized: they call in the morning to give us the bill, we prepare our payment (cheque or cash), and they deposit everything on the stone bench at the front door, as the envelope with our payment flutters down, weighted with a clothespin.