Self Isolation Day 29. Masks, gloves and disinfectant.

So we left Bordeaux on a beautiful spring day.Polite police checked us through into the station area, we were gloved and masked (amazing fact - as soon as you put on a mask you start getting an itchy face) and we were on the train to Paris. Disinfecting is a full time job. I disinfected with the gloves on, disinfected my phone, the handle of my bag that the Uber driver had touched, then finally took the gloves off and disinfected the hands and then realised I had to go to the toilet! Then it all started again. I touched as little as possible but then remembered that the little Covid 19 could live on clothes for hours, maybe a day, depending upon which news article you read. Had I brushed against the toilet door? The daughter suggested we change as soon as we got to the hotel and put our clothes into isolation. We unanimously agreed.

The taxi driver, a small weedy looking guy with greased back hair, looked at us upon arrival with our seven suitcases (I had one but the girls had packed for a year) and said he'd get us a van and then for some reason he had .change of mind and guided us to his sedan (the daughter was pleased as she had seen him spraying his car liberally with disinfectant beforehand). I couldn't see it being possible. He packed it once and tried to close the boot; we could see that wasn't going to happen. Then another guy came along and pulled them all back out and repacked them and minus one suitcase, which rode beside the driver, they managed to fit them all in. It was a Laurel and Hardy moment as the driver kept on saying to us: Just 2 minutes, just 2 minutes, which I think was the most English he spoke. We squashed in the back seat with our other four small bags and were most appreciative when he put classical music on. We had survived section 1 and were making headway into section 2 - the airport hotel. This is where I was armed with a large bottle of disinfectant but it wasn't needed. There was disinfectant in various locations everywhere, they even wiped the computer screen before we checked in online. We spoke in a mixture of French (the daughter's partner was excellent) and English only to find out he was American.

Then to our room we went for a taste of hotel isolation with no opening windows and I have to say, it's not pleasant not to be able to breathe in fresh air. I could open my door and go for a walk down the corridor but you couldn't go downstairs so I pretended I was in for the long haul. I started to freak out. Had to do some deep breathing and I've only been here for seven hours! Watch this space.

Fields of rapeseed on the way to Paris.

Self Isolation Day 28. And Just Like That...

And just like that, our European sojourn has come to an end with a session of clapping. I will miss that; the little girl across the road with the blonde curls bouncing as she claps; the other little one waving to us across the way; a lovely lady that we've made friends with who lives below us, smiling up at us as we all clap. Somewhere someone plays the bongo every night, and there are horns beeping. It's been a month since I arrived and the country of France closed down.

I'm in the city of wine and I've only seen within a kilometre radius. I was here with my late husband maybe 29 years ago. He wanted to go on the fast train to Paris and we randomly picked Bordeaux. I remember it well because on the way we stopped at a station and the husband got out to chat with the conductor as we waited. I sat there wondering whether I should get ready to jump out with the bags if he didn't make it back on. It was the days of no phones and I remember thinking as he ambled back to me probably not even knowing I was worried that from then on, I would and should travel with a flask of alcohol. When we arrived we had nothing booked, we wondered around and knocked at a door with a sign saying: Room for rent. I still remember the room because it had an amazing circular stairway up to the apartment and they'd put a toilet and plastic shower in a corner and when we showered the water made it's way across the floor towards the bed. We also had Raclette in a square. There was a little grill on every table, with a machine above it that melted the cheese. We had duck, meat, chicken and dipped tiny potatoes into the melted cheese. I remember it was the most perfect early summer night, people everywhere. Who'd have thought I'd be here 30 years later in a pandemic, needing to work up the courage to go to the supermarket.

Who'd have thought I'd ever be fearful of taking the train back to Paris and getting on a plane home. The daughter has made a corona kit with gloves, disinfectant wipes, masks, tea tree oil nasal spray and alcohol disinfectant spray. We are armed and ready for stage 1 of our journey to Paris on the one remaining train per day.

Today on my last walk, so many spring flowers had unfurled!

Self Isolation Days 26/27. A Lost Generation.

Yesterday I felt irritated, empty, caged. I kept telling myself that other people are in a worse situation and that I shouldn't feel like that. But I do and because I couldn't be anything but what I was feeling, I couldn't write on day 26. Today isn't much better. Italy's death toll is nearing 19,000, mainly the older generation, those who made pasta, gnocchi; who know that at a certain time of the year there is a butter you use with the gnocchi that is from cows that feed on certain alpine flowers; the generation who knew which funghi are edible, which wild herbs to pick in the spring for your liver, that nettle picked at a certain time can be made into soup and as it ages, it can help with arthritis. Gone, without their families holding their hands. So on day 26 there were no words to write, only things to think about.

Today, I didn't walk. We began to pack up our life here and try to fit it back into the suitcases that we brought with us. We are folding up the memories of this extraordinary time in our lives. Australians of my age know little of hardship, we have little understanding of war torn countries, of Syria where they live in camps, in fear and depravation and now, they have the virus within their confines. We are quarantined with all the essentials yet we still fear change and uncertainty and these people live with them all the time. We don't allow them to escape to the safety of a country big enough to take them and learn from their stories. China has reopened it's wet markets where they think this virus originated and where endangered species are sold and they were packed with people this weekend. Nothing seems to change. If we learn from this experience it would be worth it but will we?

Tonight Andrea Bocelli sang in the Duomo di Milano and there were tears in our eyes; his songs seemed to be a collective farewell for the departed who died alone. I think we're all sheltering under an umbrella of worldwide grief and shock and it's ok to be sad and angry every now and then.