The Tidal Wave
I am headed tomorrow home after two months and two days in Paris and forty-three days early.
Wednesday morning I woke up at 4am. On purpose. Addie, Sabina, and Emily and I were on the first flight to Prague at 7am to start our Spring Break trip into the East. I laid in bed for a while, listening to my host mom's dog snore in the next room over contemplating not getting out of bed. 4am is criminally, inexcusably early, after all. My phone buzzed next to me and I grudging checked it, the too-bright screen burning my eyes. There was a text from my friend Emily in our group chat that read something along the lines of: "Hey guys, sorry for the late notice. My family and I have decided that I will be going home ASAP. I'm just too freaked out by all this Coronavirius stuff." Jesus, that's a huge leap, I remember thinking before sending back a sincerely heartfelt message about how much I'd miss her. She'd been on the fence about traveling all week, so it wasn't a huge surprise, but we didn't expect her to be going home for good. Sabina had been worried for weeks, threatening to take her classes online and move down to the South of France where her uncle lives. Addie and I were firm in the mindset that it wasn't that bad yet and there was really no reason to worry. I mean sure if you were in Italy or China that would be one thing. But France was fine, just a couple cases here and there, no reason to panic yet. Honestly, my greatest worry at the moment was making sure we all got to the airport on time. We convinced Sabina of the same and three of us downed a couple shots of espresso and boarded the plane.
Thursday, I woke up at about 9:30am in our hostel in Prague. I rolled over and saw that Sabina had texted in the middle of the night that her home university had pulled the plug following the announcement of President Trump's travel ban. They said she had to be on a plane back to the United States by the 19th of the month or she would have to take a "leave of absence" from her studies until further notice. That' seems excessive, I thought, scrolling through my France 24 and NPR apps, trying to figure out what I had missed since going to bed. It seemed like some sort of breaking point had been reached and now things were really in motion. Mass hysteria seemed rampant and I couldn't totally figure out why. The three of us convened in the kitchen over cups of ridiculously strong coffee, trying to sort out what exactly was going on. As other hostel guests came in to get breakfast, they joined the conversation as many of us were Americans and totally unsure of what to do, but spirits were still moderately high. Addie and I, still, despite Trump's ban thought that it was fine because our program hadn't closed and the ban didn't apply to students so how bad could it be? Sabina goes to a big state school, they have a lot more liabilities if something were to happen to her, that's all. France wasn't freaking out yet so neither should we... Right? Since it was then about 4am Eastern Time and none of our questions would be answered for several hours, we decided to start our day of tours and sightseeing to try and distract ourselves from the uncertainty around us.
At about 8pm, we were eating "family dinner" around a long table with the other hostel guests when Addie checked her phone, gasped, and left the room in a blur. We called after her but she didn't answer. When we went to check on her, we found that her college had just called her back. Addie's college is similar to Marietta: small, private liberal arts. But... I hadn't heard anything from Marietta officially. Christy, in the OEA, had given me full control over my decision to stay or leave. But my certainty was wavering. My friend Sarah and I talked and she reassured me that she would be sticking it out until they drug her out tooth and nail. "If you're staying, I'll stay," I told her firmly and I meant it. I admired her resolve and it rekindled my own. I wouldn't go down without a fight. If Sarah and I were the last two standing, so be it.
Then we heard about the canceled classes at OSU and Italy going into lockdown. The Czech Republic, Germany, and Spain were closing their borders. Then I got the news about classes both here and at home being online and watched as more and more of my friends booked tickets home. By Friday, most of the program had emptied out, my roommate back in Paris had left and the hostel was clearing out too. But still, I thought I might just stick it out. My host mom was unbothered, and when I talked to my parents that afternoon, so were they. "Just be smart," they said. And I figured that wouldn't be too terribly hard to pull off. I'd just wash my hands and avoid the metro as much as possible. Easy.
By Saturday though, their tune had changed and so had mine. I have an aunt that works for Delta. My parents talked to her and although she wasn't too concerned about the illness aspect of this whole ordeal, she was insistent that I try to find a way home as soon as possible. Delta and other major airlines were canceling flights left and right, airports were closing and people re-entering the US were being funneled through only a few airports. As time went on, it looked more and more like I might end up trapped in Paris for an undetermined amount of time. Which sounds like it might not be too bad... Only, I would be pretty alone, with no in-person classes, and have no way of knowing if we would end up in a situation like in Italy where nobody was allowed to leave the house. At the start of the crisis, it appeared as though France had been keeping a level head about the whole situation, but as research began to come out about the trends of this illness, it became more and more evident that this perhaps had been their greatest flaw. As I'm sure many of you know, the only way to beat this thing is to flatten the curve so that medical resources don't get overrun as the number of infected people inevitably spike. This information was too little too late. What had begun as a "China problem," and an "Italy problem" had developed into a tidal wave that would leave me stranded in a foreign country drowning in its own people if I didn't move. "Fine," I told my parents. "But I don't want to leave any earlier than Wednesday. Thursday would be ideal."
I returned home Sunday at 4pm, heartbroken and on the verge of tears every time I looked out of the window on my way back to the apartment. My host mom gave me a big hug and I went to start packing. I met my friends at a park to say goodbye one last time before Sabina left Monday morning. It was sad and vaguely dreamlike, as though none of us could really believe what had happened. Despite everything being closed up, people were still on the streets and in the park, like usual... It's like the rest of the world was panicking and France was absolutely oblivious to the fact. Or maybe they're just so infatuated with the nonchalance that they'd risk it all... Who knows. When I got home at seven, my host mom and I sat down to watch the news and eat dinner. It was supposed to be about France's municipal elections that took place that day. Half an hour in though, the conversation took a different turn. Doctor after doctor emplored people to stay inside, begging them to take it seriously. By eight o'clock I was calling my mom to see if I could reschedule my Wednesday flight for Tuesday.
This morning I woke up to a flight Tuesday morning and numbness that I just can't shake. My host mom and I have been watching the news all day as I pack, her little dog following me around with a look in her eyes that is begging me not to go (we are buddies or "les copines" as my host-mom says). At noon, my host mom got a call from her friend Maguy who works for the Department of the Interior saying that President Macron is to make an address tonight at eight and announce a city-wide (and possible state-wide) lockdown and the deployment of the French army into the streets to keep people in their homes within twenty-four hours after his address. There are no more thoughts of "that's excessive" or "that's a big leap" in my head. No more comments of "sticking it out" or "it isn't so bad" to be heard. What started as a running joke whenever someone coughed or an added discussion topic in my polisci class had become an all-consuming pandemic in both the literal and metaphorical sense that had eaten my study abroad experience alive. I don't mean to sound vapid, or selfish; obviously, everyone's semesters are being effected and many have it far worse than me. But it's sickening to think about what could've been. And what we're all losing.
On our last night in Budapest, we came up with a list of everything we wouldn't miss about France to make ourselves feel better: it's stinky, living in someone else's house is awkward, the change in time zones, not being able to express ourselves the way we want to because of the language barrier... But with each one we listed, ten more cropped up of the things we would miss. I would give just about everything for it to be back to normal. I wish I could finish this off with some sort of sage-wisdom about the lessons I've learned or the sliver-lining of this all, but I haven't got much at the moment, as much as I hate to leave you all with such a sour note. It's all been so fast and so scary that I can't really think past making it out of here tomorrow. I'm glad to be going home in that being here has become immensely stressful and not in a cool way, but I wish I didn't have to. It's bad timing, that's all it is. It's no one's fault and there's nothing that could have been done. But it sure does suck.
Wash your hands and keep each other safe.
Tout à l'heure.
Wednesday morning I woke up at 4am. On purpose. Addie, Sabina, and Emily and I were on the first flight to Prague at 7am to start our Spring Break trip into the East. I laid in bed for a while, listening to my host mom's dog snore in the next room over contemplating not getting out of bed. 4am is criminally, inexcusably early, after all. My phone buzzed next to me and I grudging checked it, the too-bright screen burning my eyes. There was a text from my friend Emily in our group chat that read something along the lines of: "Hey guys, sorry for the late notice. My family and I have decided that I will be going home ASAP. I'm just too freaked out by all this Coronavirius stuff." Jesus, that's a huge leap, I remember thinking before sending back a sincerely heartfelt message about how much I'd miss her. She'd been on the fence about traveling all week, so it wasn't a huge surprise, but we didn't expect her to be going home for good. Sabina had been worried for weeks, threatening to take her classes online and move down to the South of France where her uncle lives. Addie and I were firm in the mindset that it wasn't that bad yet and there was really no reason to worry. I mean sure if you were in Italy or China that would be one thing. But France was fine, just a couple cases here and there, no reason to panic yet. Honestly, my greatest worry at the moment was making sure we all got to the airport on time. We convinced Sabina of the same and three of us downed a couple shots of espresso and boarded the plane.
Thursday, I woke up at about 9:30am in our hostel in Prague. I rolled over and saw that Sabina had texted in the middle of the night that her home university had pulled the plug following the announcement of President Trump's travel ban. They said she had to be on a plane back to the United States by the 19th of the month or she would have to take a "leave of absence" from her studies until further notice. That' seems excessive, I thought, scrolling through my France 24 and NPR apps, trying to figure out what I had missed since going to bed. It seemed like some sort of breaking point had been reached and now things were really in motion. Mass hysteria seemed rampant and I couldn't totally figure out why. The three of us convened in the kitchen over cups of ridiculously strong coffee, trying to sort out what exactly was going on. As other hostel guests came in to get breakfast, they joined the conversation as many of us were Americans and totally unsure of what to do, but spirits were still moderately high. Addie and I, still, despite Trump's ban thought that it was fine because our program hadn't closed and the ban didn't apply to students so how bad could it be? Sabina goes to a big state school, they have a lot more liabilities if something were to happen to her, that's all. France wasn't freaking out yet so neither should we... Right? Since it was then about 4am Eastern Time and none of our questions would be answered for several hours, we decided to start our day of tours and sightseeing to try and distract ourselves from the uncertainty around us.
At about 8pm, we were eating "family dinner" around a long table with the other hostel guests when Addie checked her phone, gasped, and left the room in a blur. We called after her but she didn't answer. When we went to check on her, we found that her college had just called her back. Addie's college is similar to Marietta: small, private liberal arts. But... I hadn't heard anything from Marietta officially. Christy, in the OEA, had given me full control over my decision to stay or leave. But my certainty was wavering. My friend Sarah and I talked and she reassured me that she would be sticking it out until they drug her out tooth and nail. "If you're staying, I'll stay," I told her firmly and I meant it. I admired her resolve and it rekindled my own. I wouldn't go down without a fight. If Sarah and I were the last two standing, so be it.
Then we heard about the canceled classes at OSU and Italy going into lockdown. The Czech Republic, Germany, and Spain were closing their borders. Then I got the news about classes both here and at home being online and watched as more and more of my friends booked tickets home. By Friday, most of the program had emptied out, my roommate back in Paris had left and the hostel was clearing out too. But still, I thought I might just stick it out. My host mom was unbothered, and when I talked to my parents that afternoon, so were they. "Just be smart," they said. And I figured that wouldn't be too terribly hard to pull off. I'd just wash my hands and avoid the metro as much as possible. Easy.
By Saturday though, their tune had changed and so had mine. I have an aunt that works for Delta. My parents talked to her and although she wasn't too concerned about the illness aspect of this whole ordeal, she was insistent that I try to find a way home as soon as possible. Delta and other major airlines were canceling flights left and right, airports were closing and people re-entering the US were being funneled through only a few airports. As time went on, it looked more and more like I might end up trapped in Paris for an undetermined amount of time. Which sounds like it might not be too bad... Only, I would be pretty alone, with no in-person classes, and have no way of knowing if we would end up in a situation like in Italy where nobody was allowed to leave the house. At the start of the crisis, it appeared as though France had been keeping a level head about the whole situation, but as research began to come out about the trends of this illness, it became more and more evident that this perhaps had been their greatest flaw. As I'm sure many of you know, the only way to beat this thing is to flatten the curve so that medical resources don't get overrun as the number of infected people inevitably spike. This information was too little too late. What had begun as a "China problem," and an "Italy problem" had developed into a tidal wave that would leave me stranded in a foreign country drowning in its own people if I didn't move. "Fine," I told my parents. "But I don't want to leave any earlier than Wednesday. Thursday would be ideal."
I returned home Sunday at 4pm, heartbroken and on the verge of tears every time I looked out of the window on my way back to the apartment. My host mom gave me a big hug and I went to start packing. I met my friends at a park to say goodbye one last time before Sabina left Monday morning. It was sad and vaguely dreamlike, as though none of us could really believe what had happened. Despite everything being closed up, people were still on the streets and in the park, like usual... It's like the rest of the world was panicking and France was absolutely oblivious to the fact. Or maybe they're just so infatuated with the nonchalance that they'd risk it all... Who knows. When I got home at seven, my host mom and I sat down to watch the news and eat dinner. It was supposed to be about France's municipal elections that took place that day. Half an hour in though, the conversation took a different turn. Doctor after doctor emplored people to stay inside, begging them to take it seriously. By eight o'clock I was calling my mom to see if I could reschedule my Wednesday flight for Tuesday.
This morning I woke up to a flight Tuesday morning and numbness that I just can't shake. My host mom and I have been watching the news all day as I pack, her little dog following me around with a look in her eyes that is begging me not to go (we are buddies or "les copines" as my host-mom says). At noon, my host mom got a call from her friend Maguy who works for the Department of the Interior saying that President Macron is to make an address tonight at eight and announce a city-wide (and possible state-wide) lockdown and the deployment of the French army into the streets to keep people in their homes within twenty-four hours after his address. There are no more thoughts of "that's excessive" or "that's a big leap" in my head. No more comments of "sticking it out" or "it isn't so bad" to be heard. What started as a running joke whenever someone coughed or an added discussion topic in my polisci class had become an all-consuming pandemic in both the literal and metaphorical sense that had eaten my study abroad experience alive. I don't mean to sound vapid, or selfish; obviously, everyone's semesters are being effected and many have it far worse than me. But it's sickening to think about what could've been. And what we're all losing.
On our last night in Budapest, we came up with a list of everything we wouldn't miss about France to make ourselves feel better: it's stinky, living in someone else's house is awkward, the change in time zones, not being able to express ourselves the way we want to because of the language barrier... But with each one we listed, ten more cropped up of the things we would miss. I would give just about everything for it to be back to normal. I wish I could finish this off with some sort of sage-wisdom about the lessons I've learned or the sliver-lining of this all, but I haven't got much at the moment, as much as I hate to leave you all with such a sour note. It's all been so fast and so scary that I can't really think past making it out of here tomorrow. I'm glad to be going home in that being here has become immensely stressful and not in a cool way, but I wish I didn't have to. It's bad timing, that's all it is. It's no one's fault and there's nothing that could have been done. But it sure does suck.
Wash your hands and keep each other safe.
Tout à l'heure.
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