As my eagerly anticipated vacation to Paris approached, a sudden announcement from President Trump threw my plans into disarray. His declaration of a 30-day travel ban between the United States and Europe, framed as an attempt to control the spread of coronavirus, was a jarring blow. Referring to Covid-19 as a “foreign virus” rather than acknowledging the global pandemic, as the World Health Organization had declared, underscored a xenophobic approach that overshadowed the practical implications – like completely disrupting my travel.
My Air France flight from New York to Paris was still scheduled to depart that evening. However, the escalating situation in Europe, with Italy under nationwide lockdown and Germany teetering on the same brink, cast a long shadow. France, I feared, might be next.
Every indication, amplified by the anxieties of my mother, urged me to reconsider my trip as the day unfolded. For a freelance writer in Brooklyn, a $500 trip to Paris with my closest friend was a significant expense and a much-needed escape after a difficult breakup. I had initially downplayed Covid-19, focusing instead on preparing for the germ-filled flight with disinfectant wipes, a face mask, latex gloves, and vitamin supplements. Yet, the rising pandemic paranoia began to outweigh the promise of a French respite, making the escape feel more stressful than my recent heartbreak.
Airlines were quick to respond to the government-imposed travel restrictions. Air France updated its policy, offering change-fee waivers for rebookings made before May 31st. Disheartened, I wondered if this real-life enactment of Contagion would even be resolved by Memorial Day.
It felt trivial to lament the postponement of a leisure trip when the global count of illness and death was rapidly climbing. While younger individuals faced less severe health risks, my parents, in their 70s and newly retired, were in the midst of a six-week visit to Paris’s Left Bank. The possibility of them being stranded abroad for an extended period without sufficient medication presented a potentially dire scenario.
This week, France’s Culture Minister, Franck Riester, had tested positive for Covid-19. French President Emmanuel Macron addressed the nation, announcing school closures until further notice and describing Covid-19 as France’s “worst health crisis in a century.” French citizens, like Americans, were already being advised to work from home, avoid crowded public spaces, and forgo the customary double-kiss greeting.
The allure of Parisian solitude – envisioning myself as a modern-day Gertrude Stein in a café, indulging in a cigarette (a habit reserved solely for Paris) – paled in comparison to the prospect of quarantine in an Airbnb, rationing baguettes while the city shut down. The romantic je ne sais quoi was decidedly absent from this picture.
Conversations with Parisian friends painted a mixed picture. One friend downplayed the situation, claiming it was business as usual. Another cautioned about imminent border closures and potential two-week quarantines upon return. A chef in Paris shared concerns about the impact on tourism-dependent businesses. A colleague in the fashion industry had foreseen this escalating situation, advising me to try and get my parents home before Friday. Our collective joie de vivre was colliding head-on with a harsh reality.
Trump’s announcement triggered a predictable wave of panic. Frantic calls to my parents reached them at 3 AM in France. I urged them to return home three weeks early, and they managed to book a flight for that afternoon. Charles de Gaulle Airport was reportedly overwhelmed with travelers desperately trying to do the same. Meanwhile, masked personnel were conducting temperature checks on arrivals back in the US.
Staying put in New York, even navigating the subway system, didn’t seem like a perfectly sanitary alternative, but it felt safer to remain close to home. The prospect of hunkering down with enforced social distancing, cooking at home (assuming supermarket shelves remained stocked), and tackling spring cleaning seemed a more sensible form of self-care than my planned girls’ trip. This was the narrative I had to embrace.
I held onto the hope that warmer weather might slow the virus’s spread and that Paris would eventually welcome my travel voucher. Dodging what would likely have been airport chaos, my suitcase remained packed in my living room – a small emblem of the Covid-19 era. If New York City avoided lockdown, perhaps I could still find a way to wear my beret and enjoy steak frites at a local French bistro, closer to home.
In the meantime, the unfolding situation raised questions about the rationale behind Trump’s travel ban, particularly in light of his recent meeting with a Brazilian delegate at Mar-a-Lago who subsequently tested positive for coronavirus. The complexities of travel and safety in a pandemic world were only just beginning to unravel.
