'I've just returned from a month in France – it was worth every minute of quarantine'
For the past four years, I have spent September in France. Primarily on a language course, but also to discover a new French city and meld into life as a local. This year’s choice was La Rochelle on the Atlantic coast. Flights and accommodation were booked late last year. The plan was: two weeks in La Rochelle, a week in Nice, then a few days in Paris.
Then… well, we all know what happened. But in July, France was added to the UK’s travel corridor. Then the numbers went up, the guillotine went down and la belle France was banished to the naughty step.
The question was: do I still go? Would it be worth the 14 days’ quarantine at the end? I can do my job from home, so work wouldn’t be an issue. But from a health point of view? I found travel insurance with Campbell Irvine, one of the few companies that provides cover in countries on the quarantine list. And I already had an Europe Health Insurance Card, which allows UK citizens medical care in EU countries, at least until Brexit.
I was reassured by the fact that mask-wearing was mandatory in all public areas in France, and that they had an efficient testing system under way. Plus, tourist numbers would be lower. And… I needed a holiday. So, after saying a silent merci to the French government for not introducing their “reciprocal measures”, I was off.
First stop, La Rochelle – a good place to start as it was deemed “mildly vulnerable” on the Covid-19 chart. I was staying in a self-catering apartment, so I wouldn’t need to distance from anyone. My accommodation was in a timbered house in the vieille ville – a labyrinth of cobbled streets, fortified walls and 16th-century and Renaissance architecture. This is a city marinated in medieval and maritime history. Its finest historic building is the Hotel de Ville. Built in 1606 under Henry IV, it is the oldest town hall in France.
The days swiftly turned into a routine of coffee by the waterfront (La Rochelle is one of the largest yachting marinas in the world), language school (to be tortured by the subjunctive tense on a daily basis), then walking the streets, through the arcaded passageways, which once housed the booths of merchants and money-changers. If I needed a break, there were the beaches. And the hip St Nicolas quartier. And the three towers – la Tour de la Chaîne, la Tour Saint Nicolas and la Tour de la Lanterne – still guarding the old port.
I had to decide if I should move on to Nice, which was in the high-risk Alpes-Maritimes department. The hotel I had chosen, the belle époque Villa Rivoli, had already emailed me saying it had incorporated the new hygiene protocols. I had been feeling safe in France for two weeks, so I felt it would be fine.
Nothing can dim the sparkle of the Riviera. Whatever threat is hanging over it, it still glitters. You’re still mesmerised by the big blue stare of the Mediterranean and those cobalt skies.
At the weekend, I only managed to secure a back-row sun lounger, but during the week I could have had a row to myself. It was easy to find your own socially distanced section of the beach. And running along the Promenade des Anglais in the morning was a dream.
As for the main drags and restaurant strips, these were busier, and it was good to see holiday life going on as normal. Yet even the statue of Apollo that crowns the fountains at Place Masséna sported a mask.
I took a 40-minute train ride to Cannes, where, reassuringly, it was trashy-glamorous business-as-usual. I walked a mile past la Croisette promenade and spent the afternoon at the pretty, little-known Bijou Plage.
Final destination: Paris. I would be going into another red zone, and the City of Lights would be more crowded than Nice. But France was playing by the Covid-19 rules and I felt confident.
I found a hotel in the 15th arrondissement, on the Left Bank, between Montparnasse and the Eiffel Tower. On checking in through a Perspex screen I was given a note saying that rooms would not be serviced during “these times”, but to ask for clean linen/towels when I needed them. This seemed right.
Without the throngs, Paris was even more beautiful. I did a circuit past the Eiffel Tower, crossed the Seine to the Right Bank, past the Jardin des Tuileries, through the Marais, down to Place de la Bastille, back across the Pont d’Austerlitz to the Left Bank, into the Jardin des Plantes botanical gardens, through the Latin Quarter, past the Pantheon, then back to Montparnasse. Save for the odd car horn, this was a pedestrian’s paradise.
I had to go to a swanky department store before I went home, if only for the thrill of being ignored by snooty shop assistants. Not this time. I was an English tourist. I was gold dust. They didn’t want to sell me anything. They just wanted to talk in an “I love your accent” kind of way. So I made the most of it. When things go back to normal, the froideur will set back in. Still, I wanted a souvenir. I bought an overpriced T-shirt saying “Encore une fois”. Because I will go back.
So was the quarantine worth my time in France? Absolutely. The restrictions didn’t hinder my trip. I was grateful for them. I felt safe.
Travellers returning to the UK from France are currently obliged to quarantine for 14 days. For the latest updates, see gov.uk/foreign-travel-advice/france
