“You are lucky to be in Paris at this time,” says a friend phoning from New York. “Here, we are like rats in a box, going round and round.”
In the past few weeks I have heard similar lamentations from friends in London and Berlin, not to mention Beirut and Tehran.
It must be the name of Paris that leads our interlocutors into imagining the rosy times that I am supposed to have in these dark and dreary days of the coronavirus pandemic in the City of Light.
