Quarantine on the Côte d'Azur

As I mentioned in my previous post, I had been experiencing a scratchy throat and a dry cough, which I attributed to the air conditioning and dry air in the coach combined with the abundant cigarette smoke everywhere.  Although I did not have a headache or fever, I felt a little “achy,” so I decided this morning I should use one of the rapid antigen Covid tests we had brought with us.  It revealed the dreaded "T" line:

 
We contacted Bruno and our Wellness Director, Adrian, immediately, and Bruno said we should go across the street to a pharmacie for an official test.  It confirmed that I was positive for Covid, although Martha tested negative, so for us, the tour was over per Trafalgar policy.  And per French law, I was also required to quarantine for seven days, although Martha did not have to.  Bruno met with us and put a positive spin on things.  “You could not be in a better place,” he said.  “There are cafes, brasseries, all kinds of places around here.  In some places on the tour you are in the middle of nowhere.”  And fortunately, we had paid for an insurance policy that covered Covid.  Indeed, some of our friends on Facebook who had been following our trip, while sorry that I had contracted Covid, said that the French Riviera was not a bad place to spend a week. 

We were disappointed, of course, but decided to make the best of things.  I couldn’t help but check the schedule each day, though, and I remembered that the tour group would be staying in Nice for the day:

The sun-kissed shores of the French Riviera are yours to explore today. Consider relaxing on the beach with your fellow sun-worshippers or an Optional Experience could see you visit the hilltop town of Saint-Paul-de-Vence, a popular haunt for actors seeking a relaxing retreat. In your free time, soak up the fresh sea air and perhaps indulge in a delicious Salade Niçoise.

We had also signed up for an optional drive to the medieval hilltop town of St. Paul, an artists’ paradise, a perfumery, and a drive along the coast to a restaurant for lunch.

Our room was one of the nicest we had stayed in, though, facing the beautiful Hôtel La Villa, built in 1920 in the Belle Epoque style with rounded towers.

On the corner was a beautiful church, Eglise Protestante Unie de Nice, ca. 1886, with a shady little park out back. The park and the street below, Boulevard Victor Hugo, were lined with tall plane trees, which were imported to the south of France in the 19th century and planted extensively.  I had never seen a plane tree before visiting Provence.

The room had another rare feature in the hotels where we had stayed thus far:  two chairs.  Martha found an ironing board in the closet, and we set it up at the perfect height to serve as a kind of “bistro-ironing-board table,” and while I stayed in the room reading, taking naps, and watching French television, she went out into the city and returned with dinner, such as goat cheese salad and paella from a place down the street, and delicious quiche she found just around the corner.  And, of course, the doctor had prescribed ice cold Côtes de Provence rosé as well!  My symptoms were mild; I had not lost my sense of taste or smell, and I had a good appetite.

So every day I would wait for Martha to return, eager to see what delicious food she had foraged from the plentiful patisseries and brasseries all around us – or the hotel itself, which also offered some good choices – and tell me about her adventures.  On this first day, she walked all the way to the beach, the Plage de Carras, about a half-mile away, and told me about a new feature the City of Nice was providing for the first time this summer for people with disabilities, called Handiplages.  I read about it later:  “It is not necessary to present a certificate of disability or a reservation notice – just to go there and relax. It follows then that anyone with specific needs can be welcomed and accompanied for a safe swim (people with disabilities but also the elderly who may have difficulty moving).”  There were special lifeguards on duty to assist, and Martha described how she had watched an elderly woman being gently helped down a sort of carpeted ramp to the soothing waters of the Mediterranean. How wonderful to provide such a service!

After having explored the area all afternoon, my faithful forager told me that she had decided to take a conveyance called a velo taxi from a company called O'Bicycle.  She had asked a driver how much it would cost to take her to the hotel.  “Fifteen Euros,” he said.  “Too much,” she replied.  “I walk,” and started to walk away.  He quickly said, “For you, Madam, Ten Euros!”  Despite the language barrier, my frugal, faithful wife knew when she was being taken advantage of!