I relocated to Paris during the lockdown, unable to explore beyond a one-kilometer radius. Here’s what I uncovered in that limited space

Our move to France had been planned for months. We made the bold decision to quit our jobs, packed up our cramped London flat, and then watched as the world seemed to fall apart around us.

When France entered lockdown, we acted fast. My French boyfriend and I rushed out of London just hours after Boris Johnson announced the UK’s own lockdown to fight the spread of the virus.

Luckily, not many others had the same hasty idea to escape the UK that morning, so we were able to maintain a ridiculously wide social distance from our fellow Eurostar travelers.

We knew the risks involved. I wasn’t even sure, as a dual British-South African citizen, that I’d make it past border control. (I did, but it required some convincing.)

Before we knew it, we were dropped off at Paris Gare du Nord, squinting into the spring sun at the deserted streets, empty bars, and closed restaurants, while we waited for a taxi to take us to a friend’s apartment in Boulogne-Billancourt.

It’s hard to feel like you’re in a new city when you’re stuck inside an apartment. In the pre-coronavirus days, we had big plans to explore different neighborhoods and decide where we wanted to live. Now, we need a signed and dated permission slip, or 'attestation,' to leave the house once a day, and we can’t go further than a kilometer in any direction, for no longer than an hour. Instead of enjoying a coffee on a bustling café terrace, I now get a glimpse of the world outside each evening at 8 p.m., when neighbors open their windows to applaud the healthcare workers battling the virus.

It’s the highlight of my day, this moment of collective unity. I rush out to our little balcony and exchange a smile with a child perched on his kitchen counter, banging a pot with a spoon, and a young man in a Batman bathrobe cheering from his own balcony. For two whole minutes, I feel connected to this tiny corner of Paris.

When cabin fever started to hit hard, I mapped out a one-kilometer radius around our apartment to see how far I could go. I carefully wrote out my permission slip, citing exercise as my reason for being outdoors, and set off to explore my new neighborhood.

Within my one-kilometer limit, I discovered a charming little path along the Seine where I could peer into the vacant houseboats, or 'péniches.' Crossing the river, I spotted the ruins of a former Renault factory, which once sprawled across nearly an entire island in the Seine.

Although there are a few people around, the only sound breaking the silence is the distant wail of ambulances – a grim reminder of the strange world we now inhabit.

A few days later, I use another permission slip to visit the boulangerie and the local shop. I’ve always enjoyed grocery shopping in new cities, sometimes more than dining out, because I’m always fascinated by the variety of products available. This time, however, I didn’t linger.

There’s a certain wariness in everyone’s eyes, and awkward shuffling as we try to maintain our distance. No one’s exchanging greetings – no 'bises' between friends or 'bonjour' between strangers. It’s a chilly and unsettling atmosphere, but reassuring in that people aren’t treating the lockdown lightly.

It looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while, and I’ve slowly come to terms with that. I’m grateful to be in Paris, in good health, and with the rest of my life ahead of me to explore this beautiful city.

For now, I’m staying inside as much as I can handle, living vicariously through my balcony. Every evening, I eagerly await 8 p.m. to join Batman and my pot-banging neighbor in applauding together.