A semester in Paris ends abruptly

RHINELANDER, Wis. -- My semester abroad began as big international news was breaking. Looking back now, I realize that although it was shorter than I planned, my time away was essentially a series of many unexpected and surprising circumstances, right up until its recent and abrupt end.

On Jan. 5, I waited in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport before I boarded my nine-hour flight to France taking in the news about the U.S. attack on a top Iranian leader in Iraq and Iran’s retaliations on the U.S. embassy there.

Landing in Paris, my attention quickly turned to domestic news there: France was in the midst of a massive labor strike that had crippled public transportation. Finding a taxi to my apartment from the airport proved to be my first test; understanding French explanations was a close second. With the metro shut down, Parisians were walking everywhere. My new temporary home was a 30-minute train ride to class that turned into an hour and a half walk that was inarguably beautiful, yet tiring.

My first few weeks were a mixture of learning my way and making new friends along with navigating new experiences including a visit to a Parisian emergency room following a mishap cutting a baguette in my flat.

I remember reflecting on it all in a conversation with my mom: “Even with all these bad things happening … I’m still having a great time.”

Before I went to Paris, a friend gave me a book of short stories about Paris to read. The book includes a passage by Irwin Shaw that talks about winter in Paris. He describes all the sadness, dirt and smog that winter brings to the city, but ends it with how wonderful it is for the 1-2 hours when the sun shines that makes it all worthwhile. I found myself seeing the same beauty.

For the last three weeks I was in France, the rain clouded the charm of the Champs-Elysee and Le Seine, weaving in between everyone’s rush to work. However, the sun would shine for brief moments and the warmth filled me in an odd way that I’ve never felt before. Maybe it’s the cigarette smoke or the accordion in the distance or the old French woman demanding I speak French or else her culture will be ruined forever. For whatever reason, Paris comes with a unique sense of beauty and wonderment other places can’t match, and I’m so thankful to have spent nine weeks there.

UVM junior Luke Zarzecki in Paris earlier this year before his semester abroad was cut short.

Yes, nine weeks is not a full semester. My time in Paris abruptly ended with the coronavirus spreading throughout the world, quite like how mono does during every freshman’s first semester. Everyone in my program thought we would survive and that the bug wouldn’t jump the border with Italy to infect France. When the Italian study abroad students were sent home, we gave them our condolences. Soon after, the virus yanked us, too.

March 12th: I fell asleep early the night Trump banned all European travel into the United States. I woke up to the news and read many text messages from fellow Americans booking flights home in the next 24 hours. It was ironic because just the day before, I had experienced my first Spring in Paris. I walked along Le Seine taking in the fresh air, planning everything I would do in April and May – read a book along the river, write poems in Le Jardin du Luxembourg, visit Giverny to witness Monet’s inspiration, climb the dome at the Pantheon. I even heard Billie Holiday’s song “April in Paris'' on the radio for the first time that night -- “This is a feeling,” she says. But those dreams soon came to an end.

I made plans to flee France three days after Trump declared the travel ban and spent my last days with my newly made friends, breathing my last few breaths of Parisian second-hand cigarette smoke, and trying to catch the French words flying through the air. Each day, the city became quieter – the streets emptied, the accordions stopped playing, and my pickpocket anxiety relaxed. The government shut down all shops and restaurants the night before I left, so nothing was open.

The next morning, carrying a duffel bag, my bulging backpack and pulling my suitcase that weighed more than the airline’s limit, I sauntered through the empty Charles de Gaulle Airport and all the workers smiled. My airplane remained almost empty and community was quickly built among the passengers due to the fact that everyone was American and we all were worried about what would happen upon landing in Chicago.

I saw videos on WGN Chicago news of chaos at O’Hare and anticipated the worst. The day before I left, lines spanned between 6-8 hours for virus testing and customs enforcement, the crowds evidence that everyone had begun flocking home with pandemonium spreading throughout the world. Luckily, I waited in line for only about 30 minutes, was tested for a fever, and was asked if I had any symptoms in the last few days. All cues to the coronavirus were negative, so I was free to go – but not to my home in Chicago.

Zarzecki at his family’s lake house in Wisconsin where he is self-isolating after traveling home from France last weekend.

After the nine-hour flight and the airport virus screening, I drove five hours – wired on caffeine – to my family’s lake house in northern Wisconsin where I have been in quarantine since. It’s quiet, cozy, and sometimes a bit lonely.

The day usually consists of the same routine: I wake up, make breakfast, read some of my new books, go running, talk to myself, dance with myself, think about my squashed dreams of seeing Paris in the Spring. I watch “Midnight in Paris” for the 11th time, and then lights out. 

At night I can hear the crackling of the fire that I struggle to keep alive and the subtle “whos” from owls outside. I often think about how I should be in Paris eating baguettes and sipping un café, instead of having riveting one-on-one conversations with myself in quarantine. But I try to look on the bright side. I don’t have the virus (yet). I am in a place that is safe, and spent nine amazing weeks in the most beautiful city in the world. I certainly did not have a Hemingway experience, but it was a good first taste. The premature ending really stinks, but for now, I try to look to the light in this period of time that is getting darker by the hour.

Luke Zarzecki is a junior environmental studies major who hopes to one day visit Springtime Paris with all ten fingers intact.