This past Friday I wrote the following reflection on how Marseille is coping with the coronavirus crisis: “Marseille’s most visited monument, Notre Dame de la Garde, hasn’t seen a decline in visitors to her golden beacon. At La Samaritaine, the iconic Vieux Port café, locals pack the terrace to soak up the sun. And, when taking public transit, I rarely spot a face mask. Unlike the empty piazzas in Milan and the masked subway riders in NYC, it’s been smooth sailing in this port city.” That was clearly the calm before the Covid-19 storm.

Thursday, March 12, 11 a.m. My butt muscles start to hurt. I’ve been sitting for too many days, testing the resistance of Italian sofas (a small spot of national pride at a time when the rest of the world is scared of Italy). It is the fifth day of being confined indoors. We are following the #iorestoacasa (“I Stay Home”) decree of the government. In just four days everything has changed. Nobody dares to say, “It’s all an exaggeration.” Now the numbers are a confirmation – for some strange reason Italy has the highest number of infected people in the world after China.