“We’ll always have Paris,” said Humphrey Bogart, melting hearts as he stood on the Casablanca tarmac and said a final goodbye to Ingrid Bergman.

That memorable film line became a metaphor for a cherished time that remains in memory no matter what the future brings. Such a thought seems particularly relevant now . . . in times of COVID.

Those of us who live in Paris—or who seek travel inspiration from the City of Light—take these words literally and metaphorically. We will always have Paris.

We have its history, monuments, artistic pulse, café charms, fine cuisine, lush gardens, haute couture, open markets, cobblestone streets, romantic bridges, and delicate light. The memories are alive.

But change is one of those life constants. At the moment, for our own health and the safety and health of our fellow humans, we in Paris are in confinement. We are allowed to venture out for one hour a day, and our path is limited within one kilometer of home.

These regulations, now in the seventh week, inspire self-reflection and a change of life rhythms, with almost-daily “Oh, I See” moments.

Five Things I Miss About Paris During Confinement

The confinement orders came just as spring was beginning its burst. No matter what the winter weather, spring always arrives right on schedule at the end of March. Buds open and fill the air with remembrances of past springs. Barren trees become leafy in a visible fast-motion timelapse.

This year, the famed Paris gardens and parks were off limits, so my vision of spring was realized with the few blossoming trees or sprouting flowers within my Île Saint-Louis neighborhood.

Still, with so many sunny days in a row, there was no doubt that spring had arrived.

On most days in pre-COVID Paris, I didn’t have to walk far before I heard a musician. The street artists are in the long metro tunnels, under historic arches, and on the romantic bridges.

Now, the streets are silent, except for an occasional balcony musician, decibel-heightened radio, or pianist practicing at home, the sound muffled through the walls.

The world is eerily quiet. Don’t get me wrong, I love the quiet. But the world needs the universal power of music.

Who would have thought that I would miss the crowded metros and buses of daily life in Paris? But I do.

The long rides were my time for random thoughts and endless character study. The cast of characters is diverse—every face holds a story.

Now, I just watch the empty buses zooming by, keeping to their schedules. And, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I try to remember the varied (mostly less than noble) smells of the metro since I haven’t been underground for months.

Café life is the heartbeat of Paris. You meet friends. You stop at undiscovered cafés when you’re wandering. You dash in for coffee at a zinc counter or linger at a terrasse table while reading Proust or writing poetry. It’s just what you do.

Now, I look at the stacked chairs and the closed curtains and wonder . . . when.

The concept of aimless wandering is a part of Paris culture. Many writers have mentioned its infinite rewards. Getting lost to find new paths and hidden treasures is one of the best ways to explore Paris.

At the moment, we cannot wander too far. Next week, we will be given more range to roam, but any kind of expedition must still be done with caution, not with full-fledged freedom. It will be a while before the art of the flâneur will return in free-spirited form.

Five Things I Discovered During Confinement

Even living within the one kilometer confinement radius, the world continues to expand. Not just with the tsunami of internet culture, but with the new discoveries on the daily one-hour walk. Little by little, the world presents itself in new ways.

I have discovered more about my Île Saint-Louis neighborhood during confinement than I have in the 15 years I have lived here.

Confinement time warp is a luxury. I have stopped to look at the door carvings, the plaques proclaiming personalities past who lived in this building or that, the historic streets and 400-year-old buildings, and the hidden courtyards and sculptures.

I had walked by these things many times, but I had never really stopped to see.

Since I have spent every day at home, I have become more in tune with the rhythms of the neighborhood. I feel like an ancient settler, trying to predict the path of the moon or the movement of the tides by repetitive observation.

Now, I know what times of day the Republican Guard clip clops along the island streets. I know when the grocers take their breaks. And I see the empty buses cruising by at the same times each day, since there is nothing to deter their schedule (no traffic and no delays for people climbing aboard).

The cityscape changes when people are removed from the equation. Now, everything can be seen in its purest form . . . and in solitude.

The Seine river has been very quiet. There are few boats, so the surface is calm. The water so clean, you can see bottom.

Last, but not least, I admit that I am slightly addicted to Berthillon ice cream, which is a tradition of the Île Saint-Louis. The main Berthillon store has been closed—deemed “nonessential” by the city.

However, last week, a window opened offering Berthillon ice cream cones. It was an odd sign that “normal” might not be too far away.

To all the OIC Moments readers, stay safe, healthy, and sane. Travel inspiration can come in many forms during these challenging times. And, as you see . . . we’ll always have Paris.