Surreal But Shared: A Food Bank in the Heart of the French Alps
Finally standing still is uncomfortable. At least darting around town to pick up spare food and prepare the shop was all-consuming. Looking around the small premises of K9 Cafe, every surface bursts with produce. Packets of herbs squeezed between fresh fruit and veg, crates of milk and juices stack next to swarms of canned goods and dried staples, spices, and unopened jams and spreads. The small fridge in the kitchenette is packed full of cheeses, meats, yoghurts and butter. And amongst the food, a lone bottle of Jagermeister sits half-full, probably left by a tourist fleeing Morzine.
Less than 18 hours prior, news had just broken in France: all non-essential businesses were to shut from midday because of COVID-19. Sat around the table with friends, lighthearted chatter turned to disbelief and angst. We hadn't anticipated a side of shock with dinner, but it was the only thing we could taste.
First, the questions: What would happen to work? Would we be allowed to see each other? Would we be able to go outside at all? What about families? The local businesses? And then, action.
For my wildly lovely friend Cécile Burton, community has always been an undeniable force in her life. Coming from a huge family: 6 half-sisters, 3 half brothers, 17 nephews and nieces, and 36 cousins, being part of a collective is just a natural state of existence. Born to a French mother and half-English, half-Lithuanian father, however, her bilingual upbringing branded her as an outsider at school. She clearly remembers being the "foreigner", always conscious of being "other" to the English kids of Oxfordshire. Decades later, while working in the Jungle of Calais' refugee crisis, she realised that her activism was driven by these early experiences.
It was unnerving how quickly the call for full lockdown had come. But as with any crisis; with urgency comes action. Moving swiftly, we swooped up surplus food from anyone who would donate it, to redistribute it to those who would need it. For Morzine’s local charity Montagne Verte, a food bank was the obvious solution. Under the soft voice that guides our organisation, Cecile’s fierce determination reverberates definitively; warmth and compassion balance against indisputable morals and I think to myself, as I have many times before, how the world could use more open-hearts like hers in these unlikely times.
Leaving the readied food shop, President Macron's speech that evening outlined the rules of lockdown. No one was to leave home unless essential, for no more than 1 hour, 1km from home, with papers stating who you were and what you were doing. It was incomprehensible, especially to a town built on the merits of freedom in the outdoors.
Cécile was back at K9 early, but it felt different now. Food donors kept coming, and so did the people. The police ordered more strict distancing measures: only 2 in at a time, with a 1m spaced queue across the road. Between the apocalyptic atmosphere, strangers and friends chatted and reassured each other. The food bank was a window into everyone's worlds. People looked nervous and fragile but also visibly united by the experience. However surreal, it was shared.
Kim Dekker, the self-assured Danish women who owned K9 Cafe - a dog grooming salon in more normal times - was a force in those two days. "Let's just get it done" was her mentality. Her big heart, a testament to the abundance of shy single mums and struggling business owners who felt open to receiving help from her.
Community is so engrained here, it's not surprising that the line to drop off and collect food at the bank continued until the minute lockdown started. "What is it the guy from that film Into the Wild says? 'Happiness is only real when shared'. You know, before he got eaten by a bear", Cécile laughs nervously when we talk about coming together for one another.
It seems that the community of Morzine will only be accentuated and strengthened by this time. As our shared values become ever more apparent in these, dare I say, unprecedented times, perhaps we will realise we cannot survive without one another. Perhaps there will be more energy for the common good.
I like that vision. Somewhere we can thrive together.
