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I have a confession to make: I recently fled Quebec for a week, a refugee from Legault’s 2.0 curfew-and-confinement rules.
A friend told me about an available condo in Florida, my wife and I made a last-second decision to briefly escape and work remotely. But the second we landed, it felt like we’d arrived on another planet.
While Quebec is in full confinement mode, Florida is Cowboyland, where you barely know COVID is happening, despite much higher new case and hospitalization rates than ours .
It’s lunacy by Canadian standards, but an eye-opening experience. For starters, everyone’s out and about, filling bars, restaurants, movies, gyms, and jam-packed sports arenas.
Stores and supermarkets don’t require masks but some cashiers and customers wear them, though often under their nose or chin — Florida-style. It seems a way of announcing: “Look — I’m masked!” when they’re not.
Restaurants are fully open and peeking into some, they’re mobbed. Waiters can choose whether to wear masks, and at least half don’t.
In ever-friendly America, some customers even shake hands with their waiters before leaving, to say: “Thanks, I’ll have some germs for dessert.”
It’s easy to spot Canadians at restaurants, as we’re the ones properly masked and nervously sitting on the terrace, even in the rain.
You can see the difference in the media, too. In Quebec, COVID totally dominates the news, because there’s almost nothing else happening.
In Florida, it’s the reverse.
I checked the prestigious Miami Herald recently on a day Florida had risen to more than 70,000 new daily cases — almost twice as many per capita as Quebec, much like their hospitalizations.
But the first mention of COVID anywhere in the paper was exactly 18 stories down, with the headline: “Amid Omicron surge, hospitals are stretched thin. What can Florida lawmakers do?”
Ignore it, as always, I guess. Meanwhile, the 19th story was: “Florida COVID update: 71,742 new cases as hospital patients increase.”
Among the many stories played far higher up were: “Miami Marlins name managers for minor-league affiliates” and “Microbial contamination in laxative can cause a ‘life-threatening’ infection.”
But that still beats NBC TV’s Florida website that day, which ran this story way ahead of COVID: “Police officer kills dog in Miami-Dade after barking complaint.”
It’s hard to make this stuff up. Meanwhile, in La Presse the same day, the top six stories were about COVID.
By any measure, Florida life seems surreal, as if everyone’s wearing blinders and trying not to notice a disease that’s killed more than 63,000 Floridians. That’s about twice as many deaths as in all of Canada, in a state with two-thirds our country’s population.
It’s health madness, but there’s a psychological upside, since COVID doesn’t dominate all life like here. We Montrealers live in a tense, depressing pandemic bubble — all-COVID, all the time — which is why many people avoid following the news.
In Florida, entire conversations happen without the C-word mentioned, unless you bring it up — which, of course, I did. I asked a group of seven 60-somethings I met at a restaurant terrace how they felt about Florida’s non-existent pandemic rules.
Every last one said they loved how Florida handles things. In the words of one woman “Our philosophy here is: I look after myself and you look after yourself. If you want to wear a mask indoors, you should. If you don’t want to go to a restaurant, you shouldn’t.”
When I asked about our collective responsibility to protect others she shrugged and said: “That’s just not how we think here.”
I mentioned Quebec’s recent curfew, but they all just laughed, dismissing it as “Canadian communism.” Many others obviously agree as more people moved to Florida during the pandemic than any other state .
Thousands of Quebecers have also looked into moving there since the pandemic.
It’s a tale of two worlds. Like most Canadians, I still think collective safety trumps some individual rights. But I’d prefer something between the cowboy individualism of Florida and the heavy-handed paternalistic rules of Quebec during this fifth wave.
Our curfew was lifted, but we still can’t legally invite anyone to our home, while other Western countries and Canadian provinces allow from five to 20 guests.
Britain, France, Spain and other European countries are starting to “live with Omicron ” like the seasonal flu, and dropping many emergency measures. Ontario plans to do likewise. When, if ever, will Quebec?
To fly home we needed a COVID PCR test, almost impossible to come by in Montreal, with lineups hours long at most hospitals. Consequently, the Quebec government won’t allow anyone but the very sick to take them, while travellers must go to private clinics and pay perhaps $200.
Meanwhile, every Florida pharmacy does free PCR tests, even for travelling foreigners. It seems bizarre in a country with no universal medicare, where people are often bankrupted by medical bills.
But when we went for our free test at a pharmacy, there were a dozen people waiting, all wearing masks, the only place I’d seen that all week.
For the first time, it felt a bit like home.
Archive
I have a confession to make: I recently fled Quebec for a week, a refugee from Legault’s 2.0 curfew-and-confinement rules.
A friend told me about an available condo in Florida, my wife and I made a last-second decision to briefly escape and work remotely. But the second we landed, it felt like we’d arrived on another planet.
While Quebec is in full confinement mode, Florida is Cowboyland, where you barely know COVID is happening, despite much higher new case and hospitalization rates than ours .
It’s lunacy by Canadian standards, but an eye-opening experience. For starters, everyone’s out and about, filling bars, restaurants, movies, gyms, and jam-packed sports arenas.
Stores and supermarkets don’t require masks but some cashiers and customers wear them, though often under their nose or chin — Florida-style. It seems a way of announcing: “Look — I’m masked!” when they’re not.
Restaurants are fully open and peeking into some, they’re mobbed. Waiters can choose whether to wear masks, and at least half don’t.
In ever-friendly America, some customers even shake hands with their waiters before leaving, to say: “Thanks, I’ll have some germs for dessert.”
It’s easy to spot Canadians at restaurants, as we’re the ones properly masked and nervously sitting on the terrace, even in the rain.
You can see the difference in the media, too. In Quebec, COVID totally dominates the news, because there’s almost nothing else happening.
In Florida, it’s the reverse.
I checked the prestigious Miami Herald recently on a day Florida had risen to more than 70,000 new daily cases — almost twice as many per capita as Quebec, much like their hospitalizations.
But the first mention of COVID anywhere in the paper was exactly 18 stories down, with the headline: “Amid Omicron surge, hospitals are stretched thin. What can Florida lawmakers do?”
Ignore it, as always, I guess. Meanwhile, the 19th story was: “Florida COVID update: 71,742 new cases as hospital patients increase.”
Among the many stories played far higher up were: “Miami Marlins name managers for minor-league affiliates” and “Microbial contamination in laxative can cause a ‘life-threatening’ infection.”
But that still beats NBC TV’s Florida website that day, which ran this story way ahead of COVID: “Police officer kills dog in Miami-Dade after barking complaint.”
It’s hard to make this stuff up. Meanwhile, in La Presse the same day, the top six stories were about COVID.
By any measure, Florida life seems surreal, as if everyone’s wearing blinders and trying not to notice a disease that’s killed more than 63,000 Floridians. That’s about twice as many deaths as in all of Canada, in a state with two-thirds our country’s population.
It’s health madness, but there’s a psychological upside, since COVID doesn’t dominate all life like here. We Montrealers live in a tense, depressing pandemic bubble — all-COVID, all the time — which is why many people avoid following the news.
In Florida, entire conversations happen without the C-word mentioned, unless you bring it up — which, of course, I did. I asked a group of seven 60-somethings I met at a restaurant terrace how they felt about Florida’s non-existent pandemic rules.
Every last one said they loved how Florida handles things. In the words of one woman “Our philosophy here is: I look after myself and you look after yourself. If you want to wear a mask indoors, you should. If you don’t want to go to a restaurant, you shouldn’t.”
When I asked about our collective responsibility to protect others she shrugged and said: “That’s just not how we think here.”
I mentioned Quebec’s recent curfew, but they all just laughed, dismissing it as “Canadian communism.” Many others obviously agree as more people moved to Florida during the pandemic than any other state .
Thousands of Quebecers have also looked into moving there since the pandemic.
It’s a tale of two worlds. Like most Canadians, I still think collective safety trumps some individual rights. But I’d prefer something between the cowboy individualism of Florida and the heavy-handed paternalistic rules of Quebec during this fifth wave.
Our curfew was lifted, but we still can’t legally invite anyone to our home, while other Western countries and Canadian provinces allow from five to 20 guests.
Britain, France, Spain and other European countries are starting to “live with Omicron ” like the seasonal flu, and dropping many emergency measures. Ontario plans to do likewise. When, if ever, will Quebec?
To fly home we needed a COVID PCR test, almost impossible to come by in Montreal, with lineups hours long at most hospitals. Consequently, the Quebec government won’t allow anyone but the very sick to take them, while travellers must go to private clinics and pay perhaps $200.
Meanwhile, every Florida pharmacy does free PCR tests, even for travelling foreigners. It seems bizarre in a country with no universal medicare, where people are often bankrupted by medical bills.
But when we went for our free test at a pharmacy, there were a dozen people waiting, all wearing masks, the only place I’d seen that all week.
For the first time, it felt a bit like home.
