In 2019, I started at the École Polytechnique, a prestigious French engineering school where students undergo military training with the air force, army or navy. I was sent to the naval school in September for two months of basic training. I was then qualified to be part of the mechanics and engineering team, and could choose my next placement. I signed up to go on a nuclear submarine, which can stay underwater for up to 10 years without surfacing.
I really wanted to go out into the ocean, although I was nervous when we went for the first time. I got used to it after a few trips back and forth for training, and was eager to embark on a longer journey.
In January 2020, I left for a patrolling mission, along with a 75-person crew. I had got to know everyone quite well, which made me feel confident that everything would run smoothly. The main goal of the mission was to navigate through the water, identifying boats and aircraft with our sensors while remaining undetected. We were the eyes and ears of the French navy, 300 metres under the ocean.
Being in a submarine is a bit like being in a spaceship. Letters from family were allowed – to keep crew members motivated – but, for safety and discretion, all communication from the crew’s families was seen first by navy staff who removed any content that could cause panic on board. For example, if my partner broke up with me through a letter, that might be censored.
We received regular news bulletins with updates on politics and football games, but not much about things that could affect the crew’s efficiency and psychological state. The only news I received from my family were things like “Your brother won his judo competition” or “We miss you”.
In February 2020, as Covid started to emerge in Europe, the navy began filtering out all Covid-related news in our bulletins, which meant that we basically stopped receiving any news at all. They asked our families not to send anything that would worry us. My mum later told me she had written to me about Covid several times, but I never read any of that in her letters.
Throughout March and April, we had no idea that Covid was even a thing, let alone that France was under strict lockdown. We only found out in mid-April 2020, two days before we were set to come back. The radio channels on the submarine announced the news: “There is a deadly virus. It has arrived in France; you can’t leave your home.” The navy probably thought: “The country is locked down. We have to explain what’s going on.”
Everyone else in the world had weeks to follow the news, whereas we were suddenly bombarded with information that didn’t make any sense. “Lockdown” was a new word to me; I didn’t know what to expect.
When I got out of the submarine, I got my phone back and received weeks’ worth of panicked messages, along with explanations about Covid and the lockdown. My stepdad sent a detailed plan of how and where to buy a mask – I’d never worn one before.
I took a train back to Paris, where my family lives, and was completely disoriented. People had masks and gloves on. I was not at all in this mindset. Nothing made sense to me. The streets were empty and I was just thinking, “Where is everyone?”
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I tried to hide the feeling that I was arriving from another planet, so on the train, I put over my mouth a fireproof hood that had been given to me by the navy. I just thought, everyone is hiding their mouths, so I’ll do it, too, even though I didn’t know why.
I had to adjust to being locked down with my family 24/7 after not talking to them for months. The transition was harsh, but the rest of the time was similar to everyone else’s: online classes, family time, not going out.
Today, I am an intern at the French National Centre for Space Studies and I’m almost done with my engineering degree. Looking back, I feel returning to a different world was a unique opportunity. I had two lockdowns: one underwater, then one at home. I couldn’t say which one felt weirder.
As told to Livia Giannotti
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