Heroes and Villains-Bastille Day, July 14th.

“The flames licked up the walls of the Bastille as the angry crowds gathered at the base of the walls. Frightened soldiers cowered behind the hastily errected barracades. The angry mob advanced. Liberty, equality, fraternity, the famous words of Maximilien Robespierre -somehow those words seemeed completely misplaced as the revolution gained momentum.”

This is the France of the late eighteenth century; yet it could equally have been the France of Autumn 2005 as the riots that caught the worlds attention sent echoes reverberating back to the student uprising of the sixties. Every so often France explodes from its normal tranquil self into an angry rage of simmering jealousies and resentments. Yet pre-revolution days the Kings of the Louis era sent thousands of peasants to their deaths every decade during that century, in search of its impeialistic ambitions. So was the revolution a good thing or bad? Do the words of Robespierre come back to haunt, or are they France’s crowning glory? Do the ends justify the means? It is specualted that upto 40000 people lost their lives during the Reign of Terror that Robespierre instigiated. Justified or not in comparison to the hundreds of thousands sacrificed on the battlefields of the Kings of France ? Hero or villain?

What also of the France today? Will the real France stand up? Is it the France of Medecins Sans Frontieres and their Nobel Prize winning exploits across the forgotten world that lead the way with other humanitarian organisations? Alternatively the France that this w/e has been celebrating the dramatic release of Ingrid Betancourt out of several years of captivity in Columbia. Perhaps it is the France that sees Sarkosy mediating with Syria and Israel, entertaining President Assad. Or is the France that reaped devastation in Algeria, 1954-62 and continues to ignore the debt it owes even when the pain explodes under their noses through the riots of 2005?

And what of the UK? Would it have been better if we had gone through a revolution in those days of the late eighteenth century? Certainly all the ingredients were there to ferment a similar tinderbox. There would now be no royal family and without a doubt the church/state alliance, crumbling as it is, would not be there. Any revolutionaries out there want to comment or staunch Royalists that want to put up a defense?

So we begin a short series this week of heroes and villains. Who is you hero? And who are the modern day villains? You might not want to write 400 words, but maybe you just want to post one sentence below.

Whatever the answers we salute France this day for there is so much that inspires in this most beautiful of nations. Its July 14th… and that means Bastille Day!

Walking round the World-Monaco

The playground of the rich and the hosts of one of the most spectacular Grand Prix on the circuit; that is Monaco. A tax haven for those who need it least and a country of its own, squeezed as it is between France and Italy. Indeed, within an hour or two we were to put our feet down in three different countries; how strange is that!

I suspect I am biased; jealous I think not, but prejudiced, without a doubt. We were however, distinctly unimpressed with this concrete hamlet of a place. Somehow it felt as if we had walked through many a town or village unknown to but a few, but with far greater beauty than here.  Extreme wealth is so ugly; there would seem to so so few people who can handle the vast sums of money now owned by individuals, and yet retain something of the simplicity of the beauty of life.

For me, I was just glad that as I walked I had friends alongside me and the knowledge of a bed to sleep in at the end of the day. Talk of credit crunches and world banking systems gripped by fear were far from our thoughts as we revelled in the abandon of the journey we were on. This was a great adventure and none of us had any thought of wanting to exchange the freedom we were finding, out on the open roads of Southern Europe.Yes there were and are very real pressures upon many who had linked up with us. None of us are immune to the groans of the world systems. However, thoughts of such challenges could wait for another day. Right now we enjoyed the simplicity of just walking our way through one of the richest real estate areas of the world.

One of the greatest aspects to our journey was anyone could hook up with us. Some did just a few miles each day, others walked from dawn to dusk. It did not matter for the walking was a metaphor for much deeper journeys of the soul. There is indeed a rhythm and synergy that comes between the inner and outer journey. Often the physicality of walking provided the interface. To work hard on the road, and then relax at the end of the day over a beer, enjoying the laughter and intimacy of shared experiences is food for the care worn heart and sustenance to the soul.

The mystery and wonder of Genoa was the next treasure for us to enjoy.

Walking round the World-Marseille

For those of you who have been following, in Spring of 2005 I stepped out of my front door and haven’t quite returned yet! Giving myself to long distance walking I, amongst others, have wandered our way across Europe and into the Near and Middle East. Jumping on and off the walk to hold down the responsibilities of life this is the tale of this unfinished journey. For previous posts click on “Walking the World.”

Next week I want to follow a short series on heroes and villains. For now though let your imagination be fired as to what might happen should you step out of your front door one day. We pick up the journey having walked down through England and then from Calais through to Marseille.

Marseille

It is said of Marseille that it is the most northern city of Africa, such is the ethnic make up of this incredible gateway city of Southern France. To get here we had made our way down the Rhone Valley, with the snow capped Alps a spectacular backdrop. Again this took us a 100 kilometres out of our way, yet a city we had to pass through if we were truly to understand something of all that had cut loose across France during those days of the riots and civil unrest.

Marseille; a place where refugees and economic migraints have fled to and through over the generations. Many a tale will have been told in the harbour bars, of Armenians fleeing the genocide in Ismir, Turkey, or Algerians journeying north in search of their fortune. During the second world war this city saw whole mass movements of people as an orphaned continent growned under the strain of the bloodshed. For us however, it was a place of intrigue and rest before heading up into the glitzy coastline of Cannes, Nice and Monaco.

We had walked the length of France, from Calais to this Mediteranean port. Like memories of a long lost lover so this beautiful land of rivers and mountains had captivated our hearts. That this lover had other mistresses we were without doubt, and that we had walked this land during some of its darkest days since the student riots of the sixties, somehow added to the journey. France is indeed a country of many layers and we were all the richer for our weeks of walking into the southern sun.

As if to highlight the questions surrounding to whom France was indeed betrothed, one of the team walking in picked up a ring as it lay on the roadside on the outskirts of the city. We imagined it had been cast aside in some angry lovers quarrel. 30 months on from those dangerous days I believe the question remains. Who will France give itself to? As the USA and arch rivals England stand by, Germany continually offers flirtatious glances and indeed would be a worthy suitor, positioned strongly at the centre. However, the warnings of 2005 are not to be ignored lest France pretends that its deep and dark past with the proud woman of Algeria is not to rise angrily again.

Walking round the World-Paris

Walking down through Northern France we were like kids let out of school early, fooling around in the wonderful early Autumn sun. The rolling hills of Normandy were captivating and the wonder of the journey that lay before us totally exciting.

Anyone who has travelled will know that incredible feeling of leaving responsibilities behind and plunging out into the adventure of new horizons and new experiences. We were no different and those early days walking to Paris sparkled with promise.

Walking into the capital of France however was tough; not quite the welcome we expected from the city of romance. Tracking down a dual carriageway, brushing shoulders with 16 wheeled wagons was a foretaste of what was to follow as this crazy journey began to unfold. Dragging our tired limbs in through the Northern African Quarter of Paris began though to give us real insight into the Paris that the tourists do not see; the areas that, six weeks later gave birth to the riots that rocked France and caught the attention of the world. That’s the wonder of walking; no longer whisked along in the air conditioned bubble of public transport but out pounding each and every mile, allowing the dirt and grime of the city to mix with the sweat and blisters of the road.

What a city of contrasts. Relaxing as we did a stones throw from the Notre Dame Cathedral we  were totally oblivious to the tinder box burning away beneath the facade of the tourist trail. Soon, rather than the Eifel Tower it was going to be the fear and anger of rioters and police alike that caught the news world wide.

Since those Autumn days of enjoying the magic of that great city I have done some research of my own on the raw underbelly of Paris. It might help to put the riots into context.

• During the Algerian war of Independence, 1954-62, over 1 million Algerians were killed in what has been described as the most brutal conflicts France has ever been involved with. (Fisk, Robert,(2005) The Conquest of the Middle East, Harper).
• In October 1961, it is alleged that an unreported massacre of 300 Algerians took place in Paris as they protested about a night curfew imposed against them; their bodies dumped in the Seine. (Fisk, Robert,(2005) The Conquest of the Middle East)
• The French riots of Autumn 2005 started on the 25th Oct and ran at their peak through to the 14th Nov, spreading right across France. Many commentators blame a society that has marginalised the grand children of North African immigration.

Any comments or further insight?