Valbonnais – Quirieu, France Monday July 14th – French National Day

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I woke to the sound of bells going crazy, presumably to welcome July 14^th and French National Day. It did seem strange that ten to nine was the moment chosen to announce it and to rouse people, but I was sure that there must be a historical reason. But no – it was Yves trying to fix the chimes on the kitchen clock downstairs and going through nine hours of them in rapid succession. It was late enough anyway, with breakfast and a taste of the July 14^th parade on TV before we set off on a walk around the village. The parade is entirely a military affair, with 4000 members of the military and all the latest tanks and weaponry parading up the Champs Élysée in front of the President, Nicolas Sarkozy and invited foreign heads of state. The Navy parades on the Seine and the Air Force adorns the skies. France now has an entirely professional defence force but its reputation suffered over a recent incident, and the eye was on the President to see what his speech would include. A little while ago a soldier accidentally loaded his machine gun with live ammunition and, during a display exercise, killed some people and wounded several others, including children, in the crowd. Of course the army reacted with horror and many apologies, but not with sufficient speed or in a big enough manner to suit President Sarkozy. He made speeches which resulted in the resignation of the General in charge, and raised the hackles of many in the military. Now Yves and I watched the arrival of all the French Ministers, the neighbouring Heads of State, and presidents of nearly all the Mediterranean countries. It was fascinating to me because I have never seen most of them individually and Yves’ commentary was most informative. Every two minutes or so, the view would switch to the helicopter hovering over the Presidential Palace, and the real commentator would make another speculation on the President’s speech. It took over an hour for people to arrive and for nothing to happen, so I don’t blame the commentator at all. Finally, the car bearing Madame Sarkozy arrived, and she slid one beautifully shoed leg out, looking like a gracious model in a purple outfit, and proving that good bone structure is an excellent asset. Also that fashion is paramount here. And now it was time for us to watch the Presidential car from the air and to anticipate his speech yet again. The bands struck up, the precision marching and playing began, setting the tone for the formality and dignity of the occasion. Group after group of soldiers marched by with their standards.

At this point Yves and I had enjoyed so much of the part before the parade that we had run out of steam, and welcomed a diversionary stroll. Keith, Anne-Marie and Lydie had not felt the need to tune in so carefully, or indeed, at all in Keith’s case.

There were to be no festivities for National Day in Valbonnais as yet. With so many people nowadays having their own parties or being away, many towns celebrate but not on the actual day. Larger cities still have a community function on the day. Like all towns and villages, the Mairie (town hall) was bedecked with flags, but no-one was out and about at all.

The roads in Velbonnais are narrow and curving, with some buildings jutting into the roadway. In some places large curved mirrors are needed for driver and pedestrian safety. We walked down past the church (locked today but always open in Anne-Marie’s childhood) to the start of the village. Villages and towns start officially at the first town sign and the end is indicated by a sign with the name with a slash across it. In the country there can be an area of no-man’s land, but in many places the signs for one village starting and another ending are next to each other. So there we were, taking historic photos of each other at the town sign and wishing that the commune had finished filling and planting out the new garden beds beside the signs.

The buildings are old and interesting and create a very built up streetscape. Only a street or so back, farming activities and farm type houses can be seen, with one walled paddock housing an orchard, many varieties of poultry and some sheep and goats.

All through this village ramble, in every view, the mountains were soaring to the sky, their forested flanks giving way to stark rocky outcrops with a ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’ feel to them. Keith in particular was dying to climb them and I felt myself being drawn to them too. They were so much a part of this beautiful place that it seemed a pity only to look at them.

The parade in Paris continued. The French Foreign Legion, sporting big bushy beards, carrying axes (and even Yves couldn’t tell me why) and wearing aprons, marched by, as did troop after troop of other regiments. At last the grand finale; parachutists landing with precision in front of the dignitaries, bringing the parade to a close as the cameras focused on some of the four million spectators. I was hoping to see my friend Mary and her family, as they were probably there somewhere, but I searched in vain. Although this is badly jumping out of time sequence, I know that some readers can’t wait to hear what the President said. In brief, he said, “I have every confidence in the French armed services and their leaders” – a headline that was splashed all over every newspaper and news service. He was back in the good books again and the parade was a triumph etc etc.

We very much enjoyed our aperitif before lunch, which had been made by Lydie using walnuts and white wine. I know the ingredients and the method but must check the quantities before I can try it out at home. One of our discussions was about the use of ‘vous’ and ‘tu’ – they can both be used to say ‘you’ when talking to one person and I was keen to hear how you decide when to use the more formal ‘vous’. Yves, who calls his mother-in-law ‘vous’ or ‘Madame’, says that for him it is to do with age and respect. For Anne-Marie, it is age and respect, but also how well she knows someone. For example, she might use ‘vous’ to a younger person if she doesn’t know them well. Lydie was in favour of ‘vous’ and formal address for all older people, including relatives by marriage. Oops – I think I may have slipped into ‘tu’ with her occasionally because she is so sweet and kind. It is more like the etiquette of my childhood than of modern Australia. My mother addressed her neighbours, two older ladies who were very close friends to her, as Mrs (plus surname) and we addressed all our friends’ parents formally too. Keith mentioned that in some Victorian Primary schools the teachers are addressed by their first names, something that wouldn’t happen here.
After yet another lovely meal, Keith and I set off for a climb. We bore in mind the advice to keep on the same path for the return because the tall trees prevent people gaining a sense of where they. We also bore in mind that we were to walk the 120 kilometres back to Quirieu if we arrived back late from our adventures! I had spotted a sign to Belle Roche (Beautiful Rock), on our village walk and so that’s where we attempted to go. After a very short time the track led up a very steep incline and was hard going. Continuing its steep ascent, it wound under a fallen log and up a narrow overgrown alley between two old stone walls. After that it was all mountain – deciduous forest, fallen leaves, loose stones, narrow paths beside precipices, ever onward and particularly upward. Time was ticking away and eventually we had to accept that Belle Roche, and a view of its beautiful pink and amber stone, had eluded us. Luckily we did come to a creek with little waterfalls along it, rushing down between the rocks to eventually feed the lake below, so we felt that we had climbed to ‘somewhere’. Occasionally we were able to see out of the trees to glorious views of the valley and other encircling mountains.

We made it back in time and, after thanking Lydie for her wonderful hospitality, the return trip to Quirieu began. Yves stopped for us to see Napoleon and he certainly does cut a striking figure upon his steed. Napoleon marched back with his army from Elba in 1825, on his way to establish the Empire in Paris. He had taken the route through the Alps to avoid the Royalists in the Rhone Valley. As they marched towards Grenoble they met the troops of King Louis 18^th, marching out to stop him. He stopped his men and rode forward alone to meet King’s men.

“If there is any man amongst you who wishes to kill his Emperor, here I am.” No man raised arms against him and, without a battle, he and his men marched on to Paris. The statue was erected originally in 1868 in Grenoble at the Place d’Armes and was dismantled when the Empire fell in 1870, but replaced here at the Prairie of the Meeting, in 1929.

The mountains are beautiful but they can be deadly. Last year a tourist bus was unable to manage its braking over the descent and shot over the edge into the river, with many deaths. There are so many curves and the descent is continuous for so long that great care is required now, and I imagine that the snow season would increase the dangers.

It had been a wonderful trip away, but I had kept having a very strong sense of déjà vu that I couldn’t escape. It was only when I was in bed that I realised that every place I went, and all the people I met were, of course, familiar to me from Joel’s descriptions in 1995. Unlike those who tread in the footsteps of their ancestors, I had been treading in the footsteps of my descendant.