Apr 2009

The second of three entries on my trip around the World War I battlefields of Flanders. The Brooding Soldier in Flanders' Fields looks at the start of the war and the Second Battle of Ypres. This entry entitled A Young Nation Mourns Her Dead, published on April 8th, 92 years less a day from the battle, looks at the Battle of Vimy Ridge and the Canadian National monument that stands on the battlefield today. I died in hell - They called in Passchendaele looks at the Battle of Passchendaele and the end of the war.

Following on from the second battle of Ypres, trench warfare continued for the next couple of years, with much death and destruction but only small movements in the lines. By 1917, while still at a stalemate, the British and French forces were winning a war of attrition. The German forces, fighting on two fronts, had inferior numbers. The British army sought to exploit this by advantage by breaking the German lines and moving the war from the Trenches and out into the open.

The Battle of Arras was a month and a half long offensive on a number of fronts. The first attacks occurred on April 9, 1917.

One of the fronts was at Vimy Ridge. Vimy Ridge is a gradually rising escarpment on the western edge of the Douai plain, strategically important because it allows those at the top of the ridge to have unobstructed view for kilometres. The ridge had fallen under German control in October 1914 and by April of 1917 no one had been able to dislodge their hold on the ridge.

The 4 Canadian divisions that made up the Canadian Corps launched an attack on 5:30 am, Easter Monday, April 9th, using a combination of artillery, air attacks as support for the infantry charge up the hill. In preparation, the soft chalk ground had been lined with tunnels to connect the front lines with the reserves and supplies in the back.

Over the next four days the Canadians slowly made progress cutting into the German lines, and by nightfall on the 12th of April, the Canadians had captured the ridge. In the battle, Canada lost 3,598 men, and saw another 7,004 wounded.

The Battle of Vimy Ridge was the first time that the four divisions of the Canadian Army fought together as a single unit, and within Canada it is viewed as one of the primary events that gave Canada its identity as a nation separate and distinct from Great Britain.

It is atop Vimy Ridge that the largest of Canada’s World War Monuments sits. It is dedicated to all those Canadians who died during the Great War.

To the valour of their countrymen in the Great War and in memory of their sixty thousand dead this monument is raised by the people of Canada.
- Inscription on Memorial

The monument is also inscribed with the names of 11,285 Canadian soldiers who were killed in France but whose bodies were never found or graves were lost.

A cloaked figure stands at the front, or east side, of the monument overlooking the Douai Plain. It was carved from a single, 30-tonne block and is the largest piece in the monument. This sorrowing fi gure of a woman represents Canada—a young nation mourning her dead. Below is a tomb, draped in laurel branches and bearing a helmet and sword.
- from Veteran Affairs Canada website

Down the road from the memorial, through the pine forest, are a few different cemeteries with Canadian dead. As I walked between the cemeteries, the visitors centre and the memorial itself, the weather turned time and time again, going from sunny to cloudy to raining to hailing and back again in a matter of minutes, almost like 4 years worth of weather within a few hours.

As I wandered the cemetery, it was raining. I huddled up against the cold rain and tried to keep my camera dry as I took pictures, but couldn’t help but think about what these fields must have been like for a infantry man back during the war, when a full winter’s blast and hard rain would pelt them for weeks on end.

When the sun was out, though, I couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of the place, with the green ridge sloping down away from you, allowing you to view miles of beautiful French countryside, the pine forests rising up behind you. I would sometimes find myself getting lost in the beauty of the place, only to suddenly remember where I was and feel guilty for thinking nice thoughts about the scene of so much death.

Through the whole trip, I found myself alternating between a number of emotions: pride in my country; grief for those fallen; shame that I have never had to go through something like that, but also relief that I grew up in a place and time mostly featuring peace; wonder at the beautiful French and Belgian countryside; and even some sorrow that I never got to know my grandfather, who also fought in the war.

As I left Vimy Ridge and drove south, I saw a farmer cutting through a field that was fenced off. Like much of area around the ridge, it was closed off to human traffic due to the large amount of unexploded artillery shells and mines that still are buried in the scarred and undulating land today. In the 1990s a mine removal engineer, after successful de-arming a mine just a few weeks before, was killed in a tunnel collapse. In 2001, the entire village was evacuated after 170 tons of explosives containing mustard gas were found to be improperly stored.

The farmer, though, strode casually through a field which still might have had the fire power to kill him. He obviously was familiar with the land and knew where we could walk. It was his casual attitude that reminded me of what I had seen in Bolivia after rioting and fighting had brought the city to a standstill. As the rioting died down, the people of Bolivia got back out on the streets.

“Walking back to my hotel it was interesting to watch the people of La Paz on the streets. Some young boys were playing soccer on a street that was normally bustling with traffic, groups of people were having casual discussions on street corners, a young couple walked by my hand in hand. Less than 3 hours ago armed combatants had been running down these streets, and now people used them so casually.”

From ultimate horror, people just get on with life. To the farmer, this wasn’t the site of a horrific battle and proud Canadian achievement. This was a farm field, close to his own house and livestock, and the fastest path was through it.

After the dreadfulness, we pick ourselves up and move on. Life continues.

The first of three entries on my trip around the World War I battlefields of Flanders. This entry, The Brooding Soldier in Flanders' Fields looks at the start of the war and the Second Battle of Ypres. A Young Nation Mourns Her Dead published on April 8th, 92 years less a day from the battle, looks at the Battle of Vimy Ridge and the Canadian National monument that stands on the battlefield today. I died in hell - They called in Passchendaele looks at the Battle of Passchendaele and the end of the war.

In the late 1800s, European powers agreed to a number of pacts and alliances, all in an effect to maintain the balance of power, ensuring that no side had an upper hand. Whenever any one power would gain an upper hand, the result was a series of alliances and military build-ups to restore the balance of power. All this came to a head in 1914 with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austro-Hungary by a Serbian nationalist. This eventually caused the Austro-Hungarian empire to declare war on Serbia, triggering other powers to declare war, and like dominoes falling soon most of Europe was at war.

Germany started by invading neutral Belgium and Luxembourg and then marched into France. Germany made good progress until early September of 1914 and the Battle of Marne, with a combined French and British force stopped the advance. No side could push through the others lines, and so the armies dug in, building fortified trenches along a line that ran from the North Sea to the Swiss border.

“We think nothing of the shrapnel now, if we can get trenches – it is beastly in the open. Usually the men are lazy about digging at first, but after a little shelling they are all the other way, and it is most important that you prevent them digging the trench so deep that they can’t fire out of it.”
- Letter, Colwyn Phillips, Captain Royal Horse Guards, Klein-Zillebeke, November 1914.

For the rest of the war, this line barely moved, and those towns that were along this battlefront suffered serious damage. The battlefront passed through Flanders near Lille, France and almost directly through the nearby town of Ypres, Belgium.

Ypres had been captured by the Germans in the initial advance. In November of 1914 the allied forces recaptured the town in what would become known as the First Battle of Ypres.

The Germans sought to retake the town of Ypres, and in on the 22nd of April in 1915 started their offensive. The Germans had been advancing their military technology, and after an unsuccessful attempt three months earlier at the Battle of Bolimov on the Eastern Front, they unleashed the latest in military technology near Ypres at Gravenstafel Ridge. A yellow-green cloud released from 5730 canisters blew on the prevailing winds towards a line of French troops. The first use of chlorine gas on the Western front saw 6,000 French troops die within minutes. The heavier than air gas filled the trenches, forcing the French soldiers to climb out into the open and face the heavy enemy fire.

The attack left a six kilometre long line in the allied defences, but luckily for the Allies the Germans had underestimated the effectiveness of the attack, and didn’t have troops to take advantage. Throughout the night of the 22nd and the morning of the 23rd, British and Canadian troops backfilled the French positions, and the Germans were only able to gain 3 kilometres. The Canadians mounted an offensive out of Kitchener’s Wood.

A few days later the Germans tried the gas again, this time near St. Julien, where they released the gas on a line of Canadian troops. Aware of what the gas cloud was, the men wet their handkerchiefs, sometimes with urine, and covered their mouths. The Canadians were affected, and pushed back, allowing the Germans to briefly take the village of St. Julien, but the Germans were pushed back out again over the next few days.

In the 2 days, the Canadians lost a total of 6,035 troops. Today, Near St. Julien, stands a memorial to those that fought in this battle, inscribed with the message, “THIS COLUMN MARKS THE BATTLEFIELD WHERE 18,000 CANADIANS ON THE BRITISH LEFT WITHSTOOD THE FIRST GERMAN GAS ATTACKS THE 22ND-24TH OF APRIL 1915. 2,000 FELL AND HERE LIE BURIED.”

Rising almost 11 metres from a stone-flagged court, "The Brooding Soldier" surmounts a single shaft of granite - the bowed head and shoulders of a Canadian soldier with folded hands resting on arms reversed. The expression on the face beneath the steel helmet is resolute yet sympathetic, as though its owner meditates on the battle in which his comrades displayed such great valour. The statue is set in the middle of a garden surrounded by tall cedars, which are kept trimmed to perfect cones to match and complement the towering granite shaft.
- Veteran Affairs Canada Website

The fighting continued, and eventually the Germans got the upper hand, but it took over a month, and by the end Ypres was almost completely destroyed. The city had been evacuated of all civilians early in May, and during The Battle of Bellewaarde on May 24 and 25, the British finally retreated and ceded the city to the Germans.

“Monday 3 May 1915. At 4 o’clock, the lieutenant of the gendarmerie warned me that orders to evacuate the town had arrived, and the sector where we were living had to be evacuated by the following Thursday at the latest. We are all overtaken by deep despondency. After struggling for six months against every adversity, after having gone without comfortable everyday life for so long, with the one aim of being able to hang onto our houses, we have to resign ourselves to leaving all our things behind. What will we find when we come back?”
- Diary, Aime Van Nieuwenhove, secretary of the Comite Provisoire, Ieper

It was during the second battle of Ypres that a Canadian surgeon, Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae M.D. of Guelph, Ontario, Canada, wrote a poem which he titled “In Flanders Fields.”

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

We had just come over a small rise when we spotted another one. A small rise is really the only kind of rise that one can come over in this area, as the land is mostly flat and waterlogged, given how close it is to sea level. They don't call it the low countries for nothing, though technically this being France I am not sure they call it the low countries. Back in the day, though, when everyone here was chattering at each other in Dutch rather than French, before Louis the XIV brought the region once and for all under French rule, they called the whole area of Flanders the low countries, comprising parts of modern day Netherlands, Belgium and France. Besides, without border control anymore, it is sometimes hard to know what country you are even in. I know I am somewhere close to the France-Belgium border, but which side of it I am on is anyone's guess.

"If only you had a GPS, Henri," I said. He didn't respond, he just kept humming.

Anyway, we had come over the rise, and there it was sticking out above the green and brown farm fields, one of close to a million I had seen that day. Another church steeple.

The whole area around Lille seems to be the same background over and over, kind of like I am driving with Fred and Barney through Bedrock, and they keep passing the same 5 cartoon houses. The view here is much prettier than stone-age Bedrock, though. A green field, a stand of trees, a brown field, a green field, a cemetery, a small town with a pub, a few houses and a church with a steeple. Pass and repeat.

The whole purpose of my trip to Lille was to leave it. I came down to this area of France to see a number of WWI memorials, battlefields and cemeteries, and so I spent two days criss-crossing the French and Belgian countryside, with Virgin Radio playing on the radio.

Virgin Radio – is there anywhere you can go in the world that Sir Richard hasn’t branded already? That weekend I got up early on Sunday to watch the opening race of the Formula One season, and there he was in Australia milling around the paddock at the F1 race this weekend. Somehow he ended up with his brand splashed on the winning car. Regardless of the incessant branding, though, the radio station played a decent selection of tunes, though I heard that James Morrison song Broken Strings featuring Nelly Furtado about 4 times an hour.

So, it was just me, Virgin Radio and Henri, dashing around the French countryside.

Oh, how rude. I haven't introduced you yet to Henri. Henri Renault, my readers. Readers, this is Henri.

Henri is a Renault Twingo. I tell you it is a Twingo, because to my eye it looked like every other Renault on the road, all of which had different names. Henri was a very good companion and acquitted himself admirably all weekend long.

France is the 5th country I have ever driven in. Apparently France and I have something with multiples of 5, for France was also the 10th country that I had every visited back in 2005. It was also the 3rd country I worked in, but that isn't a multiple of 5, so we shall ignore it.

On the Saturday morning I was headed south towards Vimy along A1 when I saw a police car. A few seconds later, a white panel van shot past me. A few seconds after that, the police car whizzed past me with lights on. I caught up to the cop car and the panel van driving along the road, and realized that it wasn't a police car at all, but rather was a customs car. The car had a big lighted sign board on top that kept repeating "DOUANE SUIVEZ NOUS" - Customs Follow Us. At that point I realized that the panel van was from Belgium. I guess open borders don't necessarily mean free flow all the time.

The morning was spent wandering around the Canadian War Memorial at Vimy Ridge. It was very moving, but I will speak about the experience there and at the other WWI sites I visited in my next entry, so for now let us pick up the story back on the road, this time as I pull into Thélus.

Thélus is a town just south Vimy, and it seemed to be mostly shut up and closed down for the day. I was starving, however, having not had breakfast and with the sun now past its apex and now on its way down towards the west, eventually to set. I found an open tabac. Cigarettes are only sold in small shops called tabacs in France, which also tend to have lottery tickets and a small bar with a small menu of food. The one I pulled into seemed to offer at least some food, as there was a big sign on the windows announcing "SANDWICHES."

I walked into a smoky bar area where a number of older French gentlemen were standing around laughing and swapping stories. I walked up to the bar and waited while the bartender finished off an especially amusing anecdote. Once the regulars had been suitably entertained, he wandered over to take my order.

"Avez-vous une carte?" I asked, requesting the menu.

The bartender looked shocked for a moment, before regaining his composure and shaking his head grimly. "No, ce n'est pas possible," he said, before launching into a flurry of French that I didn't understand.

I stood dazed for a moment, and then replied with the only thing I could think of to say. "No?"

"No," the bartender said, a shrug in his voice. He then returned to his regulars at the other end of the bar where another hilarious story was in full swing. I stood quietly for a moment, hoping for some reprieve from my hunger, but seeing none coming, ended up having to leave the store quietly, my head down.

I returned to Henri, who had been waiting patiently outside. "I bet you would have gotten served," I said. Henri offered me a quiet sympathy, before roaring to life to taking me away from the tabac.

I don't know why I couldn't get a sandwich as advertised. Perhaps the kitchen was closed, though it being around one o'clock in the afternoon, I would think it to be prime lunch hour. Perhaps it was just obvious that I was not from around those parts and had a silly accent and not much command of the language, and they just don't serve my kind around there. I don't know. I do hope, however, that at least I become the prime character in one of the hilarious stories that fly around the smoky bar area. I'd hate to be forgotten.

From Thélus, I headed east along the backroads, basically driving towards any steeples in the hope that the town would have something to eat. I didn't have much luck, but did get some nice pictures along the way.

In Saily-en-Ostrevent, there was some pretty little houses and businesses. Sadly the pub was closed.

Up the road is Vitry-en-Artois, which had this abandoned looking train station. The train still stops here, but you have to buy your tickets using the automated machine. The station building is abandoned.

There was a bunch of old guys in really big wellies (rubber boots) gathering outside of this (sadly shut) pub. I don't know if they were farmers, hikers, hunters or grave diggers, but they looked pretty scary. Like the kind of people who would think nothing of killing the foreigner in town and burying his body in a shallow, muddy grave. Needless to say, I didn't linger around too long.

Just down the road, however, I came across my first chance of food in Douai. An Esso Gas station with an automated food machine. I bought a ham and cheese sandwich for €3.50, and immediately regretted it. I didn't open the sandwich, instead putting it on the seat beside me, and continuing my trip. 5 minutes down the road there was a McDonald's. Thank god for the unstoppable spread of American fast-food culture.

Douai is an absolutely stunning place with a beautiful medieval centre, including an imposing town hall that was glimmering in the sun. It also has a shockingly large amount of cars looking for a shocking small number of empty parking spaces, so all I could do was circle the town hall three times before heading back out of town. The image of the town hall's spire glistening in the sun is burned into my memory. You'll just have to imagine what it was like, though, because I need two hands to drive Henri and thus didn't have one free to snap a photo.

I did get a couple snaps from Douai, though, of this medieval gate. These were easier to get, as the gate was well outside the centre and thus parking was ample and free.

From Douai I headed back to Lille, my first days adventure complete. I got back to find that Lille traffic on a 5:30 PM on a Saturday is horrendous. It took me a good 45 minutes to cover the 3 kilometres or so from the motorway back to my hotel. Perhaps, given the ladies of the early afternoon that I saw walking the streets in Lille previously, these were all potentially Johns. Who knows, but I was glad to get back to my hotel room and a nice hot shower.

After my shower, I sat down to organize my photos. Feeling a little peckish, I opened up that ham and cheese sandwich. It was like biting into a wet newspaper, though wet newspaper probably has less chance of giving you e-coli. I tossed the sandwich in the bin, and again thanked McDonald's for the Big Mac. I'd hate to think what would have happened if I hadn't found that McDs and would have had to actually eat that ham and cheese.

"IT Consultant and travel blogger Greg Wesson was found dead today in a small Renault automobile outside of Douai, France. Mr. Wesson was apparently killed when a ham and cheese sandwich he was eating evolved to the point of being intelligent life, and choked the surprised Canadian. The sandwich, which had spent the previous year and a half languishing in an Esso gas station's automated sandwich machine, stated he was angry about being left in the vending machine for so long. 'Have you ever tried talking to a mozzarella and tomato baguette?' the sandwich asked. 'I mean, sure it is more evolved than the Pringles, but their views on workers rights are, frankly, stone age.' Mr. Wesson's blog will be continued by the people at Renault, who aim to use it to explain to a bewildered public how a Twingo is different than a Clio is different than a Mégane."

===

Sunday, after watching the Australian Grand Prix, I headed out in Henri, thinking to myself that I, driving my Renault, must be much like Alsonso, though in reality probably being more like Piquet Jr. I headed to the North-East this time, following the signs that were taking me to Ypres (Ieper), in Belgium. Traffic signs are bilingual up here, in both French and Dutch, so I get to learn the name of towns in two languages. Ypres or Ieper, I am still not sure how to say it. I know that in the Great War, the British soldiers stationed there called it Wipers.

Along the way to Ypres, I went through about 1,000 roundabouts. I am now a huge fan of the roundabout. They are so much more efficient and quicker than stop signs or stop lights, at least at anything up to a moderately busy intersection. For a really busy intersection, traffic lights make the most sense, but below that, the roundabout rules. You pull up, slowing down to check for any cars in the circle. If there are none, you go. If there is one, you stop. Simple, quick, and (so they say) a lot safer than traditional four-way intersections. Less chance of fatal head-on or T-bone crashes. If you are going to hit something, it is probably going to be a glancing blow along the side of the car. The kind of thing that makes body-work guys happy, but won't kill you.

Ypres is an old town, and quite pretty. The site of intense fighting during WWI, there were a number of site around the area that I wanted to see, so I used the place as a base for my driving for the rest of the day. I did take some time to wander around the pretty town centre, which has been gloriously restored to its Medieval beauty.

Much like the countryside in France, the country side in Belgium was made up of a lot of fields punctuated by the occasional small town with a tall steeple on their church.

Henri and I did have some drama, as I got lost trying to find my way from Ypres towards St. Julien.

Sadly, St. Julien wasn't on any of the maps I had, which is probably due to the fact that the only map I had was of Lille's city centre and thus was unlikely to have a small town in Belgium appear on it. St. Julien doesn't, unlike many towns, appear on the numerous road signs along the way.

I did however, somehow find St. Julien eventually. Happiness abounded.

From St. Julien, I was able to make my way back to France and Lille, thanks to the well marked road signs. If only St. Julien had been so well marked. The drive back to Lille gave me one last chance to listen to Virgin radio, drive a car on the right hand side of the road, feel the sun through the windows and keep an eye out for the towers as we crested the small rises.

"Look Henri, another steeple!"

Lille is a city in northern France, and is the principle city of the fourth-largest metropolitan area in the France behind those of Paris, Lyon and Marseille. Conveniently for those of us who live 10 minutes from St. Pancras station in London, Lille is also only 1 hour and 27 minutes minutes away from London, making it closer than Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool or Sheffield. Actually, I could almost make it to Lille in less time than it would take me to get to Heathrow airport.

Lille is very close to the border with Belgium, and due to its closeness to many cities in Belgium, is part of the eurodistrict of Lille-Kortrijk, which also includes the French cities of Roubaix, Tourcoing and the Belgian cities of Kortrijk, Tournai, Mouscron and Ypres.

I took the Eurostar from St. Pancras to Lille, and after arriving at my hotel in the mid-afternoon, headed out to see the town. I was staying in Vieux Lille (Old Lille), with lots of cobblestone streets and narrow, twisty streets.

While the street grid is medieval, most of the buildings date back to the early 1900s, rebuilt after the area was destroyed during the First World War.

As I was wondering around, I kept noticing all these women milling about in the street near my hotel in France. As it was just around 4 in the afternoon, I figured that perhaps they were waiting around for a drive from a boyfriend or a friend.

After wandering around for about an hour, I came back towards my hotel and noticed that the same girls were still milling around the hotel.

"Hmmm, seems strange that their boyfriend hasn't picked them up yet." The narrow streets meant that often cars seemed to be jammed up, perhaps there boyfriends were just late to pick them up.

No worries, I decided to keep wandering around.

Notre Dame de la Treille, the seat of the Catholic church in Lille was started in 1854. If you look at the picture and think to yourself it looks pretty modern for 1854, that's because the church wasn't finished until 1999, thus the modern looking front facade. The back of the church is much more traditional gothic looking.

After a wander around, I decided to pop into a bar and have a drink. There was a few nice bars on Place Notre Dame de la Treille, so I decided to pop into the Aux Arts at the corner of the Place and Rue d'Angleterre.

Being so close to Belgium, beer is king here in Lille instead of wine as in other places in France.

Despite beer being readily available, it is very pricey though. My first beer was €3.90. €3.90 for a beer??? That's almost £3.70... and it's only 25 cl! We get full pints in Blighty, thank you very much!

My wallet much lighter, I headed back towards my hotel, taking a round-about route through the centre of town.

I headed back to my hotel, and those same girls were still there waiting around for a ride. Wait a second, perhaps these women aren't waiting for a ride at all... or at least, not a ride from their friends. I think I might in staying in the red light district of Lille. Nah, not possible. I'm in the tourist laden old town, this isn't where the working girls would be!

I went up to my room, and after a quick shower and a quick surf of the internet, headed out for dinner. All the women that were milling around previously are all gone. I had a nice dinner of Sushi for dinner. It was weird having Sushi and Yakitori and listening to the Asian chef and waiter talk to each other in French. After dinner, I returned to my hotel, noticed that none of the girls were still around.

"See, they must have finally gotten picked up by their boyfriends," I said to no one, and carried on my way.

First night of vacation, I wanted to get out and have a good time on the town. But at €3.90 a beer, I gotta do something better than that. Luckily, Lille is a university town, of course there was a few places to drink for cheap. I head down Rue Massena , I find what is a universal truth - where students drink, cheap drinks are to be found. Pints (actual pints in the Irish pub, 50 cl is other places) for €4, with a discount to €3.50 at happy hour!

After a few pints, I head back to my hotel. It has rained, and the cobblestones of the old town are glistening in the street lights. Perhaps it's the pints of beer, but it is beautiful.

= = =

The next day, after a drive about that I will talk about in a few future blog entries, I returned to my hotel in the afternoon and was offered sex by a nice blonde woman who appeared to be waiting for a ride at the corner of the street.

"I know you must be bored, waiting for your ride, but I don't think that is a safe and appropriate way to pass the time," I said, though I am not sure she understood me, what with her speaking French and all. Either way, a car came along soon after and picked her up, so it looked like her boyfriend was just a few minutes late.

After a quick freshen up in the hotel, I headed to the north-west of the centre of the town to see the Citadel.

The Citadel of Lille is a pentagon-shaped citadel that was part of the city wall of Lille. It was built in 1668, part of a massive fortification by the Marquis de Vauban, who fortified 28 cities in France for Louis XIV to keep out the Spanish. The citadel in Lille was dubbed "Queen of the citadels" (Reine des citadelles) by Vauban, and it is one of the most notable citadels designed by Vauban. The citadel was part of a double line of fortified towns of Gravelines, Dunkirk and Maubeuge-Rocroi, called the pré carré ("square field").

Obviously, the Spanish aren't so much of a threat anymore, so the outer wall of the citadel has been allowed to fall apart.

The inner wall, however, is still well maintained. Today the citadel is home to the the Corps de réaction rapide France, which is a joint organization of the French Army and NATO.

The citadel is surrounded by a large area of parklands and forests, and heading back through the Champs Mars I saw that the circus was in town.

They call it la cirque in French

= = =

The next night I went out again for seafood. Despite all the brouhaha that the French make about being food experts, they don't even have their own words for escargot, souffle, or au jus! Seriously, and they call themselves cooks.

Coming home, I noticed a few more women hanging around on the street waiting for rides. "Geez girls, it is almost 11:30! Your boyfriends are running very late," I said, but I don't think they understood me, what with me speaking English and them speaking French and all. I mean, they had some pretty confused looks on their faces, so I decided to try a little trivia on them.

"Did you know that the French don't even have a word for à la carte or à la mode?" I said. "It's a good thing we English came along and invented these words for you, otherwise you would never be able to get apple pie with ice cream!"

I thought it was a good piece of trivia, but the girls didn't seem pleased with it. Probably upset at their boyfriends for not picking them up yet.

= = =

My final day in town, and more wandering around Lille.

Charles De Gaulle, who I think may have something to do with airplanes and airports due to the airport in Paris being named after him, was born here in Lille. Apparently, beyond just running airports, he was also President of France for a time back in the 60s. It is true, because I checked it out. I read a google about it while I was reading my imail and listening to my epod.

Just after leaving CDG's birth place, I was propositioned by a woman. It was 10 in the morning.

"Off work already? Must be nice to have a boyfriend that he's able to take a few hours off work to pick you up."

"stupide imbécile Anglais!"

Must mean thank you...

= = =

Lille is an important stop on the TGV and Eurostar network, making a convenient transfer point between France, Belgium and English.

The station is topped by a big L shaped building.

The station sits on Place Mitterrand, named after the former president who opened the station after the chunnel was completed.

Not far away is Euralille, which is a big shopping mall.

It is INCREDIBLY pink, but it does have pirates!

Heading out from Euralille is Gare du Lille Flandres and Place De La Gare, the train station handling regional trains and the square out front.

You may wonder what the deal with the giant babies with the wings is. You would not be alone. I think it has something to do with Europe XXL, which I think is an art exhibit taking place across multiple countries and cities, including Lille. Either that, or giant mutant babies were rampaging through Lille, and were only stopped when exposed to the light from the Orb of Arkzon, which turned their alabaster skin into hard as granite ebony. Hard to say which is the truth, really.

Heading off from the train station along the streets of Lille felt very much to me like being in Paris. This typical scene of Hotels and Restaurants on Rue de Tournai reminded me of many of the wide boulevards in Paris that Haussmann created. I wondered if Lille copied Paris back in the mid-1800s and created the wide boulevards, or if they built them after the demolition of most of the city during World War I.

St. Maurice Church is just a few blocks from the train station, and the square out front was busy with shoppers taking a quick break, or office workers grabbing a late lunch.

It has some nice detail on the church, one of those places you could stare at for hours, and still find new things to see.

Leading from St. Maurice is a pedestrian shopping area, anchored by Rue Des Tanneurs, named, I guess, after tanners. It was all shut up when I was there. Not sure if it was an early victim of the credit crunch, or they don't open on Mondays, or everyone had just wandered off to lunch. Probably the last one.

In the Place de la République, I found a few statues, water features and the acclaimed Museum of Fine Arts.

The Palais des Beaux-Arts de Lille houses the second largest collection of fine art in France, with only that show-off the Louvre besting it. In fact, I read some piece of tourist propaganda that claimed that because of the the Louvre is art works on loan, that Lille's museum is actually the largest PERMANENT collection of art in France.

Either way, both the Louvre and the Palais des Beaux-Arts have something in common, in that I didn't go into either of them. Luckily, the Palais in Lille is one of those places that people say "Even the building is a work of art," so at least I can say I saw something.

Just down from the Museum is the Old Paris Gate at Place Simon Vollant. This Arch was built on the city walls from 1685 to 1692, to celebrate Louis XIV's conquest of Lille in 1667, and opened on to the road to Paris (thus the name). At the top, Victory, sitting amongst trophies of arms and flags, places a crown of laurels on the head of Louis XIV, which is carved in a medallion. On the right, in a niche, Hercules, with his club, symbolises strength. To the left is Mars, the god of war.

Today, it sits in the middle of a round-about. But it still is pretty. And you can see Lille's impressive town hall quite clearly from the centre of the roundabout. Built in the 1920s, the town hall is quite impressive. The clock tower was the first building in Paris to be over 100 metres in height, and today is a World Heritage Site.

Saint-Sauveur Church was designed by architect François-Joseph Delemer , and built between 1896 and 1902. It is a mix of the "eclectic style and neo-byzantine," according to something I just googled. Never doubt the internets.

Down the street is the Noble Tower. Erected during the 100 years war, it was one of 65 towers protecting the city of Lille. It didn't work, and when the city fell, it was turned into an ammunitions depot. In 1975 it was made the Memorial of the Resistance and the Deported, in honour of those who were part of the resistance during WWII.

And with that, I return to Gare Lille Euorpe, and get ready to head back to Londres.

The train station is modern glory inside, but once you get into the secure area for the Eurostar, it's all airport-waiting room chic in the lounge, and dank basement - early dungeon in the track area.

Eventually, the train comes and rescues me from the dark, cold and unpleasantly moist rail platform, and we fly 'cross the French countryside getting ready to dip into a tunnel and under the English channel.

1:27 minutes later, I was back in the land of pints and fish and chips. Amazing world we live in, no?

I am not quite done with Lille and the area yet. Much like Marley warning Scrooge about the 3 ghosts to come, I warn you for three blog entries to come. I rented a car while in France, and thus saw a little bit of northern France and Belgium's countrysides, and I also visited a few sites related to WWI. So over the next few days, be prepared for 1 stupid entry on my driving in France and Belgium, and 2 serious entries about the battlefields, monuments and cemeteries of World War I.