Once we hit April in Arras, time started to fly by, partly because most of us were in the process of doing exchanges to either Vimy or BH. This gave us each the opportunity to spend a few days working at the other site and to learn more about the history there while honing our guide skillz. Meanwhile, the sites were getting busier, and special events throughout the month contributed to the quickening pace of our session.
The April 9th ceremony at Vimy (the 94th anniversary of the battle) was an especially poignant event, with delegates from the local, national and international political community present, as well as Canadian officials, soldiers and visitors. While each of us had über-important duties for the day (such as pointing at the parking lot when cars drove up, taking wreaths from one vehicle and placing them in another, or telling older women that they weren't allow to lean on the monument), special props are certainly due to both Lisette, who gave a moving speech about her great-grandfather's involvement in the war, and Sahar, who sang O Canada and La Marseillaise so amazingly well that she was invited to sing them again two weeks later, this time at a preliminary World Hockey Championship game between Canada and France in Paris. Regardless of our special job that day, (including that of Laura and Kariane, our two lone guides at BH) we took advantage of the fact that everyone was, for once, in town, and headed out that evenings for dinner and some drinks. As per usual, the drinking delved to different depths for different individuals, and the night ended with me being confronted by an angry Acadian, several items being mysteriously hidden around Vauban, and a particularly memorable walk down Maple Lane for me the next day.
Over the course of our three months in Arras, many of us took the opportunity to use Northern France for a jump-off point to visit other European destinations. A lot of us explored more of France, some made it as far as Morocco, and two even made it to the Royal Wedding in London. Still more of us used up several days off drinking at The Great Canadian Pub in Paris (once with special guests MJ and Thomas), although the Pub itself was met with varying degrees of satisfaction. (Although I'm sure everyone would agree that any night someone doesn't follow through on their threats to jump into the Seine is probably a good night).
In early April, following up on the jaunt Sahar and I took up to Mont St-Michel, I flew to Lisbon, Portugal to meet up with John Thomson, a friend that Meghan and I had met on our whirlwind Eurotrip in 2007. During our trek through Eastern Europe, and hazy after a night-long train ride through Serbia and Bulgaria, Meghan and I were astonished to hear someone (namely John and his travel mate, Richard) speaking English in, of all places, the Sophia train station. They joined us for lunch, we mocked the Bulgarian menu mercilessly, and the rest is history. (And could certainly warrant a blog post of its own). Anyway, upon my arrival in Lisbon, John guided me through the streets of the city, stopping at mny of the requisite tourist and historic locales as we went. Over the course of my two-days in Lisbon, we visited many sites, including (but not limited to) Castelo de São Jorge, an eleventh-century castle that figures into much of Lisbon's history, the Monument of the Discoveries, dedicated to Portugal's rich past of discovery and conquest, and Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in continental Europe. It was such a thorough tour that at one point I had to buy new €12 shoes at a Chinese corner store after tripping over my own feet and busting up the sandals I was wearing. After a great but exhausting weekend with John, his Mom cooked us a Sunday evening dinner, and I gunned it to the airport in order to get back to Arras in time for work the next morning.
In addition to watching time speed by, we were also becoming adept at two very important occurances at Vimy and BH: delaing with stupid questions and telling people to stop doing stupid things. By this point we were all used to the usual "Are you actually Canadian?", "Who won the war?" and (by far the most common) "Where were the toilets?" kind of questions, but there were also some astoundingly ridiculous queries made over the course of our three months. My favorites:
(noticing the number of Indian gravestones in one of the Commonwealth Cemeteries on-site) "So, where were all the Indians from?",
"Did all lieutenant-colonels have to be left-handed?",
"So these craters were caused by glacial retreat, right?",
(pointing at the figure of Canada on the monument) "Is that Jesus?",
"What was going on in South America at this point in time?",
and, my favourite,
(pointing at the pictures of all the guides in the Visitor's Centre) "Are those all the people who died here?"
Unfortunately, the ridiculousness at the sites was not isolated to questions, and that meant that a large part of our duties included yelling at people who were being morons on-site. Again, the usual biker or unleashed dog is to be expected, but I would say about 75% of my time on the monument was spent dissuading people from inappropriately posing with the figure of the mourning woman. Then there were people like the parents who would give plastic AK-47s to their kids and get them to run around the trenches shooting at each other. Or the bus driver who did do doughnuts around the parking lot trying to dislodge a sneaker from the roof of his bus, while the kids from his bus rans around the parking lot and the bus. (He got such a stern talking to that I almost made him cry).
But just in time to serve as a relief for all the yelling and tears, the canival came to Arras! Now, I am not much of a carnival type of person, but I'll have to say that one night with my favourite Canadians in France, a couple beer, cotton candy, bumper cars and walking around in giant inflatable balls on water goes a long way to help forget even the worst Sunday at Vimy.
Then, all of a sudden it was Easter. And then it was ANZAC Day. And then Kariane got conjunctivitis. And then, as suddenly as it began, the session was over. Fourteen new guides invaded the sites and took away my beloved Galaxy while we finished out Lame Duck Week while the newbies were getting fully trained and ready to take the reins. While our last day wasn't until Monday, May 2nd, the wheels started to come off the Saturday previous, when a thunderstorm ended our tour day early, and we all got a little hyper. The next day was a typical Sunday, with French people just crawling all over the place (I had to tell people on an unprecedented five occasions to get down from the Mourning Woman, and then tell two teenagers to 'degage' themselves from the site, after I caught them throwing rocks at the kiosk). On Monday, Vimy had a full staff of eighteen, with the newbies shadowing the pros as we went into the tunnels once last time. That night Vauban had one of its most memorable parties of the session (other honourable mentions include Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter and that random night with the blue-haired pansexual and native headress), this time in the basement, theoretically to cut down on the mess made in the house. André and Kristie showed up, and Arlene even put in a strong performance during our Vimy-BH version of King's Cup. A good night was had by all, although my memories of later in the night are about as blurry as Kariane's photos.
Unfortunately, the next morning I found that my theory about the basement party to mess ratio was invalid, and I was left holding the bag... actually, 12 garbage bags full of cans and bottles and food and garbage. Luckily I had the time to waste given that my train was at 12:10, while pretty much everyone else had flown the coop, and were already on their way to Greece, Portugal, Corsica, etc. Of course, I was only too happy to help my fellow co-workers out, and hardly even cursed once when I woke up and realized that every one of my roommates had ignored even the mildly threatening email André had sent regarding our final clean-up.
I was the last to leave Vauban, and as I walked through the streets of Arras for the last time, now carrying my backpack with the customary Canada flag sewn onto it, I had a renewed (or 'renaissance' à la Reta) perspective on why Canadians like being identified as such in Europe. Over the course of the session we had certainly learned a lot about the sacrifices of Canadians on those fields in Europe, and setting aside the multitude of half-baked factors that led to the First World War, Canada punched far above its weight in the European theatre, in war that certainly wasn't their own. At St-Julien, Vimy, Passchendaele, Canal du Nord, during the last 100 days, etc. the 600,000 who served in the Canadian Corps had earned respect for a country that was only 50 years old and, a few years earlier, many had never even heard of. And more than a million Canadians would do it all again less than 25 years later. While the reasoning and justification for these conflicts remain a dicey issue in a lot of respects, the nobility with which these men and women signed up and served is not to be underscored. Along with everything else, it was the generations of Canadians that preceded ours that earned, through their service and sacrifice, the right for Canadians to walk across Europe with our flag proudly sewn on our backpack.
However, three months at Vimy also changed my perspective on war in general. The senselessness that led to the slaughter of a generation of young men and the staggering loss for all involved is so heartbreakingly palpable at Vimy, BH and at all the memorials, battle sites and cemeteries that we visited over the course of our three months in France. After the session, I could certainly go on about the war for hours, but I will instead simply sum up the futility of that war with this Longfellow quote: 'If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.' Every man in those trenches and tunnels was a victim of a world bound by oligarchs and greed. Every one of them deserved better.
And while back home we often speak of Vimy as a moment of pride for Canadians; a major stepping-stone to nationhood, I see it now more as a monument to a necessary evil. A memorial for 3,598 Canadians who fell in that field. For 11,285 who fell in France without a trace. For 67,000 fallen over the four years of war. For 600,000 who, even if they survived, were never the same again, and for their countless loved ones, families, communities, villages and towns who suffered equally through that four years and beyond. Vimy Ridge and the mournful caribou at BH were also most certainly erected as hopeful beacons for peace.
Meanwhile, as I left Arras for Paris via train, I tried to switch gears. The journey I was about to embark on would have very little to do with pride, nationalism and war, and a lot more to do with humility, universalism and peace.
