Free and not so free

Yesterday was the first day in ages that we were both free at the same time. We seized the moment and headed for the Malpey forestry house in the Esterel, near Mont Vinaigre. For once, the road through the mountains wasn't a-buzz with motorbikes driven by kamikaze leather-freaks.

The walk up to the Malpey crossroads, and then off across the hills on the GR to St Raphael, was heavenly. The spring has arrived late this year, but with a vengeance. Wild lavender, cistus 'roses' both pink and white, euphorbia of various kinds, thyme, anemones, orchids: everything was in haste to be pollinated and crying out for attention. The bees were working overtime, filling the otherwise silent air with a wonderful bourdon like the one described by Dante in the Earthly Paradise.

We climbed to the top of a hill with a large cairn, where we got a sea and coast panorama from Italy through nearly to Toulon. Aptly, perhaps, the spot was called 'Le Grand Parfait'. We just called it Paradise, as we ate tapenade and goat-cheese sandwiches, followed by locally grown qumquats, and sat in the sun: doing absolutely nothing except being happy.

Meanwhile...

Meanwhile, to the far left in our maritime panorama, unbeknown to us, a sordid, shameful drama was playing out between Menton and Ventimiglia. The prefect of the Alpes Maritimes, who had already ordered the SNCF some time ago to commandeer a train to deport migrants into Italy (shades of an ignoble past during the Occupation), had unilaterally suspended rail traffic between Italy and France, and had put the national border and Garavan stations under what appeared to be martial law, with squadrons of robothugs in armoured wagons just waiting for the signal to start state-sponsored mayhem.

It turned out that a group of left-wing sympathisers in Italy wanted to accompany (and protect) a small contingent of Tunisians, who already had Schengen-valid papers, as far as Cannes, where the 'rafles' have tended to take place. The BH had witnessed at Cannes station one of these concrete, official manifestations of 'France, pays d'accueil et d'asile' by the lads in blue, and had found it very disturbing and frightening.

Similar scenes were taking place just across the border at Ventimiglia, where the robothugs' brothers in arms, whose proud battle honours include the Genoa G8 police riots, were performing sterling service in the name of illegal containment. France's honour was saved, partially, by the presence of a very brave band of French volunteers at the station in Ventimiglia, who, under the glowering, helmeted and far-from approving gaze of the Pubblica Sicurezza riot squad, handed out refreshments and first-aid to the now tired, confused and frightened migrants.

So, once again, France's leadership, which often haughtily gives lessons to others about how to be European, and how to be the paragon and torch-bearer of the Rights of Man (Tom Paine, the real author, is never mentioned, though), has indulged in a little FN-inspired escapade, flouting the fundamental European principle of free movement etc. Do not hold your breath about any national or international reprimand. This kind of government misbehaviour, just like the shameful policy of kettling in the UK, is never properly followed up legally.