Walking the Hexagon: An Escape Around France on Foot [Paperback]

In fact the journey is a `grand boucle' along the mountain frontiers of the Pyrenees and the Alps, and that of the sea in the west. Uncompromising, he declined to leave out the grim bits occasioned by the French insouciance about H&S - tracks leading to gaping chasms, needing some courage to traverse while dodging ubiquitous snarling hounds.
Walking 4000 miles and climbing a total of 100,000 feet he endured rain, cold, aching limbs, and unreliable maps. Compensations - amazing unforgettable mountain views, wayside flowers, sites of historic interest mostly well off the tourist beat, warm friendship and, now and then, memorable meals. A fit 60yo with language skills providing a passport into friendship and temporary companionship, eschewing hotels in favour of often crummy hostels and meagre food and at times exposed to stupefying bores. The jolly banter of the French fellow guests contrasts with my memories of doing jig-saw puzzles in YHA hostels but maybe the flow of wine instead of cocoa may explain that. Possibly no one else has completed such an epic trip, most of it alone.
Contrasting with the pure air of the Alps and Vosges is the coastal sprawl of often hideous housing encountered along the western coasts, interspersed with polluting industrial plants on the gargantuan scale the French favour. Along the way are found the grim, sad memorials to the conflicts between France and Germany in 1870 and the two World War extending along every frontier. At intervals the mobile phone is a not always welcomed link with his declining parents and those trying to care for them, necessitating taking a train home and then unplanned time out to sort out their lives. His freedom contrasting with their confinement to a narrowing existence.
The gathering European economic woes have brought pockets of unemployment, struggling small hotels to show that life is far from rosy in the country towns in much of peripheral France. He found that the northern plains are surprisingly underpopulated - all these observations give the reader a nuanced portrait of the country that comes from a being close to the terrain, talks with strangers all bringing insights that would never be there in a speeding car.
Cudbird is also well read in French, citing authors from different regions that have observations on their region that can be tested true today. Pierre Loti in Britanny for example, Maurice Barres in Alsace or the author's revered RL Stevenson in the Cevennes. In every way accessible, I found this book almost a page turner, wanting to know what the next pass or adventure the following day would bring. The cultural richness of the country that he brings out, especially in the Saintonge, confirms him as a self-confessed historian manqué. Geology, literature, religion, military history, social history, agriculture,, architecture, cuisine - almost every aspect of a region is touched upon as well as studies of the characters he encountered all bringing it alive for the reader.
He senses intimations of mortality: he is reminded of his being on the threshold of old age, as he deals with his parents' decrepitude. This chimes in with the spiritual quest that is undoubtedly a thread throughout. There is a seeking of meaning and an acceptance of mortality. The kitsch ghastliness of the big scale pilgrimage industry in Lourdes is a rude shock to a man now habituated to solitary musings. Happily Cudbird's dry and detached style spares the reader any indulgent ramblings about the meaning of life. Meeting with Pierre and his makeshift chapel near the Rhone/Jura, underlines the spiritual element behind the journey. His brief meditation on the presence of God as a still small voice diverts the reader from the quotidian following of the path.
As he says (p.6) "perhaps the greatest attraction of walking long distances is that you are constantly exposed to the unexpected" which may be why the book is such a good and unpredictable read. For lovers of France and its' culture and history who have been attracted by the idea of sampling one at least of the Grandes Randonnees that traverse the country this will have you enthused enough to give it a try with a heap of practical information. If you decide to stay at home this book will still give you a lot of interest and a share in a wonderful journey.

A beautifully written enjoyable and absorbing book describing the author's range of experiences during his walk around the length of the edge of France.
An easy to read non-journalistic style full of interesting details about the people and places visited such as their culture, geography, history, and food.
Although not a dominant amount of the book, it also includes some frank personal comments relating to his coming to terms with the ageing process and his difficulties in dealing with the developing dementia of his own parents which could be of help to others going through similar situations.
There are plenty of useful maps and monochrome photographs taken during the journey, together with a comprehensive places index.
Thoroughly recommended!

Mr Cudbird asked me to review his book on the strength of my Amazon review of Graham Robb's `The Discovery of France'. And it is true to say that Cudbird himself, in his circumambulation of the far corners of France - 4000 miles in 300 days - has been his own intrepid explorer: by keeping off the tourist routes, he has seen sites that have remained `undiscovered' since the Romantics ushered in our modern view of the picturesque and sublime. And this book certainly makes manifest the view that the landscape of France is continental in its extremes and variety.

But by keeping off the tourist routes, and by seemingly intending to make his journey - certainly through the mountains - as hazardous as possible, it is unlikely that many others who read his adventures will follow in his footsteps. But one can only admire the grit and determination of sixty-something Cudbird in undertaking his adventure. When his friends asked, "Why not just do the best bits and leave the rest out?" he replied that he just could not compromise: "I had said I was going to walk the circumference of France and round I was going to go." I can empathise, having myself undertaken my own adventures-in-walking.

But, strangely, Cudbird does not actually walk the circumference. For instance, he barely touches the Mediterranean, and only views the Rhine from the Vosges. But if he barely touches the border, we are though treated to perceptive insights into the effects on these parts of France of the neighbouring language, food, architecture, and customs: thus we can talk of Franco-Spanish (or Catalan), Franco-Italian (or Savoyard), Franco-Swiss, and Franco-German influences.

And there is no gentle introduction to the walking, either: from the get-go we march headlong into the high Pyrenees. I would perhaps have liked something first about the things the English walker needs to know about when walking in France, such as the laws about where one can and cannot walk. When he reaches the lowlands and the flat country of the north, the route is still often off the beaten track. If the landscape is no longer physically challenging, he reports seeing much more variety than he expected: "For a hiker bent on discovery it was an ideal environment", although I noted the word `unremarkable' being used twice in a couple of pages. One other result of being off the beaten track is the lack of eating choices at the end of a long day's trek. It is remarkable how often all over France, if the worse comes to the worse, there is always pizza!

Cudbird's writing style, presumably like the man himself, is assured and pleasant. He is good with descriptions - they are short but he is always able to discern contradictions. But the prose is not poetic, not purple, and not full of wonderfully astute metaphors. He is intelligent and perceptive. He writes as he finds; he is not out to impress either those he comes across on his travels (I was going to write `rambles', but this is not the right word at all) or the reader. The book comes with some excellent photographs taken by the author; it's a shame they are in black and white. Each chapter has its own monochrome map too, though I am not sure as to their veracity: Geneva is shown as in France. It is also unfortunate that he uses imperial measurements.

Cudbird writes, "Some readers might expect a book packed with heroic incidents and exotic adventures, in which case they may find my story disappointing ... My adventure was lower-key than some but it was an adventure nevertheless." There is no denying this, and I am truly in awe of Cudbird's achievement. In the first chapter we read of knife-edge mountain ridges, of snowbound cols, and of gites where 6am showers are ice cold. Death waits at any turn. But, as when some acquaintance asks you to view their holiday snaps showing photos of mountain after mountain after mountain, you really had to be there with them to fully appreciate and understand their joys and fears. Otherwise - and this is at heart the problem of Cudbird's book - we are often in the realms of `and then' syndrome, especially with the one-line throwaway paragraphs.

This is perhaps being a little too hard on Cudbird's book. Not only does he supply a little gentle humour, but he also makes the effort to provide a little history along the way, providing some interesting information - for instance, on the derivation and meaning of place-names, or the lost industries of the Languedoc. He summarises some conversations he had along the way too, but the summary alas is often all there is, for the details of the conversations, some of which sounded deep and meaningful, are rarely reported. Instead, he has to move on. In short, I salute Cudbird's charm, his persistence, his dogged indefatigability. Avoiding the tourist honeypots where possible, striding out on often lonely paths with only those seeking to escape the world as passing company, which made for some lively and fascinating conversations

But there is a second thread running through this book, and that is the walker's own attitude of mind: "It is not France itself which is important, but rather the personal transformation brought about by immersion in a non-Anglo-Saxon culture." Walking abroad is a way for Cudbird to escape his responsibilities at home. As well as the bravery of his trek, we must also recognise the bravery of his telling the reader of his own problems trying to cope with two aged parents back in Britain. Their lives intrude via his mobile phone. (Being partly in the same boat, I can both empathise with his need but also condemn his selfish recklessness.)

At the end of the penultimate chapter, there's another call from home, and Cudbird has to admit that, "My sense of direction was an illusion. I was trying to find some respite from reality. I had no idea how I could come to terms with it." In the book's epilogue he refers to his guilt, his anger, and his denial. We are our memories. And as those of his mother and father started to fade back in Britain, Cudbird clings to his of France, is trek having "opened up new experiences, new perspectives. The slow rhythm of walking was like a silent meditation." This book might have been more interesting with more of these meditations and less of the landscape.