Awarding a place the title of 'Nations Prettiest Village' is the kiss of death.
I'm sorry - here's a rant!
I recently drove through one of the most stunning villages on the planet. A lofty spectacle, a jewel in a beautiful land.
An impressive 14th Century castle breaks into view as I round yet another mountain hairpin. You begin to make out the scale of it and then marvel at how it could possibly hold onto its perch. Part miracle, part magnificent ostentation - all hard work.
There it is high above its very own village - built impossibly by hand straight from the rock. As we all like to say (and sadly most likely true) - 'We just couldn't make one of those these days!'
The indescribable impressiveness of it all stays - but thankfully us humans come and go.
And so it remains 700 years later looking down on its precious, ornate houses where servants and merchants once lived. In its glory days this place was the focal point of trade for miles around.
As if to underline its impeccable positioning there is a mighty teeming, steaming river bending around its base.
The massive rocky edifice with its impeccable testimony to bygone times is a powerful picture. Dark green trees and the baking hot sun filling in the rest.
Inglorious Basterds.
As I drew closer I began to recoil with horror. I can't recall being as sickened by a sight quite so much as this. The disparity of the place and the cynical stupid commercialisation of it. Just plain wrong.
The village and humanity have both paid a high price in my mind. Who is responsible for this?
I'm sure I had been here years before so maybe that's what bought on the nausea. I couldn't get away fast enough. Boiling oil, a storm of arrows and cannon shot would not have made my retreat any speedier.
Apart from there being no place to damn well park, without paying large sums, (that turned out to be a plus) there seemed to have congregated a type of humanity, so incongruous to the idea and tradition of the place, that I'm still shocked as I write about it days later.
Even the 700 year old castle seemed to be shrugging its ramparts at what was going on down here.
The expensive shops and tacky (and expensive) restaurants that lined the river all competed to sell the same junk. Plastic beach-balls, cheap postcards, every gaudy colored children's fishing net you could envision, over-priced pots and figurines of donkeys with breasts - made in China. Souvenir shop upon bloody souvenir shop! Queues outside every one. I cannot do justice to putting into language the disgraceful tack on display. I was able to observe this diabolical spectacle as I was forced to crawl through the village in what was now a 30 minute tailback.
This is so not progress.
This jam was caused by thousands of super-sized tattoo bearing '7 Children Families' presumably up for a wander from their despicable trailer park. A trailer park that had hijacked (officially it would appear) a sleepy farmers meadow by the side of the river. Redefining the word blight.
These lager bearing hordes were now making their way to a bizarre fun-fair! In the midst of all this medieval beauty a violently loud-musicked, neon-lighted series of horror 'attractions' was dragging them in. All of this vile pointlessness in what used to be a reasonably useful car park under shady trees.
The smell was all too memorable. A deeply unpleasant mixture of fake-tan, Chanel V0.5, turd-burgers and cheap cigarettes.
The river itself hasn't got away with it either. Hourly trips on fake pirate ships. The jostling of hundreds of canoes painted bright lemon yellow and angry red - everyone fighting to ram each other - to capsize and drown an unsuspecting enemy - each canoe kitted out with three or four screaming, oar-flailing obnoxious sun-burned fat kids with headphones - their ugly fat faces badly grease-painted.
It truly was a Lord Of The Flies moment!
I just can't imagine where 'civilisation' goes from here but I am either too old or still not ready for dealing with what we are becoming as a society.
Sorry Castle. Sorry Village.
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