A few posts ago I wrote about walls, inspired by the experience of being in Berlin. Geneva offers an antithesis.

On the 24^th June 1859, Henry Dunant, a Swiss business man witnessed the aftermath of a bloody battle in Solferino, North Italy that left 40,000 men killed or wounded as the Austrians were expelled with the help of the French. He was appalled at the abandonment of the injured and mobilized the local population of deliver relief with the resources that were available.

On his return to Geneva he wrote “A memory of Solferino”, in which he proposed that the States should ‘formulate some international principle … for the relief of the wounded’. Along with four others (The Committee of Five), 100 years before my birthday in September 1863, he formed The International Committee for the Relief to the Wounded Soldiers’ and drew up the First Geneva Convention. The Red Cross was born. Again the story of one person’s vision and commitment has had a cascading impact for good beyond imagination.

While debate about its effectiveness is live and appropriate, the subsequent story(s) of the League of Nations (post WWI) and the United Nations (post WWII) similarly evokes in me a swelling of pride in the capacity of humanity to do the right thing. Maria and I were guided through some of the meeting rooms in which very significant negotiations and agreements were forged and got a glimpse of the scale of ongoing conversation that happens between leadership of nations. Perhaps the time has come for the UN to get a renovation, but the idea of facilitating a coming together around the most significant challenges facing humanity with objectives that embrace peace and human rights is indeed a great thing.

I drive my car to work pretty much everyday. Apart from the time it saves me, my commitments across Melbourne more often than not mean it is impractical to get around any other way. But I resent it. Even though my Vectra is a great little car, it uses too much petrol. I know that I could change my transport habits if I wanted to … but it will require a resolute commitment and some sacrifices.

So why am I thinking about cars and transport? Because my limited recent experience of Germany and France makes it so clear that there is another way. Some people who read this blog are Europeans, so you might not appreciate how your governments have invested in public transport infrastructure in ways that are fanciful for us Australians. For example, the Paris metro has 300 stations. Yes, it is true that Paris was already a big city when the technology to build underground railway got implemented for the first time, but the government still had to have the foresight to design the infrastructure that would serve the people as it does.

Bicycle paths and hire bikes seem to be the norm in French and German cities. Not particularly complicated, just great common sense for the common good.

OK, so it will cost billions to create a system even approaching this kind of coverage in a sprawling Australian city. But where is the vision for the future in the planning that is happening now? The ‘spider’ train systems of Melbourne and Sydney are not real networks. Even the complementary tram and bus systems hardly create the kind of network that make getting around efficient.

Instead of debating road network extensions, which are of course good for the car, we should be having robust arguments about a truly visionary approach to building public transport infrastructure, even if it is 50 year plan.

In the early 90s I had one the great cultural sporting experiences. It was a Carlton v. Richmond AFL match, which is not particularly enthralling in and of itself (although this last Saturday’s offering was sweet), except that this was on the hallowed turf of the The Oval, London. It was one of those exhibition matches.

The first signal that it was going to be something special was the mint condition pale green FJ Holden parked outside. Inside the 15,000 crowd, (I was with a Kiwi, I reckon the other 14,999 were Aussies! - so much for a foreign exhibition) was as vocal and yobbo-ish as I’ve experienced. Some bloke had a life-size cardboard cut-out of Sticks Kernahan; whenever the ball ended up the other end, he would do a dash across the half forward line with his cut-out … how he got the thing to England I’ll never know.

It was the era when Ange Christou’s raking left foot kicks were greeted by the crowd with the ‘wooosh’. Weird stuff in England. The half time kick-to-kick with an estimated 10,000 people with Sherrins that emerged from everywhere was a total kak, even funnier was the bobbies trying to get everyone off the field for the start of the 3^rd. Ever been on the London tube with the train totally packed with Aussies? I have, totally brain bending.

Anyway, last night we had another special cultural sporting moment …

It has been a stinking hot day, mid 30s and the evening is balmy. We are in the centre of Avignon in an outdoor café, it is 8:30. For those who have not been to Avignon and how know Melbourne, imagine Lygon St. closed to traffic with every restaurant spilling their tables out onto the road. Except it is paved and the building are centuries old. Every place has a plasma … so there are screens everywhere.

It is the final of Euro 2008, which doesn’t means heaps to the average Aussie punter … believe me, it has been mania here. Spain has not won for 44 years. Last night they were against Germany. So here we are, and through no planning or design, we find ourselves surrounded by tables of loud Spanish males. When the totally brilliant Spanish striker Torres managed to conjure a goal toward the end of the first half, it was, well …. special.

The first thing you notice about the people of France is that they are so… well… French:

• Waiters ‘flamboit’ around crowded outdoor café tables
• Well dressed business people drop by patisseries on their way home to pick up their baguette, which then protrudes unashamedly
• Young women in summer dresses ride bikes purposefully but ordinarily around bustling streets
• French suave is apparently intentionally oblivious to the hazards of smoking
• Vesper riders abuse delivery van drivers as routine

In Melbourne this would be pretentious, in Paris this is life.

I have found myself searching for an adjective for this incredible city. It’s an ordinary word but I have landed on ‘great’. What does it take to be great?

1. substance and depth

2. uniqueness

3. longevity

It is a total brain strain to wander across the floors of Notre Dame and wonder, as Maria did out loud, about the stories of the people who have stepped on the same tiles over the 800 years since the Cathedral was built.

And although we are talking Italian rather than French, it was striking to see how ‘small’ the greatness of the Mona Lisa is. I was naively expecting a painting of greater proportions than the small canvas that greeted us. Greatness is not always big.

The French do ‘big’ without doing kitch. The scale and vision of the Lourve is breathtaking. The ‘density’ of the city, with its laneways and 6 storey buildings overwhelms the simple notion of a ¼ acre block to call home.

I have heard many people use emotive rather than descriptive words in reference to this city. Now I know why.

Remember the old phone gag;

“Is Mr Wall there?” [No], “Is Mrs Wall there?” [No]. “Well is Tommy Wall there?” [No]. “Are there any Walls there?” [No]. “So how does your roof stay up then?”

They give us shelter and warmth. They provide protection. We decorate them to make us feel better about the space they create. They give definition to the variety of spaces we live in. At best this allows us to function in a variety of ways. At worst, they promote misunderstanding by hiding reality or segregating.

Perhaps the most potent icon of the changes we experienced in the late 20^th Century is the Berlin Wall. Contrary to popular conception, it was the ‘free people’ of West Germany that were enclosed within its walls. Completely surrounded by East Germany, the Westerners found themselves trapped in a ‘free enclave’. One road out through the East German countryside connected them to the outside world. This accurate picture subversively helps to reframe the idea of separation.

I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Germans generally and Berliners particularly, so experience the collapse of the Wall. I recall tears welling up and the lump in my throat. I knew nothing and had not even sipped from the cup of segregation that defined so much of their lives.

Much of the Wall still stands. A small length is preserved untouched, most of it has become a canvas for Berlin’s thriving art community. Meandering along beside it in the hot sun, it is as good as impossible to imagine what this city must have been like just 20 years ago.

We still build Walls like this. Maybe not ones of steel reinforcement and concrete, but Walls none-the-less. They are the Walls that keep ‘otherness’ away from us. Our separateness feeds our misunderstanding so our prejudice snowballs. It is dangerous to try to cross over.

There are political divides - TV networks do well out of pitting tribal thought leaders against each other like legal cock fights. There are culture divides. Just walk around the city and observe the stereo-typical uniforms of the different tribes; executives, emos, indigenous people, retail workers and on and on. Age, race, economic status, gender …

So here is the point. It is not that we need a pseudo-homogenous society. How violating would that be? The point is that our lives could be so much richer if we were able to embrace diversity. Indifference might be replaced by curiosity. Misunderstanding by appreciation. Dislike by deep respect.

The parliament building spans the Spree (River) in Berlin. The modern glass buildings on either side of the river are joined design and by walkways. A great symbol if unification in contrast to a Wall.

Immersion experiences in which we suspend judgement and listen are much needed in our world. Without them, the safety and protection that some of our Walls apparently give us is illusionary.