R E C E N T L Y Bad news from a black coast: Part Two By Moritz Thomsen Part Two of Moritz Thomsen's unpublished memoir (07/15/98) Bad news from a black coast By Moritz Thomsen Moritz Thomsen in Ecuador: Exclusive excerpts from his unpublished memoir (07/14/98) The saddest gringo: Moritz Thomsen in exile By Pat Joseph An unforgettable encounter with the legendary writer shortly before his death (07/14/98) Dancing in the streets By Ethan Zindler Dancing in the streets -- Paris celebrates the World Cup (07/13/98) Wimbledon's grand finale By Simon Worrall From Jack Nicholson to knicker shots, behind the scenes at the All England Club (07/13/98) Browse the Wanderlust Postmark archives		TOUR EN IRLANDE | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The first day of the Tour involved a time trial around the streets of Dublin, and more than 200,000 people were out in the city to watch brightly clad men power their science-fiction machines past historic landmarks and countless pubs. Trinity College provided the starting point, while Westmoreland Street housed the team vehicles. Both the cyclists and the equipment they brought with them were unlike anything seen in Dublin before. Men wearing sculpted helmets and sunglasses that seemed based on alien technology swung their shaved and oiled calves across machines more closely resembling fighter aircraft than bikes. As the cyclists careered around Merrion Square and past St. Patrick's Cathedral, they were each accompanied by a motorcycle escort of one local policeman and one gendarme, and by a team car shouting instructions and advice. The bigger names were joined by a camera motorbike and a helicopter following overhead. All afternoon, three helicopters crisscrossed the city center -- "It's just like home," remarked a wag from the border country of Northern Ireland, where British army helicopters patrol continuously. At the finish in O'Connell Street, a cosmopolitan crowd bellowed and banged on the advertising boards as each cyclist forced one last effort from his legs. The stage went to Englishman Chris Boardman, who received a rapturous response from the crowd. As well as the large British contingent that had made the short trip over, many Irish people saluted him, and Union Jacks waved wildly outside the General Post Office, heart of the Easter uprising against the British in 1916. This irony was not lost on many in the crowd. As the roads were being blocked off in Dublin so the world could watch cyclists zoom up and down, the world was also watching roads being blocked off in Portadown, Northern Ireland, so members of the Protestant Orange Order could not march through a predominantly Catholic area. The entanglements between Britain and Ireland might seem to be a matter only for themselves, but historically, the French have also been involved. One of the reasons the Irish organizers were so keen to host the Tour this summer is that it coincides with the bicentennial celebrations of the 1798 rebellion, in which a force of United Irishmen made up of both Catholics and Protestants rose up against the British and appealed for aid from the French. However, due to bad weather and worse timing, by the time the French arrived, the rebellion had already been savagely put down by the British. Nonetheless, the Year of the French is still recalled with pride, and as the Tour started its third stage in Enniscorthy, the roads were lined with men in period costume carrying pikes. However, the contemporary cost of such a bloody history was brought home on the morning of the second day of the Tour, as the news broke of the death of three young brothers, burned in their beds in a sectarian attack in Northern Ireland. A hundred miles away in Dublin, the day saw the first full-length stage, with all the riders on the road together. The race started in Dundrum, the Dublin village that's home to Stephen Roche, and as it headed for the Wicklow Mountains, crowds lined the route, and small towns and villages staged festivals and parties as the images were beamed to the millions watching around the world. The cyclists passed the beautiful medieval monastic settlement of Glendalough, and for those of us watching on TV, it soon became apparent how wise an investment the government's contribution to the funding of the Tour had been. As with Dublin the day before, even skeptical locals were forced to admit that the countryside looked great as the helicopters sent back shots of the green fields, dense forests and brooding gray mountains. Here was a new perspective on Ireland. However, as the race reached the top of the exotically renamed Col de Wicklow Gap, you could have sworn the scene was somewhere in the Alps. Hardy souls who had been waiting several hours for the peloton to pass roared their encouragement as the cyclists struggled into a strong wind and sporadic rain. The crowds were equally dense as the race headed back to Dublin for a finish in Phoenix Park. A crash in the last few miles added to the excitement, and while people might not have been entirely sure what they were watching, they knew it was something special. Part of the reason for this sense of carnival is the procession of vehicles that passes along the route around an hour before the cyclists. The caravan publicitaire underlines the commercial value of the Tour as a marketing opportunity. Sponsorship from large companies such as Fiat, Compaq and Michelin helps fund the race, and while their primary concern is the huge TV audience, they work the spectators with a combination of unlikely vehicles (motorbikes with huge back wheels, jeeps with giant watches on the front) and free goodies. Pens, maps and caps are all handed out to those nearest the barriers, and it all adds to the building excitement as the race approaches. Not everyone in Dublin was so taken with the Tour, however. Merchants complained about the reduced access to their shops caused by the traffic restrictions, while one Sunday newspaper pointed to the persistent rumors that many cyclists use banned performance-enhancing drugs. Journalist Diarmuid Doyle remarked, "There are enough drug-related problems in the south inner city without bringing in 200 professional cyclists." Dublin people are also famously blasé about impressive events. Celebrities always talk about how little trouble from fans they have in Dublin, and this largely stems from the feeling that to get excited about a pop star (or a major sporting event) is somehow to admit to your own inferiority -- something no Dubliner is likely to do. In the smaller towns through which the race passed, there was no such churlishness -- the idea of the world arriving on your doorstep was just too amazing. The third day of racing began in the small town of Enniscorthy, and, as in Dublin, a whole new village had been constructed. French station TV5 was broadcasting from a studio on a Gaelic football field, with stories about Irish cooking and music-making, while the Irish Food Board treated the 1,000 accredited journalists to breakfast. All around, English cyclists were giving interviews in French, Italians answered questions in fluent German, and for a brief while this small County Wexford town was a cosmopolitan hub at the heart of Europe. Once on the road, the race passed through Carrick-on-Suir, home of cycling great Sean Kelly. The crowds there were as large as anywhere, and the majestic TV images continued as the cyclists flashed through the walled medieval town of Youghal. On the road into the town, a young girl was hit by a racer and taken to the hospital, and a separate crash on the way into Cork saw the leader, Boardman, withdraw from the race, and end up in the same hospital. An event this size seems to call for casualties, but as yet it's unclear what sort of recovery the girl will make. The race swept on, however, and the scenes at the finish in Cork were fantastic, as another bunch sprint brought the Tour's brief stay in Ireland to a close. The whole operation still had to make it to France for a start in Brittany the next morning. Everything from the gendarmes' motorbikes to the inflatable podium on which the winners stood had to be packed and shipped. The caravan publicitaire had gone through Cork and headed straight for the harbor, where three huge car ferries had been specially rented for the occasion. The cyclists themselves flew to Brittany (with a separate plane for the bikes), but the queue of official vehicles waiting to board the ships stretched for three miles. Everything passed off without a hitch, however, and the huge mobile extravaganza reassembled in France ready for the next day's racing. It had been two centuries since the French had arrived in such numbers in Ireland, and this sporting event had been run much more efficiently than the military operation that preceded it. All over the country, a newfound enthusiasm for cycling saw people discussing Jan Ullrich's chances of defending his title or Mario Cipollini's inability to stay on his bike. That may fade as the bunting comes down and life returns to normal, but we'll certainly remember the magic of the Tour en Irlande. Phil Liggett, the veteran British cycling commentator, had the following advice for the country: "Make sure you enjoy it, savor it and remember it, because it will never happen again in your life." But one spectator in Youghal gave the suitably Irish verdict: "It's a great party, and a race runs through it." SALON | July 16, 1998 David Moore is a writer who lives in Dublin.