← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
July 7, 2011
00:27:49
The end of the world is nigh! Well, it is according to one estimate. But Chris Bockman...
Loading summary
Transcript12 lines
- [00:00]
A
This is from our own correspondent. We make an edition for the BBC World Service as well. But this is a download of the latest Radio 4 programme and here to introduce it as ever, Kate Ady.
- [00:11]
B
Today, the end of the world is nigh. But we found a spot in France where you might just be saved. They're sprucing up the hotels. Heads of state are flying in. South Sudan prepares for Independence Day. But difficult times lie ahead. We're asking about medieval warrior poets in a petrol station in Iceland and learning that fine brandy offers hope to impoverished villagers in the harsh mountains of Armenia. But first, the immediate prospect of Greece defaulting on its debts may have receded. But here's another the mighty United States might be about to run out of cash. President Obama has warned that to avoid this nightmare becoming reality, Congress needs to agree a plan to raise the amount the US can borrow. But disagreement between Democrats and Republicans has so far prevented this from happening. Leslie Kirwan, who's been following developments in Washington, says a default would be a serious matter, and not just for Americans.
- [01:08]
C
There were two glittering parties in full swing. On the open rooftop bar of one of Washington's trendiest boutique hotels, waitresses in tight black dresses stalked around topping up champagne flutes for the expensively clad guests. I had come there for the view. The warm evening was still light the and at one sweep from left to right, you could see the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and close at hand, the White House itself. It looked surprisingly small and toy like compared to the vast bulk of the building in the foreground, a great stone stronghold with imposing granite columns which houses the United States Treasury. It was designed to be a potent symbol of the nation's economic power and it seemed appropriate that Washington's discreetly wealthy were partying in its presence. It also seemed inconceivable that in the space of a month, the government of the richest country on earth may run out of money to pay its bills. Let's get one thing America is not Greece. The prospect of a US default has come about largely because of political division. It's true that the country has built up an eye watering $14.3 trillion worth of public debt, almost equal to its gross domestic product for one year. The squabble is about how and when to tackle that black hole in America's finances. But it's been brought to a head by a procedural issue. The US government wants to raise the amount it borrows, but it can't do that without the permission of Congress. The Republicans, who have a majority in the House of Representatives are refusing to play ball to increase what's called the debt ceiling. The treasury has set a deadline. If Congress does not raise the debt limit, it says the US will run out of cash to pay its bills and could default as early as August 2nd. So what would that mean? The government would be so short of money it would have to make difficult decisions choosing which of its obligations to honour. Would it keep on paying army wages, welfare payments, food stamps or state pensions? Or would it pay investors interest on their U.S. treasury bonds? Imagine the chaos and the humiliation. It would be the first time the world's number one economy had failed to settle its debts. It's not as if it is insolvent, like arguably Greece is. It's about the ideological gulf between political parties. The deadline stirred up a hornet's nest. The International Monetary Fund stepped in, saying if no agreement can be reached, there could be a severe shock to the economy and and to world financial markets. Interest rates might suddenly rise and credit ratings agencies warned that America's sovereign debt could be downgraded from its current rock solid AAA status, with repercussions for anyone holding these investments, including the Chinese, Wall street banks and investors right across the world. So how do ordinary Americans react to all this? People I talked to were bemused by the idea of a default. Walter, who's retired, told me he didn' it could happen because the world was depending on America and the dollar. Eileen, who worked for a rather unglamorous government department, admitted the deficit was a problem and she feared the coming cuts would mean younger colleagues had far less generous pension provision. Others thought the government should cut the defence budget hard or at all costs protect welfare and support for the elderly. No one I spoke to, layman or economics expert, thought the US really would be unable to pay its bills. All expected an 11th hour deal to be struck to protect the nation's reputation and its credit rating. As the man from the International Monetary Fund put it to me, a default would be a low probability, high impact event. Apologies for the jargon, I pointed out to him. We had another improbable event which had a huge impact when Lehman brothers collapsed in 2008 and the financial crisis rocked the world, an event which led America to spend trillions in stimulus and bailout money and added to the ballooning deficit. Now it's all down to the politicians to hammer out that elusive deal. By the way, something strange and tragic happened after I'd left the hotel with the amazing view. The next morning on the local news, I heard that a woman had fallen to her death from the rooftop bar where the champagne parties were taking place. Shocking events do happen, however unexpectedly. Maybe we should prepare ourselves for the mighty US treasury running out of cash.
- [06:00]
B
And that's Leslie Kirwan. 30 African heads of state will be in the city of Juba on Saturday to celebrate the birth of a new nation, South Sudan. Trumpets will ring out as the flag of the new republic is raised. There will be speeches from representatives of the African Union, the Arab League, the eu, the US And China. Hotels have been cleaned up and people advise to limit their consumption of alcohol. You don't need to be drunk to celebrate, is the message. Peter Martel, who's in Juba, says it's been a long, hard struggle getting to Independence Day, and tough challenges still lie ahead.
- [06:36]
D
The 80 year old ex rebel's eyes twinkled. Then General Joseph Largo punched the air in victory, danced a little jig and burst into song. To freedom, to freedom, he sang, his voice proud and clear. To freedom, happily marching we go. The General was on the podium during a diplomatic Reception and the U.S. consulate for their Fourth of July independence party, just days before his own land becomes officially a new nation. The diplomats and officials gathered beneath stars and striped balloons and clutching sparklers watched as the man who helped launch Africa's longest war waved at them from the stage. My fellow southern Sudanese have been marching to their freedom for over 50 years, he told the crowd gathered in a steamy heat at the soon to be world's newest capital, Juba. Our promised land is South Sudan. This is a land where hope often overcomes all apparent practical logic. General Largo began his battle for Southern independence in 1963, the year the Beatles launched their debut album and US President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. He can still list the entire weapons arsenal with which he started a rebellion. There was an ancient muzzle loader, a faulty hunting gun which frequently jammed, and an antique colonial British army rifle. Which one did you choose? I asked. None, he replied. I carried a machete. Had he believed he would ever see this day, the battle against the oppressive government in the north and its modern, powerful army won. And South Sudan about to become an independent country? No, he said. Which, all things considered, was an answer not too surprising from a man who started a war with a cleaver. Then his hands left his walking stick and clutched mine with a firm grip. It was God Almighty who got me here, he said. The on off conflict waged by General Largo and the fighters over several generations left some 2 million people dead. This is a land smashed by war, from its crumbling cities on the slow waters of the White Nile river to its vast grasslands. Steamy swamps border badlands, lush jungles and lonely villages. So it was hardly surprising when almost 99% of its people voted on a referendum in January for for a separate nation with independence now due this coming Saturday. And yet there's still every reason to be gloomy. There are real fears the already poisonous relationship between former civil war enemies could worsen. Frantic preparations are being made in case the half a million southerners left living in the north after independence flee to the south. There are questions, too, about whether the new state can grow into a viable nation. The future the shift from guerrilla movement to government has not been an easy one. There are reports of rampant corruption. Diplomats say they have details of grossly bulging international bank accounts of senior officials. There is still abject poverty and not enough schools, hospitals and roads. Once the pomp and celebrations of Independence Day are over and the world's heads of states have returned home, an enormous challenge will remain. Forging a nation requires far more than simply raising a flag. But then there is that magic sense of hope here. My good friend Mabio Philip is a radio reporter in Juba. When he was a young boy, he used to carry pumpkins on his head, supplying food for the rebel fighters on the front line. He grew up in a basic camp in rebel held areas of the south. He is fully aware of the size of the challenges ahead. There is a saying here that a bad beginning makes a good ending, says Mabior. So from us, starting from nowhere, I know we shall go to somewhere. He, like the man who started a war with a machete, has faith and a belief that things will eventually improve sometime, somewhere in the future. He and others here cannot wait to hear the church bells ring as Friday night turns to Saturday and South Sudan rings in freedom at the stroke of midnight. Even when you count to a million, you have to start from zero, says Mabior. We are at zero now, maybe getting close to one.
- [10:53]
B
Peter Martell youl might think the roadside petrol station is about the blandest and most impersonal place possible. But in Iceland, at least, this isn't necessarily the case. Of course, you can chat to people there about the cost of diesel, the weather or the latest volcanic eruption. But these days it's just as likely. You'll be buttonholed by a Cambridge University research associate called Emily Lethbridge, who' question you closely about characters like Egil Skallegrimson, the warrior, poet and adventurer. She's gathering material about the Icelandic Sagas, the epic tales about the island's earliest settlers. Some locals, she tells us, are better informed about them than others.
- [11:32]
E
Since January this year, I've been travelling around Iceland in order to seek out the places where the medieval Icelandic sagas are set. These are stories about the first settlers in Iceland, and I'm trying to get a feel for the landscapes in which their action unfolds. My means of transport is an ex military Land Rover ambulance in which I sleep, cook and work. It's a vehicle that never fails to provoke comment. This often works in my favour, since part of my project involves meeting and talking to anyone and everyone I come across. That's how I'm gathering information about local traditions associated with any one saga and the places mentioned in it. The Landi guzzles alarming quantities of petrol, and petrol stations are thus key to my travel plans. Beyond the urban sprawl of Iceland's capital, Reykjavik, the petrol station invariably doubles as a shop and cafe and is the hub of local communications. School children will head there in groups after school to hang out and eat sweets. Parents take their kids there for an ice cream or a ubiquitous hot dog. They call it a pilsa here heaped with dried onions and liberally anointed with ketchup and remoulade. Whoever serves behind the counter will know all the gossip almost before it happens. As well as providing me with numerous insights into rural Icelandic life. Petrol stations have frequently proved to be good starting points for saga related leads, as unlikely as this may sound. I pull up outside the petrol station in Stokseri on the southwest coast of Iceland, and go inside. About 10 men between the ages of 20 and 70 are sitting at the two tables by the window. Most of them are dressed in outdoor overalls. They fall silent momentarily as I enter and look at me, then resume their chat. I listen in to the conversation, which comprises general ribbing of some of those present. The weather forecast for the next few days, comments on local happenings and characters, opinions on current political issues, verdict on what was on TV the night before, Condemnation of the ever increasing price of petrol in the country. When the conversation lulls, I introduce myself and explain what it is I'm doing there. Has any one of them read the saga that is set in that area? If they haven't, do they know of it, nevertheless have an idea of its contents or know anything about the local places mentioned in it? The saga in question is not one of the better known ones, but a couple of the men have read it and most others chip in with some comment or other. It's a pile of lies, states one of the men. Perhaps a general verdict on the saga, or perhaps he's thinking of a certain odd episode in which the protagonist orgils trapped by winter sea ice in Greenland, cuts open his nipple and wet nurses his infant son after his wife has died of plague. Fair enough, the manager suggests I might want to talk to the curator of the local museum, calls him for me and arranges for me to head straight over to his office. What service? In the next door town, Erubaki, another group of men are sitting and eating their lunches in that town's petrol station, joking with the daughter of the manager and her friend as they knit busily. The coffee canister is on the table. I ask how much a cup costs. You decide, says one of the men. Just put some clink in the box. I chuck in a handful of coins and hope I've got it right. More or less. A man comes in as it starts snowing heavily outside. You've brought the snow with you. It was only raining before you got here, teases the manager. After drinking my coffee, I raise the subject of the sagas. I ask who the local priest is and assure those present I'm not having a religious crisis, but that I've found priests to be good sources of local information in addition to what I can glean from people I meet while refueling. A woman who has dropped in to buy some milk gets out her mobile and gives me the priest's phone number. Just say you got it from Elisabet, she says. I call the priest and explain how I came by his name and number from a woman in the petrol station. Without further ado, the priest invites me around for coffee or tea if I prefer, after he learns that I'm English. When I finish the account of my travels through the saga landscapes of Iceland, petrol stations and priests will feature prominently. Much as I love libraries, this sort of face to face research certainly beats ordering books up from dusty library stacks and is an exciting way of bringing these sagas to life.
- [16:10]
B
Emily Lethbridge In Iceland, Armenia has always been a place which swims between huge historical currents. Early in the 4th century A.D. it was the first country in the world to declare itself Christian, and the Armenian Church has been at the core of its identity ever since. But surviving as a nation between the Ottoman and Persian empires, and then during the Cold War wasn't easy. This used to be a nation noted for its cuisine, its wines, and a legendarily strong brandy, a particular favorite among Stalin's elite The Russian author Maxim Gorky famously wrote that it was easier to climb all the way up Mount Ararat than it was to emerge from the cellars of Ararat cognac. Armenia was relatively well off during Soviet rule, but 20 years of independence have left its economy in a precari. Most of the old manufacturing and industrial sectors have died away and the vast collective farms have gone with them. Alex Renton says, for many there today, life's a struggle.
- [17:10]
A
A vast red stone fortress looms over Yerevan, the capital of Armenia. It could be a palace, it could be a prison, but it is in fact the headquarters and the distillery of the Yerevan Brandy Company. Among the vast stills and the old oak casks, all of them faithfully copied from French cognac makers back in 1887, there lie a few bottles of a strong and specially aged brandy named Ararat de Vin. This may just possibly be the liquor that oiled the partition of Europe at the end of the Second World War. Like many people, Armenians have a favourite Winston Churchill quotation asked the secret of his long life. They tell you that, the great man replied, cuban cigars, Armenian brandy and no sport. The quote sadly appears nowhere that I can find in any Churchill biography or archive. But it is certainly true that he liked brandy a lot. By his own estimate, he had by 1945, aged 71, drunk enough to fill three railway carriages. It is also true that during the war, Joseph Stalin shipped him several dozen cases of Armenian cognac made by the Yerevan company. And it's certain that a lot of alcohol was drunk at the 1945 Yalta Conference. This is where Stalin, Churchill and President Roosevelt met to haggle over the carving up of east and Central Europe. As the end of the fighting loomed, one of Churchill's aides at Yalta wrote of the Prime Minister drinking buckets of Caucasian champagne, which would undermine the health of any ordinary man. Touring the factory, Amin Ghazarian told me that the company has testimony from an Armenian spy who who was at Yalta helping organise the conference. He informed us that Duveen brandy was officially served during the day, but that crucial source died last year. This is all much more significant than you might imagine. Brandy is the country's most important manufactured export, and Armenia these days is finding it very hard to hold its head up economically. And so Yerevan, which is now owned by the French company Perna Ricard, is eager for new markets, hence the need to pin down that Churchill connection. In the Armenian mountains, we went to visit the farmers who provide the raw material for the country's wine and spirit industry. There was shocking hardship. I met families living on foraged greens they found under the spring snow, whose children had never seen a doctor. Some had only eaten meat once in the last six months. So severe are the problems there that Oxfam has a program of the sort you would see in poorer parts of Africa. The aid agency gives families cows and sheep to improve their nutrition and to help them get an income. There is a perfect storm of factors that have brought these parts of Armenia to poverty levels comparable with the world's least developed countries. Geography does not help. Armenia is a cul de sac of a country which does not trade with two of its richer neighbours, Turkey and Azerbaijan. Because of historic disputes, the and Armenia must import much of its staple foods. The price of those is rising frighteningly, up 14% last year. Wheat flour alone costs double what it did three years ago. And then there's the weather. Climatic change has hit hard, with hotter summers, more violent rainfall and drier, colder winters. I've never seen that so dramatically illustrated as in the mountains of Vayotsor, near Armenia's border with Iran. On our second morning there, we woke to a fresh snowfall. It covered the blossom of the apple and apricot trees with a fatal white blanket. Our newborn child is under the frost, farmer Angela Babayan said to me as she tried to beat the snow from the trees with a broomstick. She had never seen such a frost so late until last year. And then the Babayans lost the entire apricot crop, one of the few things other than grapes on the smallholding that can be sold for cash. The vines, though, were undamaged, and so brandy means hope to the Babayans and to thousands of other families in Armenia's harsh mountains. Dvin Churchill's brand is rarely made now, but I eventually tracked some down in a tourist shop in central Yerevan. It was a hundred dollars a bottle, but I had to try it in the glass. It was a lovely caramelly brown and much darker than cognac on the nose, as they say. It was rich and spicy, the first sip, an instant shock to the throat and then to the brain. De Vin is 50 degrees proof, 10 more than most French cognac, but it was good. It made you glow. After a glass, a deep sense of bonhomie settled in after another. You felt you could certainly tackle a big Cuban cigar, but no sport.
- [21:57]
B
A relaxed Alex Renton. There now, have you considered where you'd like to be when the end of the world comes around? Planning is somewhat hindered of course, by the fact that most of us have little idea when, if ever, that event will take place, and we're similarly ignorant about how exactly it might come about. There is a school of thought which suggests there's only one place where the human race will be spared come that traumatic day. Conveniently for those who love France, we can reveal it's a small village in the southwest of that country. And Chris Bockman's been along to see if there's room for us there.
- [22:33]
F
Bugarach, a tiny ancient village on the French side of the Pyrenees mountains, is extremely hard to find and you have to make a special effort to get there. And that is apparently just what a variety of esoteric groups, New ages and doomsday cults are doing, or planning to do. According to the ancient Mayan calendar, at some point towards the end of 2012, the world will come to an end. It's not clear how that will happen, but apparently humanity doesn't stand a chance. Except for those who seek shelter in the area surrounding Bugarash. Just 200 people live there all year round. But doomsday believers and spiritual groups are convinced the village has magical powers, thanks to the local mountain that peaked Jebugarash. For years, rumors have circulated on the Internet that extraterrestrials live in the mountain and come the apocalypse, the top will open and they will emerge with spaceships and rescue their local inhabitants. Sounds ridiculous, right? But the French authorities say it's no joke. A special parliamentary committee has warned that sex may be considering mass suicides in 2012 on French territory. It's pointed the finger at some of the people spending time around Bugarash and elsewhere in the Pyrenees. The authorities say some individuals have bought land in the mountains with the intention of building bunkers surrounded by their acolytes in order to survive the end of the world or even die together. I have to admit, while I was in Bugarash, I sold no spaceships or mysterious priest like figures, just a painting on a wall depicting UFOs picking a human off a mountaintop and some sleepy dogs basking in the sun, rather fed up at being woken up by yet another foreign journalist. A four man crew from German television was also wandering through the village looking for signs of the near end of the world. They too came away empty handed and rather puzzled by all the fuss. It has to be said that the local population is not exactly thrilled to see the media stomping through the village. And and most are not talking. Their shutters are tightly shut to keep out both the Searing heat and pesky reporters asking questions about UFOs. One who was willing to talk was Valerie Austin, a retired British school teacher who came here 10 years ago to get away from it all. She said she believed she had a rational mind and just couldn't see how anyone could take seriously the idea that the mountain might be some sort of underground UFO car park. But the local mayor, Jean Pierre Delors, told me groups that could be called sex are heading to the mountaintop and taking part in strange rituals. Others dressed in white outfits have also been seen holding furtive gatherings in the forest near the village. He says it's frightening his constituents, and he also shakes his head in disbelief. He said with ghoulish humor, if it really is the end of the world next year, he has no desire to be left on his own in the village. It won't be much fun. He would rather die with the rest of civilization. And at the nearest estate agency, about 10 miles from the village, Jacques Fargier said he has sold some big properties in the village to some strange types that could be characterized as sex. In fact, teasingly, he said there would be no point in awe. From our own correspondence listeners and heading to the village looking for a property safe haven because there wasn't much on the market and building permission was very hard to obtain in this stunning part of the world. Doomsday or not, there's no question that the countryside around Bugarach has a very powerful hold on many visitors with esoteric inclinations. In the next valley is another tiny village, Rennes le Chateau, that's been swamped by tourists for several years after the highly successful writer Dan Brown revealed in the Da Vinci Code an an that the local priest became rich overnight. According to the legend, he found proof that Mary Magdalene and Christ may have been lovers. And he was bought off by the Catholic Church to keep the truth secret and then buried his wealth near the village. Every year, spiritual travelers come to soak in the energy they say comes from the mountain. They're convinced something very strange happened here. This arid and remote region has a rich history. Brutal religious wars and border conflicts between France and Spain have marked the land. Ransacked castles dot the landscape. A low cost of living, artisan economy and air of mysticism lingering over the mountainous terrain has attracted misfits and a large community of hippies to the region for years. For the local restaurants and bed and breakfast owners, there's no doubt the strange tales and magic energy said to be inside the mountains are extremely good for tourism. But they admit too many visitors in white tunics. Holding secret gatherings at night is not the kind of business they're keen on.
- [27:39]
B
Strange goings on in the Pyrenees. Chris Bockman bringing this edition to a close. We'll all be here again, all being well, of course. Not going to France yet on Saturday morning. Do join us. Goodbye.