A small town with a big story

Yes, that is a seven metre tall golden Buddha, and yes, I took that picture today in rural France. The story of how it got there is quite an interesting one, so here it is...

By the end of the Second World War, the village of Noyant-d'Allier was dying - the coal mine which had supported the town had long since closed, and almost everybody had left in search of pastures new. Row upon row of terraced houses, built especially to house the miners and their families, sat empty.

At the same time, all the way over in French Indochina, Ho Chi Minh and his supporters were engaged in a bitter struggle for freedom from the French Empire. By 1954, the French had been driven out and North Vietnam was born. This created a substantial number of refugees, including a large number of Vietnamese with French citizenship. In search of somewhere to house them, the empty village of Noyant-d'Allier suddenly became useful once more.

In a matter of weeks, over three thousand Franco-Vietnamese people moved into Noyant-d'Allier, a large number of them children. Suddenly, there was a 1950's French village with a population which was 75% Asian. Over time, families were started, people integrated into the local community, and even though some left for places like Paris and Lyon, Noyant-d'Allier became a "little Vietnam" to which they could always come home.

After some years, the refugees and their descendants raised enough money to build a Buddhist pagoda in the village, the centrepiece of which was to become the golden Buddha you see above. In recognition of the village's unusual but important role in French history, the regional government paid half the cost. The pagoda opened in 1995 and is a fairly authentic piece of Vietnam in rural Auvergne - it's staffed by the children who came to Noyant-d'Allier in 1954, who are now pleasant elderly ladies eager to tell you their story over a cup of tea and some ginger. And so they did.

It really is a rather special place; the whole village is a testament to peace and friendship borne of war and imperialism. In the little tearoom to the side of the pagoda, curious French visitors (plus a Brit and a Finn) can sit down with some of the Vietnamese ladies and have a good old chat. In what is still a relatively small village, the pagoda has become something of a community centre - albeit one watched over by Buddha.

The village's other unusual attraction is VéloRail, an old railway line once used by the mine which now carries tourists through the local countryside on pedal-powered contraptions which each hold four passengers. There are two sets of pedals at the front and a couple of chairs at the back, so you can take the legwork in turns. The vehicles were obviously home-made and didn't feel particularly safe, but nipping across viaducts and level crossings with the breeze on your face was rather novel.

In our foolish generosity, Minda and I offered to cycle the return leg, which was significantly more uphill than the way down. Five kilometres later we had pain in our legs, although our subsequent chat with the Vietnamese children of Noyant-d'Allier made our journey seem a great deal more trivial.