Walking to Arras: Thoughts on Small Towns and Long Shadows
There’s something quietly sobering about walking through the small towns of northern France. They’re peaceful, picturesque even—but incredibly isolated. Without a car, it’s nearly impossible to get by. Basic things like groceries, medicine, or even a bakery can be a town or two away.
One thing I kept noticing: so many houses look oddly new. Over dinner last night, someone explained why—much of this region was destroyed during the First World War. Entire towns were flattened, and what we see now are rebuilds. It suddenly made sense. The architecture isn’t just modern out of choice—it’s born from necessity.
Arras itself, now charming and full of character, was once on the front lines. The war tore through this region with incredible force. The British launched a major offensive here in 1917, and the losses on all sides were staggering.
I need to read more about the World War I. Being here makes it feel less like history and more like something that’s still part of the landscape—quietly present in the way towns are spaced, in the way people remember, and even in what’s missing.
Sometimes the silence in these places says more than any monument ever could!











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