Overstaying Welcomes

I’d never been so happy to enter a French Foreign Legion base. Typical emotions encountered upon crossing the metal gates of any one of the Legion regiments can range from dread to disillusionment and no further. Joy? Now that was a new one. The contrast between this, my final week in the Legion, and my first traversing of the security barrier of the headquarters of La Légion Étrangère was incalculable. Then, hand trembling, watching my passport being torn from my humid grip, not knowing what would happen next. Now, strolling out past the security gate with a casual nod to the corporal chef on duty, not……..knowing what would happen next either, actually.

It’s been exactly two weeks since I left the Legion, and only now have I plucked up the courage to write this, my final blog. The medals have been packed away, the parting photos held briefly on the iPhone for a few nostalgic glances before being committed to the annals of hard-drive history. Here I sit in my new house in Dublin, anxious beyond words to advance to the next chapter of my life but incapable of doing so, until this one has been properly, officially closed.

That last week at Aubagne, the headquarters of the French Foreign Legion, was one of the most surreal of the past five years. And that’s saying something. I had arrived with a Moldovan colleague, with whom I’d begun my adventure in Aubagne back in 2008. Once back at HQ, we encountered two more friends from basic training who had each embarked on different journeys over the course of their contracts. Four, in total. Four, from an original forty-six. Granted, three guys had left through the front gates a week earlier, which brought the total number of 5-and-out to seven. Seven who completed our contracts and moved on. About eight or so raised their hands to leave before the end of basic training. Following on from that, and by our own more-or-less accurate calculations, another twelve or so had deserted over the course of the five years. That leaves more than half of our co-trainees having signed on to continue their careers.

The atmosphere amongst the departing was one of calm and light-heartedness, with a grand total of eighteen soldiers wrapping up careers of varying lengths, the youngest of course being ourselves, clocking out at five, the oldest being an Adjudant Chef who managed to rack up a staggering 35 years of service. Respect was maintained among the ranks but with a far less formal air. Handshakes were heartier, jokes more honestly laughed at, everyone buzzing with excitement at closing the book on their legion stories. The week was spent sauntering from office to office, confirming our decisions, our personal details, our future plans, our addresses abroad to forward mail to, and so on.

I’m sorry, but fuck this!

All these banal details, bland, lifeless descriptions, this isn’t how it was when I first started this blog. There was more life to my writing, more self-indulgence in the images and pictures painted by my oftentimes-convoluted words and phrases. And to be honest, I miss that. I miss being submerged in the Legion, not knowing day from night, forward from back, down from up. Paddling uncertainly through a murky abyss, a crushing yet strangely comforting pressure enveloping me from all sides. It was peaceful down there, in its own chaotic way. The sharks would bump but never bite, the electric eels slither slimily through legs and around necks, toying and teasing without ever delivering that fatal shock. It was a weird sort of rush, to delude oneself into thinking it was dangerous for the sole purpose of excitement and adrenaline, only to unwaveringly recognize the security it provided, those deep, dark murky waters of the abyss, where every rock peppering the ocean floor was painted a brilliant white, all bundled together to spell “Honneur et Fidelité”.

Two weeks ago, I broke the surface and crawled through white-crest waves crashing down around me, relentlessly calling me back in to the ocean, sweeping my hands out from under me, rolling backwards and pulling desperately at me. I made it to dry land, peeled off my wetsuit hoping for a long-overdue chance to stretch and breathe. Instead I was met with a rush of cold, a goose-pimpling chill to replace the envelope of cosy deep-sea pressure. Joining the French Foreign Legion was the hardest thing I had ever done, until it came time to leave.

Not that I was ever tempted to stay. Five is five, no more no less, that’s what I said because that’s what I meant. That certainty, however, doesn’t cushion the blow as that cold rush of air hits your bare skin and you realize “I’m out!”. I’m out, on the outside, the gates clanked shut behind me, resonating in defiance at another soul lost, another man down, another Képi shoved unceremoniously into the back of a dusty wardrobe in some rented flat in some far-away city, far from the Legion, far from the sea.

Make no mistake: these past five years have been the most incredible, illuminating, heart-soaring and soul crushing, intensely beautiful, boring and bone-shuddering of my entire life. Every second, every minute, every hour, day, month and year of my service morphed into one single entity the moment I crossed those iron gates for the very last time. I have loved every second, minute, hour, day, month and year, because I have loved my time as a legionnaire so profoundly, so completely, and with more pride than one can imagine. I’ve met some of the most remarkable people this planet has to offer, not only because of what they did before joining the Legion, but because of having served therein. It is a unique and exclusive brotherhood, and in spite of my differences with many of them, brothers they shall forever remain.

This blog has been an amazing adventure, and through it I’ve grown immensely as a human being, as a soldier, a writer and a general GC (Kiwis, take note). I’ve thoroughly enjoyed corresponding with the numerous messages and comments directed my way. Never seen as a crutch in which to embellish my oftentimes mundane exploits, I’ve found writing this blog to have been more like a strong cupped hand beneath the sole of my boot, pushing me upward to a superior vantage point, my sole responsibility to holler down to you, the reader, calling out everything I see from across the great high wall that encircles this magnificent institution. I hope I have served you all as well as I have the nation of France, her people, and of course my fellow brothers-in-arms.

The next chapter of my life lies as yet unwritten, as shall this blog from this point onwards and forever more. I would like to thank every single person who has laid eyes on my words from the very bottom of my heart. It has been quite a ride.

Bon courage, et rappelez-vous tous:

Légionnaire un jour, Légionnaire toujours.

Dermot