Brazil drive French village nuts

Brazil may have the most majestic set of players on the planet. They are the reigning kings of world football. But for the 8,000 inhabitants of Lesigny, a haven of leafy calm beyond the eastern fringes of Paris, they are a right royal pain in the backside.

"We're not responsible for their coming here and, to be perfectly frank, there are a lot of people who would rather they hadn't," said the village mayor, Maurice Mollard. "I'm doing my best to make sure it all goes well but I have to say it isn't easy."

Half a mile up the road, beyond a police road-block manned 24 hours a day by two equally disgruntled gendarmes, lies the source of the village's troubles: the Chateau de la Grande Romaine, an elegant white-walled building set in 70 acres of parkland. There the world champions are and there they will stay until, they hope, the World Cup final on July 12th.

"Actually we're all secretly hoping they get knocked out early," said Nadine, who lives yards from the chateau and is already fed up with having to flash a security pass at a policeman every time she wants to leave her front door. "I don't know much about football and I have nothing in particular against Brazil but really this isn't very funny."

Last week police blew up a suspicious car parked near the squad's training ground at nearby Ozoir. Ronaldo and Romario are natural targets for any terrorist attack and, with 500 Brazilian journalists plus several thousand fanatical supporters intent on getting as close to the champions' headquarters as they can, Lesigny is a village under siege.

Only one road into its northern half is still open and those who live along it have been issued with fluorescent green passes to allow them through the barrier. Anyone else, which includes about 70 per cent of the village, has no alternative but to make a lengthy detour. Even the track to the local cemetery is closed: no one had better kick the bucket before Brazil do.

"There's no point denying it's a headache for some people," said a resigned Mollard at the town hall, where a steady stream of residents were signing for their passes. "People have to go to the road-block and vouch for their visitors. I'm ashamed to say I had a letter earlier this week. The man enclosed a bill for all the extra mileage he, his wife and his maid would have to do to avoid the barricades."

Lesigny's motto is "Live Happy, Live Hidden". Many of its residents, having moved out from Paris with young families in the 1970s, are now retired. And, unlike many French towns, it made no bid to host one of the tournament's 32 teams, so was somewhat taken aback to find itself chosen by the most famous one of all. The Brazilians found the place themselves and dealt directly with the hotel.

"We really didn't want all the fuss," said Michel Vial, the town hall spokesman. "All the cars, all the people, all the litter. It's still two weeks till kickoff and already we've never seen anything like it. But I suppose they liked the hotel, they liked all the land around it and they liked the fact it's near the motorway and the airports. We have to make the best of it."

The village authorities are making an effort. They organised a buffet reception and ceremonial flag-raising to mark the squad's arrival last weekend, inviting officials from the Brazilian Football Confederation and the French Organising Committee.

Sadly the players were not available and afterwards someone stole all the Brazil flags.

The lanes and the small, shaded square, where normally only the discreet clack of boules disturbs the silence, have been smartened up and at the entrance to the village a roundabout has been planted with greenery and yellow flowers to resemble the Brazilian flag. "The people wouldn't understand us spending a lot of money on anything big and fancy," said Vial.

But the preparations have cost money, maybe up to £100,000, that can ill be spared from the municipal budget. Council workers and the village's five policemen have put in long hours of overtime, with more to come.

"And we're not being recompensed at all," complained the mayor. "There have been some toys for the local children, some drink from Coca-Cola, and Nike is organising something for the village football team. But we haven't seen a franc from the organising committee or the Brazilians."

The regional government is, at least, funding the security arrangements. Squadrons of motorbike police now spend their days roaring round the village's lanes, with dozens more guarding the road-blocks and the perimeter of the chateau's grounds.

Some villagers, to be fair, are philosophical. At the bar of Le Petit Ragueneau, overlooking the square, Jean-Paul, a management consultant, said that Lesigny should be honoured. "The World Cup comes to France once every 40 years," he said. "Surely people can put up with a little bit of inconvenience every half a century?"

Outside the bike shop Nicole and Jean were equally phlegmatic. "I'm not a football fan by any means but I don't think it's that bad," said Nicole. "I know I can't get to the next village very easily, so I don't go there. Simple, really." Jean even said he would place flowers on his father's grave, if he could get to it, in honour of Brazil's arrival: "He worked in Rio de Janeiro for many, many years. He'd like it."

Mollard, the mayor, tries hard to put things in perspective. "You know the French," he said. "They're never really happy unless they've got something to get properly worked up about."

He is probably right. "It's too much," fumed Saf, an Algerian-born workman, standing in happy Gallic fury on the high street which, to add insult to injury, has inexplicably become one-way. "You're not allowed to go here, you're not allowed to go there, you have to carry a stupid bit of paper. Merde, there's all too much merde."

Air France, the World Cup's official carrier, is on collision course with its pilots, who are threatening a two-week strike from Monday over the company's lower salary scale for new hires and working conditions. The company said only 10 per cent of long-distance flights would operate on schedule and only a quarter of short and medium-distance flights. The pilots say they may extend the stoppage to a month, hitting virtually all the tournament, if their demands are not met.

French truckers and train drivers, similarly locked in bitter talks with employers, have also threatened to disrupt the World Cup.