Hemingway was born here in Chicago -
a city of ferocious energy, a production line,
a series of constantly moving parts.
It thrives on invention, ambition
and the need to be bigger and better than anywhere else.
But this land of giants doesn't seem to intimidate its inhabitants.
They find time to talk to strangers wherever they find them.
- (PALIN) Were you born in Chicago? - Yes, I was.
It seems a kind of macho city, in a way. I don't know why.
It seems people here are still part of the West and the pioneer spirit.
There's a saying in Chicago that a punch in the mouth is worth a thousand words.
So, yeah, it still kinda sticks. The hog butchers to the world.
Maybe this is Hemingway's style. He used very few words.
I would say that's it.
When you travel, they find out you're from Chicago, they go, "Bang bang! Gangster."
Yeah. This is not true any longer?
No. You won't see anyone driving around with machine guns gunning people down.
- I'm in the wrong place. - That's changed.
They may have run out of gangsters, but there are lots of Hemingway clues here.
My new friend couldn't be more helpful.
Any time you need anything in this city, please feel free to give me a call.
But don't call me at work.
(FRANTIC SHOUTING)
You might assume that Hemingway's tough-guy image was honed in the heart of Chicago.
In fact, he was born and brought up in the suburbs out to the west -
in one of the most respectable of them.
0ak Park, ten miles from downtown Chicago,
was founded 150 years ago by those who had won the American Civil War.
It was intended to be sober, civilised and God-fearing.
Hemingway, they say, called it a place of wide lawns and narrow minds.
That could be one reason why nothing much has changed.
Except, in some cases, to make the houses look even older.
This is Hemingway's birthplace. It's in the middle of a 19th-century makeover.
This is the house in which Hemingway first saw the light of day,
a few months short of the 20th century.
He was born the son of a respected doctor
and his mother, Grace, was a creative woman who wrote songs.
It's funny, there's a definite feeling to Oak Park of the leafy suburbs of Sheffield.
And there is a connection.
This house belonged to Ernest's grandfather, Ernest Hall,
who was an immigrant from Sheffield.
So the handle Ernest was made in Sheffield - as indeed was myself.
What is that picture there? The little girl.
- That's little Ernie. - Ernie?
He was dressed by his mother as a little girl for the first two years.
With the long hair and the dress.
It's really rather special, this.
It's obviously one of Hemingway's childhood notebooks.
Must have been nine or ten.
"My favourite authors are Kipling, O Henry.
"My favourite sports are trout fishing,
"hunting, shooting... football and boxing..."
And then this very prescient couple of lines at the end here, which says,
"I intend to travel and write."
Well... how right he was.
(WOMAN) This is the place where American literature was changed for ever.
So this is the actual room where Hemingway first came into the world.
What are the reactions of people
when they're confronted with this - the centre of the shrine?
We've had some tears.
A man from Belorussia wept. He said, "This is one of the happiest days of my life."
We also had a gentleman from Spain and he said,
"This is the house where Hemingway smelled his first smell,
"saw his first colour, had his first sensations."
- So there are different responses. - (PALIN) Quite intense.
I'm trying to smell the smells that Hemingway first smelt.
- Right here. - I smell our cameraman's cheesy socks.
Next door is a picture of Grandfather Ernest with Hemingway and two of his sisters.
What catches my eye is that Ernest Junior, aged only five,
appears to be cradling a double-barrelled shotgun.
Guns were so much a part of his life - and so little a part of mine -
that it occurs to me I should find out more about them.
Before leaving, I rashly asked if any of Hemingway's mother's songs still existed.
# Oh, lovely Walloona
# Thy laughing ripples kiss the shore
# Oh, lovely Walloona
# How can we praise thee more?
# Swing daintily, oarsmen
# Walloona sleeps
# The day is o'er #
(BANGING AND SAWING)
Hello, Peter. It's Michael Palin here. You said to ring you if I need anything.
- I wonder if you might be able to help me. - (GUNSHOT)
Present it out a little bit further to give you eye relief.
I suppose I can't appreciate Hemingway without knowing what a real gun feels like.
Peter, who seems to know everything, met me at a range.
They feel like toys. I know they're not toys.
We're all brought up with these, but the real thing could do a lot of damage.
Yeah. A bullet moving at 1,500 feet a second could ruin your afternoon.
Would you like to select a couple of targets?
- First we have our Ma Barker look. - Yeah. Mm...
Facing down a 12-gauge here. Then we'll move to the balaclava bad guy.
- Very hairy arms. - It helps!
And this is a target used by police departments around the globe.
I don't want to shoot at someone I might know, so let's take the silhouette.
- It's the least worst. - All righty.
This is the 44 Magnum of "Dirty Harry" fame.
What do they use these for?
Stray elephant in the park, things of that nature.
- So is that ready? - Yeah. It's ready to go.
Let me take a look at your stance. That looks pretty good.
- (GUNSHOT) - Good job. Dead centre.
Relax. It's just like shaking a hand.
- I'm shaking like a leaf. - It's the first time.
Why is it the Americans have guns and the British don't?
I think because you're so close together, you'd be shooting each other in large numbers,
so you've settled for bashing each other.
You're further apart, so you need guns.
- We need longer-range weapons. - That's a wonderful theory.
But Hemingway was really a shotgun man.
I've got a shotgun here. We'll get it set up for you and give it a go.
I should have one of those, I suppose. Then I'll have a lie-down and a cup of tea.
Here's your 12-gauge.
Why don't we step in and give it a go?
- There's just one in here? - Actually, there's three. You pump it.
And squeeze easily. Fire.
Bloody hell!
- Nearly took my arm off! - It's a heck of a kick.
That's probably enough of that. Thank you very much.
(BAND MUSIC AND SIRENS)
Every year the Hemingway family escaped the summer in Chicago
and took a steamer to the rural peace of north Michigan.
It was in this idyllic countryside
that Ernest sharpened his skills at hunting, fishing and shooting.
- How ya doing? - Morning.
- Something I can help you with, sir? - Yes.
I need a gun, really, for hunting purposes.
- Can you recommend one for me? - Sure. What are you hunting?
Grouse is a real popular game bird.
Though the array of weapons is frightening, the man who sells them is quite the opposite.
He couldn't be more helpful to a novice like me.
His shop contains everything the sharp sportsman could desire.
If I'm going to be a hunter, I'm going to have to learn a whole new language.
I'm not sure I really want to.
Look at this. Urine corner. Doe urine.
Red fox urine. You can't buy that in Safeways.
"Reduces fear."
Irresistible.
Well, just this once.
The woods round here were full of game for Hemingway to practise on.
Dr Hemingway taught his son to respect guns
and to understand the wildlife he was about to shoot.
I've got one afternoon to learn everything.
What sort of thing do you shoot here?
Pheasants and grouse and woodcock. Some duck hunting.
My companion is Dirk Shorter, owner of this private hunting reserve.
Perhaps he can tell me the point of all these hunting accessories.
- Will this improve my chances? - Maybe.
OK. I'll just try a little.
Now's the time for a man to do what a man's got to do.
Pheasant.
Rabbit!
Woodcock. Behind the apple tree.
(PALIN) The first one was just a lucky fluke.
0nce I start hitting things, I shed my inhibitions and begin to enjoy myself.
Grouse.
Squirrel here.
Partridge.
What's the point of shooting nowadays?
We're supposed to be saving life. Is that unduly sentimental?
No. Compassion for animals is good, but...
I don't think we should get too far removed from where we're from.
You know, we are predators.
I don't think of myself as a predator, but I suppose I am. My wife is less sentimental...
She was brought up as a farmer's daughter and they had a duck and...
- They butchered it. - No, they ate it.
- I suppose they had to butcher it first. - It was a Christmas duck.
We get the butchering done by other people now.
I think we get removed. We eat the meat and we don't think about that.
I might shoot people. There are a lot of people I'd rather shoot, but ducks are lovely.
Well, though I say it myself, that wasn't a bad day.
I missed these two...
but I bagged all these.
I know I'm only shooting at clays, but what do you expect?
I'm not Hemingway.
Yet.
The nerve centre of the Hemingway summers, and the subject of Grace's song,
was Walloon Lake.
I'm introduced to it today by Strat Peaslee.
Each year, his parents came from Chicago to live in one of these lakeside cabins.
The Hemingways called theirs Windermere.
It was built in 1899 - the year Ernest was born.
- (PALIN) There it is. It looks all closed up now. - For the winter.
- Do you remember the house? - Very well. Had a lot of good times there.
(PALIN) I've got these wonderful pictures of him.
I think it must have been on that little jetty there.
There's another one there of him fishing on the jetty.
Did you know Dr Hemingway?
Yes, I knew the doctor.
I had a bumble bee in my ear
and so my mother took me down to Dr Hemingway and he took the bee out.
So I got the famous ear.
A Hemingway shrine. People come and look at your ear.
From Walloon Lake, Hemingway used to hike to the village of Horton Bay.
This is the Horton Bay general store,
which is pretty much exactly the same as it was in Hemingway's day.
I'm going to try some fishing around here
and I've got a list that Hemingway made up in 1916 for his fishing expedition.
I'm going to see if they have any of this stuff.
- Cook kit? - No.
- Axe? - No.
- Two reels? - No.
- Two rods? - No.
- Doing well. Hooks? - Yes, I do.
- Right over there. - Fantastic.
- Camera? - No.
We've got one of those. Matches?
- Yes. - Good.
Combination knife and fork?
- Yes. - Fantastic.
- Safety pins? - No.
It doesn't sound very Hemingwayesque. Do a bit of darning in the woods.
- Here's one you'll have. Pedometer? - What is that?
I think it's something you attach to your body to show how far you've walked.
He was very keen on walking and keeping lists.
- No pedometers? - No.
There's a gap in the market there.
Cheesecloth?
- No. - Belt?
- No. - Potted meat?
- Yes, we have Spam. - Spam!
Yes!
# Spam, Spam, Spam Lovely Spam, Spam, Spam... #
Sorry. I get royalties on that. Worms?
- Yes. We have night crawlers. - What are they?
- They're big fat worms. - Do you have those?
I'm sure you can get rid of them. I'll start with the worms.
Armed with night crawlers, fishing rod and the advice of John Sheets,
I'm ready to haul them in.
This is the Horton Creek?
- Which Hemingway fished. - He did fish it.
It's like throwing a piece of string into a loop.
You cast using the weight of the line to cast out the fly. Give it a try.
OK. I've got it.
So I pull this out and it's kind of a flicking movement?
Yeah. Slow it down a little bit and you'll be better off.
Just pick it up. Watch my ears.
- That was a close one. - Was it? Oh, God.
Leave the fly in the water and twitch it along.
I forgot I was fishing. I was just trying to throw the line.
OK. Then you pick it up.
- Oops. - Look at that. Where did he go?
- There he is. - Do you see him?
There he is. That's a steelhead. My gosh, look at that fish.
Oh, shit.
There you go. Lift that line up and then pull it back.
And again.
- Do you have a curse about fish? - I think I do, actually.
Look at that. Wow.
- OK. - Oh.
It may not look like it, but I am learning.
I've learned that I almost certainly lack the killer instinct.
Oh, crocodile.
0r maybe, like Hemingway, you just have to start very young.
Hemingway learnt a lot from the Indians who used to live around Walloon Lake.
To find out where they are now, I'm heading north across the Mackinac Bridge,
over the Great Lakes and almost up to the Canadian border.
1.50. Thanks.
When Hemingway was growing up in north Michigan, the Indians were his friends.
He knew a lot of them, had adventures with them.
40 years later, Indians were people who threw tomahawks at John Wayne.
They were always the enemy. A real case of historical brainwashing, I think.
We shall see.
There's one. Gotcha!
Casinos are the new Indian territory.
Legal restrictions on gambling don't apply to reservations in the same way as elsewhere.
The local tribes can run these places their way.
Sage pushes negative energy away. Cedar's for healing. Tobacco is for prayer.
- Why do you have that in a casino? - It's an Indian casino.
These are our medicines. We want everyone to have a good stay.
We want them to feel balanced.
Have you any hints that may make me a luckier man?
It depends on your individual luck. It depends if you yourself are lucky.
A wave of that won't help?
No. This is just to clean and purify the area and bring in positive energy.
That's good.
You never lose here because you always have a good time.
- That's true. - That's a philosophy I've heard before.
- Thank you very much. - You're welcome, sir.
Do you have to be of Indian origin to work here?
- No. - Are you an Indian?
- Yes. - 16. I was close.
- Which tribe are you from? - The Sault Ste Marie tribe.
- Sault Ste Marie? - Chippewa Indians.
What's the turnover in a place like this?
- Thank you. - You're welcome.
Last year, for '97,
the revenues for this place was about 50 million.
50 million? How much profit?
He said, noticing the chips going fast.
The Chippewas are down here.
We're a non-profit organisation,
so all the revenues that this place generates goes back into the tribe.
So what would it be used for?
It supports our native social services programmes.
Education. A lot of medical programmes - substance-abuse programmes.
At the rate I'm playing, you'll be able to build an extension to the casino.
- We appreciate it. - Thank you.
In 1917, the Americans joined the war in Europe.
18-year-old Hemingway volunteered as a Red Cross ambulance driver in Italy.
I'm reading his war novel, "A Farewell to Arms",
as I follow the last leg of his journey into Milan.
He wouldn't have arrived here.
This station, Milan Central, was built under Mussolini's Fascist regime in the 1930s.
Mussolini not only made trains run on time,
he made sure they would run into one of the mightiest terminals in the world.
Well, I've seen some stations in my time, but this one beats the lot.
You can probably get every station I've ever seen into Milan Central
and still have room for the pyramids. Amazing.
Leaving the Roman emperors of Milan Central behind,
I enter the world of Versace, Armani and Dolce & Gabbana -
the modern emperors whose images dominate Milan.
I'm looking for the hospital.
(SPEAKS ITALIAN)
The Italian Red Cross still trains volunteers for times of emergency.
Though the class isn't exactly military,
I guess this is the sort of thing Hemingway would have learned in the summer of 1918.
(SPEAKS ITALIAN)
Excuse me.
Grazie.
(LECTURER SPEAKS ITALIAN)
OK? You have some problem?
Yes, I have a problem. I'm not strong enough. It's a problem of strength.
I've got the heaviest bit.
It's a boy.
It's a bouncing boy.
Impressed by my grasp of the human body,
the Red Cross has given me my very own ambulance and instructor, Piero.
- We seem to be going through the gears. - See round the back?
(VOICES ON SCANNER)
I don't have to reply to these people, do I? I don't know what they're talking about.
Slowly.
- We're going here? - Yeah. Slowly.
- Slowly, slowly. - Yes, I see.
- There. - Yeah. Right.
- Good. - OK?
- Are we ready for a bit of siren? - OK.
- (SIREN WAILS) - Slowly, slowly.
Completely panicked that car in front.
- OK? Off. - Yeah. OK.
As soon as the siren goes on, everyone disappears. You have the road to yourself.
Slowly.
I'm glad I haven't got anyone hurt in the back. Now where?
- Now it's a little dangerous. - A little dangerous?
- (SIREN WAILS) - Red light.
Off, off.
- It's a good noise. - OK. Go.
- Shut up. - Slowly.
How fast do these go? Up to 180?
Slowly, slowly. Slowly.
After my lesson, Piero seems to feel the need for a stiff drink.
This gives me a chance to meet his colleagues.
What's the word in Italian? It's important to know what to do when someone...
We discuss matters like blood transfusion and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
They're a good bunch and highly selective in their TV viewing.
(CHEERING)
After completing his training in Milan,
Hemingway was moved up to the battle front just 25 miles from Venice.
Here, the Italian and Austrian armies faced each other
across flat, eerily still farmland.
0ne of Hemingway's tasks was to cycle round distributing provisions to the Italians.
Determined to get close to the action, he often came to the Piave River,
which marked the front line.
One night, Hemingway arrived here bringing cigars and chocolates for the troops
at the same time as a mortar attack began.
He was hit by a trench mortar with a flash
"like a blast furnace door being blown open."
He was covered in about 200 pieces of mortar and took four months to recover.
He came back here 30 years later,
dug a hole in the ground and buried a thousand-lire note.
I'm going to see if I can still find it.
I'm going to use one of the German clasp knives that he used to bury it.
- No, no. Non era qui. Era lì. - Ah.
According to the bridge keeper's daughter, it's actually down here. So...
- No. Non qui. Laggiù. - Oh. Grazie.
He says it's over there.
Like everything involving Hemingway,
romance and reality have merged seamlessly to create confusion.
- It's not there. It's over on the island. - Grazie. Grazie.
I'm not going all the way over there in the middle of winter, with my bad back.
I'll make my own little offering to Hemingway.
I'll bury my copy of "A Farewell to Arms". This is the one I actually used at school.
It seems a silly thing to do, but somehow suitable.
Without this book, I wouldn't be here,
and without the injuries he received here, he probably wouldn't have written it.
He was lucky to survive. Two Italian soldiers blown up with him were killed.
For the first time, Hemingway had come face to face with real pain and suffering.
After a few months, his wounds healed,
but a preoccupation with death and injury stayed with him for the rest of his life.
This corner of the war was to claim many more casualties.
The huge loss of life was something the Italians would not be allowed to forget.
It's a strange feeling to be on a hillside
comprised of the remains of over 100,000 Italians who died in the First World War,
but that's what this is.
On Mussolini's orders, all the bodies were gathered here
to create this extraordinary memorial at Redipuglia.
Just three years after the war ended, Hemingway was back in Europe.
(BELLS TOLL)
Breakfast. Here we are. Coffee.
Thank you. Thank you. Oops!
Santé.
The only bookshop in the world that offers sleeping accommodation
is Shakespeare and Company of Paris.
It also offers a spectacular location at the heart of the capital,
which Hemingway described as "the city I love best in all the world."
For the last 35 years, it's been run with benign eccentricity by George Whitman.
- Thank you for the accommodation. - Was your coffee OK?
- The coffee was good. - That's great.
It's not often in a bookshop you can get a bed for the night.
- What sort of place is this? - I let my imagination run wild.
People think they're coming in to an orthodox, respectable place.
They come upstairs and they find it's a private residence
and they're looking at the pictures in my bedroom.
How do people find out about the bookstore?
What people do you give accommodation to?
People like you are the ones we like to give to, but we refuse hardly anyone
if we think they won't walk out with too many books.
- Is it writers? - We give priority to writers.
All we ask writers to do is to make their beds.
A lot of times there's just students living here. You met a couple tonight.
- They help me to run the bookstore. - Where did he begin?
If I want to find out a feeling of Hemingway's Paris, where would I start?
Leaving the bookstore, just follow the river down.
In Paris there are so many landmarks, it's almost impossible to go wrong.
The Eiffel Tower.
Les Invalides - last resting place of Napoleon.
The new glass pyramid at the Louvre.
0h, dear. The Eiffel Tower again.
When Hemingway first came to Paris in 1921,
he couldn't afford to live in a landmark location.
He and his wife found themselves in a working-class neighbourhood.
(MARKET TRADERS CALL)
The Rue Mouffetard has looked up
since Hemingway described his local cafe as a cesspool,
but finding his apartment takes some doing.
In Paris, Hemingway's only a little bit famous.
Ah, hello.
Je m'appelle Michael Palin, avec le BBC.
Nous faisons un film de Ernest Hemingway
et je sais que c'est I'apartment de Hemingway là.
Est-il possible de passer quelques minutes avec vous
dans I'apartment d'Hemingway?
- Sure. Come on up. - Oh.
Not French at all. He's American. Oh, well.
This staircase must have been the one Hemingway climbed,
maybe carrying coal for the fire.
Their apartment had no hot water and the shared toilet was out on the landing.
- Hello. - Come on in.
- Morning. Hello. - Hi.
Michael Palin. Nice of you to let us in here.
It's an amazing coincidence that Hemingway's flat has still got an American living in it.
- Yeah. - Is that why you got it?
No. I got it for the area. It's a fun area of Paris.
- No ghost of Ernie staggering up the stairs? - Sometimes, but it could be my neighbours.
It's interesting you say it's a smart area because when he was here
it was just a very poor part and he only had a few coals in the fire
and an antiseptic tank which was emptied every day.
There wasn't much of anything which is why many writers lived here.
I can see Hemingway's shirt down there. Still left as it was. Tossed to one side.
- Do you rent this place? - I do.
But from an American woman who's selling it.
Really? It's up for sale. How much?
- One million francs. - Which is, say, in dollars?
About 160,000 to 180,000 US dollars.
- That's amazing. For just this space. - Yes. For just this one studio room.
For 160 to 180,000 dollars, all this could be yours.
Well, I've got ten dollars. What's this? A dead dog?
This apartment may once have been in the poorest part of Paris,
but Hemingway was in Paris.
He was young, he loved the city and he wanted to do everything, instantly.
So I'm going to try and recreate a sort of Hemingway day in Paris.
A game of tennis in his beloved Jardin du Luxembourg.
A run round to Gertrude Stein's to meet fellow Americans.
He shared the French passion for cycling and subscribed to "Pedale" magazine.
And there he is in the gym.
To make extra money, he used to hire himself out as a sparring partner.
Much as I like getting stuck in, it's nice to watch someone else do the work.
That has the right sort of ring to it. Yeah.
Go to the Top - that should do it.
Prix Finistère, numéro neuf à gagner. Cinquante francs, s'il vous plaît.
Go to the Top - suitably Hemingway. Competitive.
Hemingway loved anything involving horses, racetracks and the chance of a flutter.
Come on, neuf.
Allez, neuf!
Allez! Allez! Oh! Where is it?
In second place for 1.5 laps,
and when I began to cheer, it faded down to eighth place.
I don't know why I bother to do this. Go to the Top!
Hemingway greedily lapped up almost every Parisian experience.
0n the other hand, he made very few French friends.
His gang of cronies remained almost exclusively American.
In his day they would have played baseball.
Nowadays the fashion is for Ultimate Frisbee.
Hemingway deferred to the French only in certain areas, like food and art.
Then, if there was any time left, what better to do than liberate the city?
Bonjour. Bonjour. Bonjour, Paris.
This is exactly what Hemingway did.
As the Allies pushed the Germans out in 1944,
he leapt into a tank and set about liberating the places he cared about most.
Brasseries, cafes and the wine cellars at the Ritz Hotel.
- Hello. - (SIREN WAILS)
His early life in Paris ended dramatically.
After a heavy night in March 1928, Hemingway took to the bathroom
only to confuse the flush with the cord of a skylight.
(CRASHING)
What have we got here? Nasty head wound.
Left eye looks defective. The other one has been cut many times.
Tonsils have been gouged. Burns. Internal haemorrhage.
Kidney trouble. Hand injury from punching a glass case.
Broken arm from a car crash. Lacerations from a bolting horse.
Torn muscles in groin. Torn ligaments in right foot.
Anthrax, malaria, haemorrhoids, jaundice. Oh, my God.
These are a few of the illnesses and injuries Hemingway suffered before he was 30.
The pattern continued throughout his life. He was almost wilfully accident-prone.
In the next few years, he broke his arm, shot himself while fishing,
kicked a door and broke his...
It may just be the anaesthetic,
but I have a feeling I'm going to be seeing a lot more of Ernest Hemingway.