normandy

Mom and Dad came over for my autumn break, and we drove to Normandy for three nights. The first part of the adventure was taking the car on the train through the tunnel under The Channel.

Our car on the train in the tunnel under The Channel

We left on Friday after Paul and I finished work, and it took us 2 hours to drive only 70 miles. The traffic never came to a compete halt, but at times we were creeping along at less than 10 miles per hour. This was on a divided 6 lane motorway. There was no evidence of an accident, just people. This was the start of autumn break for all UK schools. Also, England had miraculously made it into the Rugby World Cup final to be played in France the next day, which must have added to the traffic. Their opponent and the ultimate victor, of course, was South Africa. Paul put a small South African flag sticker on our bumper, and we were heckled by one car on the way to the train. We made it almost exactly the required half-hour before boarding. Checking in, going through immigration, and boarding are all done without leaving the car. It’s painless, security search and liquids check-free. Thus far, we’d experienced some of the best and worst that Britain has to offer: orderly and efficient queuing and endless traffic congestion. The trains have double-decker carriages and hold five or six cars per level. We got out of the car and used the loo on the 30 minute ride, but spent most of the time sitting in the car reading the advertisements on the walls.

It was late when we arrived in France; they are an hour ahead of us, so we went straight (after taking the motorway in the wrong direction and turning around at the next junction) to our fully automated hotel. Paul got the parking lot gate opened, front door lock code, our room assignments, and room key cards all at an ATM-like machine outside the front door of the hotel. We didn’t see a live person working there until we went down for breakfast the next morning.

Our drive from Calais to Honfleur, our first stop in Normandy, took about three hours through large farm lands and into rolling hills. The road was a divided four-lane highway with almost no traffic. It was a driving paradise after England’s congestion. We never, and that’s no exaggeration, drive on an English motorway without lots of traffic. It doesn’t always slow us down, but it’s always there. France is like driving across South Africa or most of America – wide open spaces. We stayed on the motorway, so we didn’t get to see much as it doesn’t go near the villages that dot the countryside.


Honfleur

I think that all four of us decided at the end of our trip that our favorite place was Honfleur. It is a fishing village without the smell of fish and just the right amount of narrow cobbled streets, pastel colored buildings, street cafes, and open air markets. Nothing makes me feel like I’m in France more than the smells of rotisserie chicken cooking combined with the sight of rows of gleaming fresh produce and selections of unknown cheeses, cuts of meats, and vegetables.


Beautiful Garlic

Mom looked at every vegetable in the market and would have gone around again if we hadn’t all been ready to eat some lunch. We saw our first examples of Norman architecture, a pleasing mix of Tudor exposed timber, peaked roofs, and gingerbread trim.

It was a bit too cold to enjoy the café culture, but we found a restaurant with a cozy atmosphere and a table in the window so we could watch the locals brave enough to sit outside and the tourists walking past and eyeing their meals. This is something I do to help me decide what and where I want to eat. We all had a different seafood dish, and no one was disappointed.

From Honfleur, we drove to Bayeux to view the Bayeux tapestry. The tapestry museum is well done with a room full of posters describing what life was like for people around 1066. They have a movie that Paul and I skipped. The entire tapestry is displayed under a glass wall that runs around the perimeter of the inside of the building. It’s 230 feet long. The colors are rich and the images cunningly stitched. An audio guide comes with the viewing, which does a great job of describing the scenes. I have two favorite ‘panels.’ One is of the boats leaving France for England, and the other is a row of soldiers on horseback. For 150 euros, I could have bought a kit and stitched replicas.


Notre Dame

After the museum, we walked through the local Notre Dame cathedral, and then made the last drive of the day to our tiny village of St. Mere Eglise, the first French village to be liberated by the allies. The Longest Day is set here, and a mannequin hangs from his parachute from the church steeple.


Church at St. Mere Eglise

Being Saturday, we were able to find an open restaurant. Our hotel owner told us that everything would be closed on Sunday and Monday. We listened to him and believed him, but were still surprised on Sunday when this proved to be true of even larger towns. Our meal that evening was wonderful, but I’m biased because I love French cuisine and the French style of eating, slowly. Odd since I am always the first person finished. Paul had to leave as soon as he finished his main course so that he could watch the beginning of the rugby match. I missed the first half thinking about desert that I didn’t have and then waiting for the bill. By the time I got to the hotel, Paul had paced a track in the floor of our room. It was a great win even if it wasn’t the most exciting game of the match. No, the English did not score a try.

We spent all of Sunday on a D-Day tour. We left before breakfast was served and didn’t have enough time to grab something from the bakery as we’d planned. Not only was I hungry, but I missed out on a quiche, French slice of pizza, or similar treat from bakeries that simply do not exist anywhere else I’ve been. There were three other couples on our tour and our guide, Philippe. Our first stop was a cold, cold visit to bunkers that housed the guns that fired out to sea and were targeted for capture by the landing soldiers.

Gun Bunker

I got a bit lost looking out to sea in relation to the sun, expecting the sea to be west and the sun east. The beaches are on a peninsula and mostly face north north-east, but you probably knew that. Our next visit was the American cemetery. I’ve been to several cemeteries in France over the years, but the rows of simple tombstones move me just like they did the first time.


American Cemetary

France has 11 large cemeteries for American soldiers alone, and I’ve been to British and Canadian cemeteries there as well. Even though, it’s a big country by European standards, the number of cemeteries and the number of those buried there, leave an indelible impression. We don’t have this kind of thing on American soil never having a world war on our territory and having so much land that military cemeteries seem few and far between, and I wonder if it doesn’t allow us to hide from the realities of war to a certain extent.

After the cemetery, we went to Omaha beach and got a lecture on the landing and why it was such a struggle. Then we went to Utah beach and heard why it was relatively easy. Burns “best laid plans” kept running through my head. Between the beach visits, we stopped at Pointe du Hoc. It’s slowly sinking into the sea. Mother Nature is not a romantic. Somewhere in all of that we stopped for lunch. If you didn’t notice earlier, rural France shuts down on Sunday and Monday. Our guide tried three or four restaurants, but all of them were closed or had just stopped serving. We ended up with ham and cheese baguettes from a brasserie, which we ate while sitting on concrete planters in what seemed the town center. Toilets were typically unavailable. Most of the shops in Europe don’t allow people to use their toilets unless they are patrons, especially groups of people. A public toilet was finally located in what Mom described as a concrete box. I’d introduced her to the Turkish toilet at a gas station on the road that offered both, so she recognized it for what it was, but I don’t think that made using it any less traumatizing. We had a wonderful meal in Bayeux after the tour that included aperitifs, cleansing sorbets, and a cheese platter before dessert. The restaurant seemed to be in an old home and the deep stone fireplace had been converted into a wine cellar.

We enjoyed a continental breakfast the next morning at our small B&B before heading south to Mont St. Michel.

Mont St. Michel

The sky was overcast for the first time and stayed that way. As the abbey has a creepy, almost sinister look about it because it sits so isolated off the coast, the weather seemed appropriate. Paul made a dash out to the parking lot when the sun came out to get some photos. While walking through the abbey and reading the guide sheet, I came across one of my eighth grade students and his parents. We exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways. It brought to mind a similar incident that Jenny, Paul’s mom, related to me about a holiday she was on when she met one of her students with his/her family. The parents actually had the nerve to ask if she would mind sitting with their child! One more item to add to my list of why I never was tempted to teach younger kids. The tide was out for our visit and we could see footprints in the sand of people and dogs out for their daily walk. The place looks like something from Tolkien. Getting to the abbey at the top means walking through the gauntlet of souvenir shops, but we arrived before the tour buses, and it was painless.

Our last day in France was spent making our way back to Calais and the train. We stopped in Arromanches to see the remains of the mulberry harbors, massive metal constructions sitting on the ocean floor. Some were as near as 100 meters, but it was high tide, so we couldn’t get close to them.

Mulberry Harbors

My mental images of the landing have always been about humans, masses of flesh and bones both living and dead. Seeing these hulking rectangles and all the other metal from the tour such as Belgian Gates, tanks, and temporary bridges has enhanced my metal images of the day to something that must be closer to accurate. When I put myself in the position of the landing soldier, I feel the fear of freezing water and crushing metal. And this is before I’ve reached the battle.

We got back to Calias with a little over an hour to spend in the huge Cite Europe Mall. Prices in France are more reasonable than in London. Paul found a jacket he’s been looking for since our ski trip last winter, and we stocked up on wonderful French wine. Mostly, we just walked around and got an idea of what was there. English people were filling their carts with laundry detergent, toilet paper, and other staple items, but what caught our eye were the diapers and other baby supplies in stock. We decided then to make a trip over in December to buy for the baby. I don’t know why England is so expensive. Dad suggested that the market gets what people are willing to pay, and I guess that’s it. London, especially, is an expensive town. When we travel now and the guide books warn that the city we’re seeing is expensive, we know that this isn’t often in comparison with London. Only Reykjavik has proven more expensive. Copenhagen is close, but we were able to find similar prices if we did some looking. Thankfully, I’m paid in pounds.