Bill and I began talking about our European adventure about five years ago. Those who know me well will be surprised to hear that I was the first one to actually say the words, “Let’s live in Italy for six months.”
My life had just been impacted by a shake-up at the job where I had worked for 15 years. Up until that time, my life had been predictable, with few surprises, and I liked it that way. But my professional experience taught me that life isn’t always predictable. I began feeling like I needed to push myself out of my comfort zone and shake up my life in a way that I controlled. Bill, of course, is always game for an adventure, and he jumped at the idea of a brand new life experience. So we put motions into place in our life to prepare for me to retire at the young age of 54, and we began saving money towards a goal of spending time in Europe.
Our original plans of living in Italy for six months eventually morphed into a more reasonable three- to- four-month trip. Though I began getting cold feet almost immediately after we started making firm plans, Bill knows just how to deal with me. When I would say, “I don’t think I can do this,” he would say, “We will just take it a day at a time. If we get too homesick, we will come home.” I found I could handle it if I would say, “We will be gone for UP TO four months.”
Well, in fact, we were gone for a total of three-and-a-half months. We spent two weeks cruising over, two weeks in Rome, four weeks in Certaldo, and the rest of the time we traveled around visiting much of western Europe. And we did this at a time when the dollar was as weak as it has ever been. We learned how to travel wisely and frugally, and still had a wonderful time.
In total, we were in eight countries (including the United States): Portugal (remember the Azores?), Spain, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, and Ireland. We attempted to communicate in a total of five languages (plus English) and a number of dialects within those languages: Portuguese, French, Italian, German, and Spanish. We saw a total of six bodies of water: the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean, the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the Adriatic, and the English Channel.
When we picked up the car in Barcelona, the odometer showed 27 kilometers. When we turned it back in, the odometer showed 11,109 kilometers. That translates to over 6,600 miles. In 6,600 miles, we drove around thousands of roundabouts and paid hundreds of dollars in tolls. In addition to that car, we traveled on airplanes, trains, a cruise ship, subways, buses, and of course on foot.
We drank espresso, café latte, cappuccino, macchiato, and café au lait. We enjoyed regional wines and beers, delicious hard apple cider, kir, lemoncello, sambucca, and vin santo. We ate paella in Spain, wienerschnitzel in Germany, bratwurst in Austria, wild boar and rabbit in Tuscany, and of course, the infamous andoulette sausage in France. (We passed up the opportunity to eat horseflesh in northern Italy.)
We attended a horse race in Siena, a circus in Honfleur, a confirmation in Roccotederighi, a medieval festival in Monteriggioni, saw a doctor in Salzburg, and made a pilgrimage in Lourdes. We visited somewhere near 50 churches, and all but one were Catholic churches. We heard Mass in English, Spanish, German, Italian, and French.
We slept in a total of 20 different beds over the past three-and-a-half months.
Since we’ve been home, I find that the most common questions our friends and family ask us are twofold: First, what was your favorite country or experience; and second, was it worth it.
I was prepared for the first question. My favorite country will always be Italy. I love the food, the varying landscapes and colors, the strong sense of tradition, and most of all, the people. But when I try to think of what was the most beautiful place we’ve been, I also think of the Pyrenees Mountains in Lourdes or the beautiful Alps we saw from our window in Salzburg. The countryside in France was astoundingly beautiful. The people in each country are so unique. Each country’s food is distinct and wonderful. I enjoyed the uniqueness of each country.
As for the second question – yes, it was definitely worth it. When I am asked, “how was it?,” my first response is always, “very long.” But after I said that the first couple of times, I began realizing that, while that statement is true, I wouldn’t change it if I had it to do over again. It’s true I was homesick much of the time. I desperately missed my family. I thought very often of my friends. I missed being able to pick up my cell phone and call somebody who spoke English. But a shorter trip wouldn’t have been an adventure. It would just have been a vacation. I needed to push myself beyond what I thought were my limits. My goal was to spend so much time in Europe, and particularly Italy, that I would have a really strong sense of the people and the way they live. I have that.
I think this adventure has changed my life in many ways. I feel right now (and hope I am able to retain this feeling) like there is very little I can’t do if I put my mind to it. I also learned how differently the people in Europe live from people in the United States, and realize that they are happy living the way they do and don’t necessarily envy us our life. But, while I always appreciated what I have as an American, I am much more keenly aware of how good it is to live in this country.
And probably most important of all, my relationship with my husband of 16 years has grown stronger than it ever has been. We were together for three-and-a-half months, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If we would start to bicker, we would stop and work out our difference because in the end, we were each other’s only friend. No one else spoke English! From that experience, I learned a lot about how to accept our differences and know what is important.
We will definitely travel again, as long as we can afford it. We will never take a trip of this length again, but we both still want to see southern Italy and Greece, and eastern Europe. We want to travel around Great Britain again. And of course, there are thousands of things we want to see in the USA.
But for the time being, I am happy to be home with my family, and am enjoying becoming acquainted with my new granddaughter and playing with the rest of the little ones. I am looking forward with great anticipation and joy to the birth of my son’s baby girl in the next few weeks.
One more thing: Many people have asked me if I will continue to blog. To be perfectly honest, I can’t tell you all how much I enjoyed writing this blog every day. It gave me the opportunity to solidify each day’s experiences by putting them in words for you. It made me feel closer to everyone. But, again, to be perfectly honest, my day-to-day life here at home is pretty boring. I am going to be thinking a lot about how I can continue to keep a blog. If I come up with an answer, you will all be the first to know. In the meantime, I will continue to write as things happen.
Enjoy your lives, your families, your friends, and your travels. Ciao!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Going Home
The next time you see a post from this reluctant traveler, I will be in the United States of America. I will not have time to blog about our day today, and will wrap up our adventure sometime during the next few days.
See you soon!
See you soon!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Walking Paris
We took it easy in the morning on Monday, and didn’t actually get out the door until almost 10. We walked to the corner of our block and discovered that the café on the corner was serving petit-dejeuner (breakfast) for 2,00. What a smokin’ deal! We got a cup of espresso, a big glass of orange juice, and a hunk of baguette smeared with good butter, all for only a couple of euros. The funny thing (and the thing that reminds you that you are in a big city) is that the café is called the Cuban Café and the music they were playing inside was salsa. The owners, however, were from India. A Cuban restaurant wi
th Indian owners in Paris. The world’s mixing bowl!
Of course as good as that baguette was, it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Bill’s sweet tooth. But just a bit further down the road we found a boulangerie that was selling fresh-out-of-the-oven pain au chocolait (chocolate croissants) for a euro. That made Bill a happy man. We are very tickled at the packaging in Paris. If you buy a couple of fancy pastries, the shop owners put them carefully in a little box and wrap the box with very pretty flowered paper. And in the case of this pain au chocolait, she put it in a pretty little bag and twirled the corners to keep the bag shut.
When we set off on foot, we didn’t have a goal. We headed toward the Seine and walked and walked – 25,241 steps in total. We worked our way over to Notre-Dame, but didn’t see the inside, as the line was too long. We shot pictures from the outside of some of the gargoyles. Bill thought one looked especially like my dad and stepmother’s wiener dog.
We stopped at a little shop near Notre-Dame for a couple of café crèmes, and the 9,80 total surprised us a bit. We’re down to our final days and don’t want to have to get any more euros. I think we’ll stick to our 2,00 breakfast at the corner restaurant.
We continued to walk down the sidewalks overlooking the Seine River.
About lunchtime we happened to be near the Tuileries Garden, between the Louvre and the Champs Elysee. We strolled past the garden and stopped at a hot dog stand on the Champs Elysee to enjoy a hot dog on a baguette.
What I noticed yesterday is the contrast between Rome and Paris. First of all, the weather yesterday in Paris was absolutely lovely. It was probably only in the high 70s or low 80s with a blue sky. Rome, as you will recall, had been deadly hot during our entire two-week stay there. An even more notable difference, however (since I assume Paris can also get hot), is the pace of the city. Rome is high energy all the time. Everyone has a purpose. Tourists walk towards a sight they want to see. Priests or nuns walk purposely towards their jobs or places of study. Students or working people are in a hurry to get to school or their jobs.
Paris, on the other hand, moves at a slow pace. There are
park benches all around to sit and look at the sights or work on a crossword puzzle or a sudoku puzzle. Old men sit on chairs by the river. Kids ride bicycles with bells. Even the tourists seem to be taking it a bit easier, not in such a hurry to look at the museums but maybe more inclined to stroll over to a place where you can see the Eiffel Tower.
After our lunch, we walked down past the expensive shops and fancy hotels that line the Champs Elysee near the Arc de Triomphe. Since I couldn’t afford anything, and since we had promised ourselves that we wouldn’t push ourselves to exhaustion, we caught a metro that dropped us off very near our hotel. We rested a bit in the afternoon.
Around 7, we walked down to the Bastille area to find a place to eat dinner. We were, of course, way ahead of the dinner crowd. But after walking around looking at different restaurant menus, we found one that was very close to the metro stop. We shared a plate of smoked salmon for an appetizer (what they call the entrée). Then we each got roasted chicken (I was going to get something else, but because it’s August and so many people are out of town, their menu was very limited).
After finishing our dinner, we caught a metro train to Trocadero, where we emerged to the sight
of the Eiffel Tower looming before us. Bill’s plan has been to take the elevator to the top. However, we soon learned that there was a 45-minute wait in line. He elected not to waste time in line. We walked around a bit, and then found a park bench on which to await the tower’s nightly lighting. As it began to get dark, the tower turned blue, which was very pretty. As we sat there awaiting the final lighting of the sparkling lights, we began to see rats running back and forth between trees, apparently waiting until all of the picnickers on the grass were finished dining so they could enjoy their leftovers. I immediately thought of the movie Ratatouille, which I saw with my granddaughter. Somehow these rats didn’t seem so darn friendly. It reminded us that Paris is a big city.
Since the rats were making us somewhat uncomfortable, we began walking away from the tower where we would have a more distant view and be nearer to our metro shop. We found some steps to sit on, and at 10 o’clock, the tower lit up in sparkling white lights. It was very beautiful. I’m so glad we waited.
We caught our metro home and dropped into bed about 11:30.
th Indian owners in Paris. The world’s mixing bowl!Of course as good as that baguette was, it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy Bill’s sweet tooth. But just a bit further down the road we found a boulangerie that was selling fresh-out-of-the-oven pain au chocolait (chocolate croissants) for a euro. That made Bill a happy man. We are very tickled at the packaging in Paris. If you buy a couple of fancy pastries, the shop owners put them carefully in a little box and wrap the box with very pretty flowered paper. And in the case of this pain au chocolait, she put it in a pretty little bag and twirled the corners to keep the bag shut.
When we set off on foot, we didn’t have a goal. We headed toward the Seine and walked and walked – 25,241 steps in total. We worked our way over to Notre-Dame, but didn’t see the inside, as the line was too long. We shot pictures from the outside of some of the gargoyles. Bill thought one looked especially like my dad and stepmother’s wiener dog.
We stopped at a little shop near Notre-Dame for a couple of café crèmes, and the 9,80 total surprised us a bit. We’re down to our final days and don’t want to have to get any more euros. I think we’ll stick to our 2,00 breakfast at the corner restaurant.
We continued to walk down the sidewalks overlooking the Seine River.
About lunchtime we happened to be near the Tuileries Garden, between the Louvre and the Champs Elysee. We strolled past the garden and stopped at a hot dog stand on the Champs Elysee to enjoy a hot dog on a baguette.What I noticed yesterday is the contrast between Rome and Paris. First of all, the weather yesterday in Paris was absolutely lovely. It was probably only in the high 70s or low 80s with a blue sky. Rome, as you will recall, had been deadly hot during our entire two-week stay there. An even more notable difference, however (since I assume Paris can also get hot), is the pace of the city. Rome is high energy all the time. Everyone has a purpose. Tourists walk towards a sight they want to see. Priests or nuns walk purposely towards their jobs or places of study. Students or working people are in a hurry to get to school or their jobs.
Paris, on the other hand, moves at a slow pace. There are
park benches all around to sit and look at the sights or work on a crossword puzzle or a sudoku puzzle. Old men sit on chairs by the river. Kids ride bicycles with bells. Even the tourists seem to be taking it a bit easier, not in such a hurry to look at the museums but maybe more inclined to stroll over to a place where you can see the Eiffel Tower.After our lunch, we walked down past the expensive shops and fancy hotels that line the Champs Elysee near the Arc de Triomphe. Since I couldn’t afford anything, and since we had promised ourselves that we wouldn’t push ourselves to exhaustion, we caught a metro that dropped us off very near our hotel. We rested a bit in the afternoon.
Around 7, we walked down to the Bastille area to find a place to eat dinner. We were, of course, way ahead of the dinner crowd. But after walking around looking at different restaurant menus, we found one that was very close to the metro stop. We shared a plate of smoked salmon for an appetizer (what they call the entrée). Then we each got roasted chicken (I was going to get something else, but because it’s August and so many people are out of town, their menu was very limited).
After finishing our dinner, we caught a metro train to Trocadero, where we emerged to the sight
of the Eiffel Tower looming before us. Bill’s plan has been to take the elevator to the top. However, we soon learned that there was a 45-minute wait in line. He elected not to waste time in line. We walked around a bit, and then found a park bench on which to await the tower’s nightly lighting. As it began to get dark, the tower turned blue, which was very pretty. As we sat there awaiting the final lighting of the sparkling lights, we began to see rats running back and forth between trees, apparently waiting until all of the picnickers on the grass were finished dining so they could enjoy their leftovers. I immediately thought of the movie Ratatouille, which I saw with my granddaughter. Somehow these rats didn’t seem so darn friendly. It reminded us that Paris is a big city.Since the rats were making us somewhat uncomfortable, we began walking away from the tower where we would have a more distant view and be nearer to our metro shop. We found some steps to sit on, and at 10 o’clock, the tower lit up in sparkling white lights. It was very beautiful. I’m so glad we waited.
We caught our metro home and dropped into bed about 11:30.
Gay Paris
We left the Normandy Coast midmorning and headed off to Paris (or Pah-ree, as our GPS says, to my amusement). Since it was only about a two-hour drive, we decided to stop in the town of Rouen, which was right on the way.
Rouen is a relatively large industrial city with
a very pretty city center. The church (Notre-Dame, of course) is one of the loveliest we have seen from the outside. It is filigreed and a wonderful example of Gothic architecture. Apparently Claude Monet painted 20 different pictures of this one church, and for good reason.
We then walked down the street lined with half-timbered buildings occupied by restaurants and stores, towards the main town center, Place du Vieux Marche. On the way, we walked beneath a big clock. Back in the 1500s when the clock was built, it only had one hand. Apparently it was unnecessary to know the time to the minute as we do today. At the end of the street is the town center.
Rouen is famous (or perhaps infamous) for being the site at which Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. You know Joan, the little teenage girl who dressed up like a boy (after claiming to be told to do so by a variety of saints) and helped France kick England’s butt in the mid-1400s. Well, England was not too happy about this, as you can imagine. As a result, she was tried and sentenced as a witch, and burned alive. At the time, Rouen was under English rule. Later, the Catholic Church apologized for not believing her about the talking saints, and canonized her in 1920.
In the middle of of the 13th Century Place du Vieux Marche stands a contemporary church, built in 1979, in honor of St. Joan of Arc. We attended the noon Mass, our first Mass in French. Following Mass, we picked up a sandwich at a market and ate it as we walked back to our car.
Our drive to Paris went flawlessly. With the help of our GPS, we found our hotel fairly easily. We checked in and dropped off our luggage, and headed for Orly Airport to hand over our car. It was with great joy that Bill turned over the keys to the man from Auto Europe, and proudly walked away after having driven over 11,000 kilometers (which amounts to 6,600 miles) without one dink on the car.
We took a train back into Paris and walked to our hotel. We unpacked, rested a bit, and about 7:30 we went out for dinner. We had the Paris version of Tex-Mex at the Indiana
Café at the Place de la Bastille, just down the street from our hotel. Not quite like Mexican food in Denver.
Rouen is a relatively large industrial city with
a very pretty city center. The church (Notre-Dame, of course) is one of the loveliest we have seen from the outside. It is filigreed and a wonderful example of Gothic architecture. Apparently Claude Monet painted 20 different pictures of this one church, and for good reason.We then walked down the street lined with half-timbered buildings occupied by restaurants and stores, towards the main town center, Place du Vieux Marche. On the way, we walked beneath a big clock. Back in the 1500s when the clock was built, it only had one hand. Apparently it was unnecessary to know the time to the minute as we do today. At the end of the street is the town center.
Rouen is famous (or perhaps infamous) for being the site at which Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. You know Joan, the little teenage girl who dressed up like a boy (after claiming to be told to do so by a variety of saints) and helped France kick England’s butt in the mid-1400s. Well, England was not too happy about this, as you can imagine. As a result, she was tried and sentenced as a witch, and burned alive. At the time, Rouen was under English rule. Later, the Catholic Church apologized for not believing her about the talking saints, and canonized her in 1920.
In the middle of of the 13th Century Place du Vieux Marche stands a contemporary church, built in 1979, in honor of St. Joan of Arc. We attended the noon Mass, our first Mass in French. Following Mass, we picked up a sandwich at a market and ate it as we walked back to our car.Our drive to Paris went flawlessly. With the help of our GPS, we found our hotel fairly easily. We checked in and dropped off our luggage, and headed for Orly Airport to hand over our car. It was with great joy that Bill turned over the keys to the man from Auto Europe, and proudly walked away after having driven over 11,000 kilometers (which amounts to 6,600 miles) without one dink on the car.
We took a train back into Paris and walked to our hotel. We unpacked, rested a bit, and about 7:30 we went out for dinner. We had the Paris version of Tex-Mex at the Indiana
Café at the Place de la Bastille, just down the street from our hotel. Not quite like Mexican food in Denver.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
D-Day
After spending the entire day yesterday looking at the various sites of the battles that were fought to liberate France, and eventually to win World War II, as we drove home I asked Bill how he felt. “Pretty proud to be American,” he answered. I knew exactly what he meant.
The day was kind of dreary, one of the few overcast days we’ve had during our entire adventure. It couldn’t quite make up its mind – it would drizzle, then the sun would peak out of clouds. It never quite rained. The weather suited the day, we felt. The weather was overcast too on June 6, 1944.
Traffic was awful. Everyone was on the autostrada getting away for holiday. What should have been an hour-and-a-half drive took us twice that long.
Since we only had a day, we decided to focus on the areas in which America had the impact. As such, we only saw the Canadian cemetery in the distance as we drove by, and the same was true for Sword, Juno, and Gold Beaches, where Great Britain and Canada soldiers came on shore.
Our first stop was just above the little French town of Arromanches, high on the cliffs above the Normandy beaches, where there was a 360 degree theater. The film shown on this circular screen was powerful. The film director intermixed current scenes from the little towns that line the Normandy coast with film taken on June 6, 1944, as our soldiers stormed the beach. There was no dialogue, and the only sounds you heard were the sounds heard by the soldiers as guns fired and planes flew overhead, or the sounds of a peaceful rural French life. The 1944 scenes were graphic, violent, poignant, and awe-inspiring while the current scenes were pretty and colorful and filled with joy. The contrast made a very strong point – the towns around the Normandy beaches owe their freedom from the Nazis to the United States of America and the other allies.
After viewing the film, we got back in our car to drive to the little French town of Longues-sur-Mer. Here we stopped in a small boulangerie and picked up two ham, Gruyere cheese, and tomato sandwiches smeared with good French butter, and two wonderful pastries for dessert. We then drove a few blocks towards the sea, to an area where there were four German bunkers with their guns still intact. These guns had the ability to shoot up to 13 miles. The clear shot the Germans had of the beach was absolutely bone-chilling.
We ate our lunch at one of the little picnic tables they had set up for that purpose. As we ate, we tried to figure out how the French bakers can get the baguette so perfectly crusty on the outside and so chewy and delicious on the inside. It’s a reality I will continue to ponder.
Our next stop was Omaha Beach, and the American cemetery. We walked through the museum, which gave a lot of information about the events leading up to the war, and even more interesting (at least to me), the events and discussions that went on during the days just prior to D-Day. While I could always imagine how much thought went into planning a battle such as that fought on June 6, I had never really realized that the Americans had tricked the Germans into thinking a bigger battle was going to be fought elsewhere. The Americans used false communications, fake airplanes, and other kinds of trickery that helped catch the Germans off guard and lulled them into thinking that, even as our soldiers were storming the beaches, this battle was not to be taken that seriously.
After visiting the museum, we walked down to the beach. I think of my entire day, this was what moved me the most. The beach area from where the water meets the shore to where the soldiers would have some trees or shrubs for protection was easily the length of two football fields. (And speaking of football, the next time I hear a sports announcer refer to a football player as a hero, I think I will put a rock through my television screen. Football players are not heroes. Twenty-year-old boys climbing off boats carrying hundreds of pounds on their backs, running to the shore, and then crawling on their bellies for 200 yards or more while getting shot at are heroes.)
After looking at the beach, we walked back up to
the cemetery. Of course, the sight of all of these white marble crosses and stars of David is poignant beyond belief. Each marker has the name and rank of the soldier and the day he died. I always forget that the battles of Normandy went on not just for this one day, but for months. There are a number of markers that bear no name, but say only God knows who he is. Very sad.
We left the cemetery and drove a bit further up the coast to Pointe du Hoc Ranger Monument. We decided to stop here at the last moment, and I’m glad we did. Pointe du Hoc was an area where, early on June 6, 300 US Army Rangers climbed the cliffs of this hea
vily German-fortified position to secure it for the allies. They were successful, but only after losing over two-thirds of the soldiers. Out of the 300 Rangers, 95 survived. The area was heavily bombed and the huge holes where the bombs had dropped are amazing and a somber reminder of the power of those bombs.
Our last stop of the day was in Ste Mere Eglise, the first town to be liberated by the American soldiers on June 7, 1944. This pretty little town is in the general area where the 101st and 82nd Airborne soldiers dropped early on June 6 to land behind enemy lines. If you saw the movie The Longest Day, you will recall that one soldier got caught on the church steeple and played dead for a number of hours while German soldiers took shots at him. As he hung helplessly, he watched the ensuing battle below. The people of this town, to this day, have American flags hanging and have a parachute with a dummy hanging on the steeple of the church in commemoration.
It had been a long and somber day, but one that made me very proud.
The day was kind of dreary, one of the few overcast days we’ve had during our entire adventure. It couldn’t quite make up its mind – it would drizzle, then the sun would peak out of clouds. It never quite rained. The weather suited the day, we felt. The weather was overcast too on June 6, 1944.
Traffic was awful. Everyone was on the autostrada getting away for holiday. What should have been an hour-and-a-half drive took us twice that long.
Since we only had a day, we decided to focus on the areas in which America had the impact. As such, we only saw the Canadian cemetery in the distance as we drove by, and the same was true for Sword, Juno, and Gold Beaches, where Great Britain and Canada soldiers came on shore.
Our first stop was just above the little French town of Arromanches, high on the cliffs above the Normandy beaches, where there was a 360 degree theater. The film shown on this circular screen was powerful. The film director intermixed current scenes from the little towns that line the Normandy coast with film taken on June 6, 1944, as our soldiers stormed the beach. There was no dialogue, and the only sounds you heard were the sounds heard by the soldiers as guns fired and planes flew overhead, or the sounds of a peaceful rural French life. The 1944 scenes were graphic, violent, poignant, and awe-inspiring while the current scenes were pretty and colorful and filled with joy. The contrast made a very strong point – the towns around the Normandy beaches owe their freedom from the Nazis to the United States of America and the other allies.
After viewing the film, we got back in our car to drive to the little French town of Longues-sur-Mer. Here we stopped in a small boulangerie and picked up two ham, Gruyere cheese, and tomato sandwiches smeared with good French butter, and two wonderful pastries for dessert. We then drove a few blocks towards the sea, to an area where there were four German bunkers with their guns still intact. These guns had the ability to shoot up to 13 miles. The clear shot the Germans had of the beach was absolutely bone-chilling.
We ate our lunch at one of the little picnic tables they had set up for that purpose. As we ate, we tried to figure out how the French bakers can get the baguette so perfectly crusty on the outside and so chewy and delicious on the inside. It’s a reality I will continue to ponder.
Our next stop was Omaha Beach, and the American cemetery. We walked through the museum, which gave a lot of information about the events leading up to the war, and even more interesting (at least to me), the events and discussions that went on during the days just prior to D-Day. While I could always imagine how much thought went into planning a battle such as that fought on June 6, I had never really realized that the Americans had tricked the Germans into thinking a bigger battle was going to be fought elsewhere. The Americans used false communications, fake airplanes, and other kinds of trickery that helped catch the Germans off guard and lulled them into thinking that, even as our soldiers were storming the beaches, this battle was not to be taken that seriously.
After visiting the museum, we walked down to the beach. I think of my entire day, this was what moved me the most. The beach area from where the water meets the shore to where the soldiers would have some trees or shrubs for protection was easily the length of two football fields. (And speaking of football, the next time I hear a sports announcer refer to a football player as a hero, I think I will put a rock through my television screen. Football players are not heroes. Twenty-year-old boys climbing off boats carrying hundreds of pounds on their backs, running to the shore, and then crawling on their bellies for 200 yards or more while getting shot at are heroes.)
After looking at the beach, we walked back up to
the cemetery. Of course, the sight of all of these white marble crosses and stars of David is poignant beyond belief. Each marker has the name and rank of the soldier and the day he died. I always forget that the battles of Normandy went on not just for this one day, but for months. There are a number of markers that bear no name, but say only God knows who he is. Very sad.We left the cemetery and drove a bit further up the coast to Pointe du Hoc Ranger Monument. We decided to stop here at the last moment, and I’m glad we did. Pointe du Hoc was an area where, early on June 6, 300 US Army Rangers climbed the cliffs of this hea
vily German-fortified position to secure it for the allies. They were successful, but only after losing over two-thirds of the soldiers. Out of the 300 Rangers, 95 survived. The area was heavily bombed and the huge holes where the bombs had dropped are amazing and a somber reminder of the power of those bombs.Our last stop of the day was in Ste Mere Eglise, the first town to be liberated by the American soldiers on June 7, 1944. This pretty little town is in the general area where the 101st and 82nd Airborne soldiers dropped early on June 6 to land behind enemy lines. If you saw the movie The Longest Day, you will recall that one soldier got caught on the church steeple and played dead for a number of hours while German soldiers took shots at him. As he hung helplessly, he watched the ensuing battle below. The people of this town, to this day, have American flags hanging and have a parachute with a dummy hanging on the steeple of the church in commemoration.
It had been a long and somber day, but one that made me very proud.
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Big Top
Now here are some words that I never thought I would write in my blog: Bill and I went to the circus.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen (or should I say, as did the ringmaster last night, mademoiselles and monsieurs), we spent our Friday evening in the little fishing village of Honfleur, France, inside a circus tent watching the Cirque Lavatta.
Bill loves the circus. This might be an unknown and surprising fact to everyone who knows Bill except for his children. Since I’ve known him, he has told me how very often when his kids were young he would get tickets to the Ringling Bros. circus. He would try to get the tickets early so that they could sit in the front row. One year, his kids even marched in the circus parade.
I, on the other hand, am not sure I have ever even been to a circus. Maybe once. But when Bill saw the circus tent set up as we walked into town for lunch, and saw the flyer that said (I presume, since it was in French) that the circus was in town, we were soooo going to the circus.
We got there early, and much to my surprise, the circus animals were grazing out in the open. I’m very serious. There were camels, zebra, a billy goat, and a bull all grazing out in the open where you could walk up and touch them (if you had the nerve, which I didn’t). Horses, donkeys, miniature horses, and llamas were in little pens, but were available to go up and pet. Even the three tigers, though they were, I’m happy to say, behind bars, were unattended so that anyone could go up and attempt to pet them through the bars. It was the craziest thing. It is certainly nothing you would see in the US.
About 45 minutes before the show, a man comes out of one of the trailers and walks out to the animals, followed by a little boy who looks just like him (clearly father and son). The little boy, who couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old, proceeds to begin gathering the animals into the place where they would be kept for the show. He goes right into the pens of the horses and donkeys, puts a little harness on them, and walks them to the chosen spot. He does the same with the zebras.
There was only one ring, and it was quite small. The circus was a family affair, and the performers were also the ones who took the tickets, sold the popcorn and souvenirs, and walked you to your seats. The ringmaster spoke French, but as it turns out, you really don’t need to understand the language to enjoy the acts. After all, snapping a whip doesn’t sound different in France than in the US. You can cut a woman in half, juggle, hang from wires on the ceiling, and tame the tigers, horses, and a bull in any language. Even the clown could be understood. And the little 5-year-old boy who had herded the animals was dressed in a little circus costume and played trumpet, along with his daddy, as part of the act.
It was a fine and funny end to a very pleasant day in Normandy.
We got an early start from St. Malo, and beat the first tour buses to Mont Saint-Michel, a surrealistic-looking abbey that appears from afar to sit out in the middle of the ocean. In fact, there is a causeway that goes from land out to the abbey, but when the tide is high, the castle really does mostly sit out in the ocean. It is beautiful, especially before the little town around the abbey fills up with tourists. By time they buses arrived, we were already back on the road.
We got to Honfleur around noon. It was too early to check into our hotel, so we left our car and walked the mile into town. Honfleur is a pretty village that sits at about the point that the Seine River flows into the English Channel. It is a fishing village, and the fishing boats (and other boats) lined the harbor. The town was filled with happy tourists, many who sounded British.
During the month of August, many Europeans take their holiday. We had heard this, and it is definitely true. As we have driven down the autostradas the past couple days, we drove past cars full of vacationing gear, many pulling trailers or campers, many others with bikes on top of the car or behind the camper. We have read that the big cities, like Paris, will empty out so that the shop owners can spend August in a seaside resort. In fact, we will likely run into many closed stores and restaurants while visiting Paris.
We had lunch at a little café near the harbor. Bill decided to try a salad with the area specialty fois gras. I, once again, ate mussels and frites. The lunch was good, though we both decided the fois gras was a little too rich for our taste buds. And I must say, though I thought it was impossible, I’m not sure I can eat another mussel for a while.
We walked around the town for a bit before coming back to our hotel to check in and rest a bit before the greatest show on earth, French style.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen (or should I say, as did the ringmaster last night, mademoiselles and monsieurs), we spent our Friday evening in the little fishing village of Honfleur, France, inside a circus tent watching the Cirque Lavatta.Bill loves the circus. This might be an unknown and surprising fact to everyone who knows Bill except for his children. Since I’ve known him, he has told me how very often when his kids were young he would get tickets to the Ringling Bros. circus. He would try to get the tickets early so that they could sit in the front row. One year, his kids even marched in the circus parade.
I, on the other hand, am not sure I have ever even been to a circus. Maybe once. But when Bill saw the circus tent set up as we walked into town for lunch, and saw the flyer that said (I presume, since it was in French) that the circus was in town, we were soooo going to the circus.We got there early, and much to my surprise, the circus animals were grazing out in the open. I’m very serious. There were camels, zebra, a billy goat, and a bull all grazing out in the open where you could walk up and touch them (if you had the nerve, which I didn’t). Horses, donkeys, miniature horses, and llamas were in little pens, but were available to go up and pet. Even the three tigers, though they were, I’m happy to say, behind bars, were unattended so that anyone could go up and attempt to pet them through the bars. It was the craziest thing. It is certainly nothing you would see in the US.
About 45 minutes before the show, a man comes out of one of the trailers and walks out to the animals, followed by a little boy who looks just like him (clearly father and son). The little boy, who couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old, proceeds to begin gathering the animals into the place where they would be kept for the show. He goes right into the pens of the horses and donkeys, puts a little harness on them, and walks them to the chosen spot. He does the same with the zebras.
There was only one ring, and it was quite small. The circus was a family affair, and the performers were also the ones who took the tickets, sold the popcorn and souvenirs, and walked you to your seats. The ringmaster spoke French, but as it turns out, you really don’t need to understand the language to enjoy the acts. After all, snapping a whip doesn’t sound different in France than in the US. You can cut a woman in half, juggle, hang from wires on the ceiling, and tame the tigers, horses, and a bull in any language. Even the clown could be understood. And the little 5-year-old boy who had herded the animals was dressed in a little circus costume and played trumpet, along with his daddy, as part of the act.
It was a fine and funny end to a very pleasant day in Normandy.
We got an early start from St. Malo, and beat the first tour buses to Mont Saint-Michel, a surrealistic-looking abbey that appears from afar to sit out in the middle of the ocean. In fact, there is a causeway that goes from land out to the abbey, but when the tide is high, the castle really does mostly sit out in the ocean. It is beautiful, especially before the little town around the abbey fills up with tourists. By time they buses arrived, we were already back on the road.We got to Honfleur around noon. It was too early to check into our hotel, so we left our car and walked the mile into town. Honfleur is a pretty village that sits at about the point that the Seine River flows into the English Channel. It is a fishing village, and the fishing boats (and other boats) lined the harbor. The town was filled with happy tourists, many who sounded British.
During the month of August, many Europeans take their holiday. We had heard this, and it is definitely true. As we have driven down the autostradas the past couple days, we drove past cars full of vacationing gear, many pulling trailers or campers, many others with bikes on top of the car or behind the camper. We have read that the big cities, like Paris, will empty out so that the shop owners can spend August in a seaside resort. In fact, we will likely run into many closed stores and restaurants while visiting Paris.
We had lunch at a little café near the harbor. Bill decided to try a salad with the area specialty fois gras. I, once again, ate mussels and frites. The lunch was good, though we both decided the fois gras was a little too rich for our taste buds. And I must say, though I thought it was impossible, I’m not sure I can eat another mussel for a while.
We walked around the town for a bit before coming back to our hotel to check in and rest a bit before the greatest show on earth, French style.
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