Hey look everyone! This is me catching up with my blog. How, you ask? Because I am on a train to Paris... and then a train to London. The end of my foreign travels, soon to return to lovely England.
Anticipating my return to bad weather, Normandy has given us a fair expectation of what's to come. Cold, breezy, and the mingling of rain with sunshine. Just the way I like it. We got off the train in Caen two mornings ago to a chill in the air and non-committal sunny skies. Tyler picked up the rental car, which we piled into and headed via Bayeux to Mont Saint Michel. We could see it from afar, a strange cone rising over the expansive lush green fields. Even as we approached, we were unable to see the water above which the hill rose, yet there it was; a perfect cone with spiraling ramparts leading up to the hill top abbey. Have you ever had a scoop of ice cream with so many various toppings that they all threaten to tumble off the now-unseeable dairy to each side? That is what the Mont Saint Michel looked like, and who knows if there was actually any rock underneath.
Well, given the sudden onslaught of proper wind and rain, we elected to take the tram across the now visible sand flats instead of walking. Even the exposed walk from the tram stop to the city gates left us soaked from the wetness. We soggily climbed the ramparts straight up to the abbey, leaving the narrow, winding street below. The abbey and cloisters were extensive, confusing, and dark. Since the complex was built atop a hill over centuries, the components all intersect in mysterious ways. All types of archetecture were visible among the cloisters, cathedral, dining facilities, and rooms. Somehow all the rooms seemed to be stacked in an offset manner, all with towering columns and high vaulted arches. Perhaps the weirdest part was that we started (and ended) on the same level, but it felt like we kept going down 'underground' into rooms with windows. I imagine it would be quite easy to get lost if you're alone in the dark...
That took several hours, so we only had a couple hours to waste in the feeble sunlight/rain before the galloping tide came in. We walked through a couple shops, watched the full moon rise (behind many clouds), and grabbed dinner, now only able to hear the gushing water in the darkness. At last, the clouds dissipated and the moon's reflection on the water showed us what we had been hoping to see: an entirely filled basin of water. The cone was now truly an island once more.
After a great night's sleep at a semi-secluded country b&b, we got an early start yesterday on hitting a selection of D-Day sights. Our first destination was the German Cemetary, which we incidentally entered just as the sun came over the horizon. We were the only ones there, and the effect was stunning. Silent rows of five short, black pumice crosses indicated the blocks of graves. Gray leafless trees stood scattered about the cemetary. A stone pathway led straight from the entrance to a tall mound in the center of the site. It was adorned with a tall black pumice cross which sheltered a pair of 9ish-foot pumice women in robes, perhaps Mary and Mary Magdalen. These figures looked down the slopes of the hill in peaceful watch over the dead below. The understated graves were made of flat red granite stones, such that they could not easily be seen from a distance. Each grave contained two bodies, whose names (if known) were engraved on the stone. The black and gray of the path, trees, and crosses contrasted greatly with the firey sunrise, blue sky, and vivid grass. It was peaceful, sobering... and very understated, as if to say, "We may not deserve it but don't forget, we suffered too." I found it to be a powerful introduction to the day.
Contrast this with the American Cemetary, which - while covering a significantly greater area - contained half the number of bodies. Similar to Arlington, the US Cemetary of Normandy was arrayed in perfect rank and file with thousands of gleaming waist high white marble crosses (and Stars of David, as applicable). Each provided the name, rank, and company of the serviceman buried there. The front of the cemetary had a semi-circle colonnade with a statue in the middle and the inscription, "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." The middle also had a chapel for both Christian and Jewish faiths. Where the German cemetary was small, understated, and next to a highway, the American cemetary was large, grandiose, and next to Omaha Beach. Both were solemn and paid rightful tribute to their fallen. Both seemed to echo the pain and sorrow felt on these fields. Yet the character of each was different, exemplified by the contrast between the innumerable white headsones versus the distributed black markers. Whether portraying heads held high or hung in shame, the two cemetaries complimented each other; they depicted two sides of a grim war that returned millions to the dust from which they came. And further, we noticed that the same sun rises each day, not just over the white headstones, but the black markers as well. Humans do seem to be funny creatures.
Between the two cemetaries, we went to the shore to see Point du Hoc. This was where the Rangers scaled the cliffs early on D-Day, following a multi-month barrage. 225 rangers started the climb but only 90 were effective (i.e. not seriously wounded/dead) at the end of the day. In spite of taking heavy fire from above, their rope ladder climb was successful in allowing them to drive the Germans away from this key battery. The landscape is still riddled with artillery holes from the barrage, in addition to the rubble from the partially ruined structures. Thanks to rain off the coast and the rising sun behind us, we also had the benefit of seeing a complete rainbow, a sign of peace.
Failing to recognise the sign of coming rain, we also managed to get soaked again. This led to a chilly and soggy remainder of the day. To evade the chill for a bit, we grabbed lunch in a tiny port town (Port-en-Bessin) at a joint called La Marina. Most of us had pancakes (European style, like a crepe), but dad had an omlette, which was apparently the best he's ever eaten. The waiter was also really friendly, which went along swimmingly with the modern artistic decor.
The afternoon, which started rather late, ensued from the Longues-Sur-Mer Battery, four near in-tact turrets on the cliffs looking over the English Channel. The guns apparently had a range of 12 miles, so it was important for bombers to neutralize the guns. Even though the bombers were quite accurate, it took a naval barrage to finish off the job. Hoorah! The best part about many of these sites was that one could climb in and around the abandoned equipment and structures. That made it much more interesting to envision what it was like to participate in the invasion.
Our last site, the beaches at Arromanches, revealed the marvels of British engineering. The mulberry harbour consisted of a long stretch of deployable breakwaters that were used as docks to off load massive amounts of supplies to support the troops in the months following the invasion. Like something from Star Wars, the massive docks were floated and then anchored into place. From these docks, pontoon bridges stretched to the shore; trucks drove around the clock to offload the supplies from the 'temporary' docks to the shore. Seventy years later and the deployable harbour remains, a lasting testament to the strength of the engineering undertaken. Now, a small humble monument has been erected at the top of a hill outside town, with a long but faint text to recognize the efforts of the hundreds of thousands of Royal Engineers that were involved in the war, including the 6000+ who died.
In the evening, we found practically the only open restaurant in Bayeux, a cheap local diner. It was a good cultural experience but a weak culinary one; Tyler's hot dog 'sausages' were pretty pathetic and my onion soup was merely sufficient. But we walked the empty streets and went home early in preparation for today.
Yes, today. I don't talk about today very often, but here I am, on the aforementioned New Years Eve Eurostar. This morning we arose early to check out the Bayeux Tapistry, an 800 year old embroidery that - over 60 continuous meters - tells the story of William the Conqueror's invasion of England. It's pretty cool to see a 60-meter long tapistry, and the accompanying audioguide explained each important event frame by frame. It seems the artists were quite creative, even depicting details like wading out into the water without footwear to push boats of towards England.
Well, that is about all from France. It will be good to speak the right language again, drive on the left again, and get back to my tea and scones (the only good food in England... just kidding!). We certainly have adventures ahead, however, from New Years Eve celebrations at the London Eye tonight to the return to beautiful Oxford next week. Hooray England!
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