August 23, 2009
On our way to Bayeux where we will spend the night, we pass Falaise. I look it up in the Michelin guide and discover it's the birthplace of William The Conqueror.
We're hungry and see a McDonald's. This is our first stop at a McDonald's in France though we've seen them. By the way, here McDonald's serves beer.
The food is good - good bread, good beef, everything tastes fresh. While we're eating I look at the register receipt. The address of this McDonald's is the William The Conqueror Roundabout. Now honestly I don't know why this strikes me as so funny, but something about the juxtaposition of those two makes me laugh every two or three minutes. I can picture William (who was born The Bastard, son of the king and a beautiful peasant girl) looking around, bewildered.
We pass through Caen, a busy port city and working man's town. There's a ferry here to England.
Driving northeast to the coast, we arrive at Arromanches, a touristy little town now that was the arrival point for British troops on D-Day. We go through a nice World War II museum.
It's not far to Bayeux, and because we know that our hotel is very near the cathedral, we just keep moving closer to the tall spires and find it easily.
This is fun. We drive through the gates in the wall that surround our home for the night into a beautiful garden. Our hostess greets us graciously and shows us to our room. Built in Napoleon's time, the house is furnished with antiques and there is a magnificent spiral staircase leading to the second floor. During WWII, the mayor of Bayeux had his office hereon the second floor after the Germans took over the municipal offices.
Our room is beautiful and we have a door that leads out to the garden where there's a patio with tables and chairs.
It's like having the keys to the chateau!
The building housing the Bayeux Tapestry is just 100 metres away, and after putting our things in the room, we walk around the corner to see it.
I first learned of the Bayeux Tapestry when I was in fifth grade. Pictures of it were in every world history book I had through high school and again in my text for the Study of Western Civilization in college.
I never dreamed I'd see it, but here I am walking alongside the 70 yards of embroidered linen that tells the story, in pictures stitched with wool thread, of the Battle of Hastings in 1066. I know I'm a geek, but this is thrilling. Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Miller, look at me! (She was my teacher in fifth grade.)
We decide on a small restaurant around the corner from our hotel for dinner - nice with white linen tablecloths and napkins. I choose an omelet and salad. Bernie orders one of the three-course plat du jours. My food is very good, but Bernie has an appetizer that is out of this world - andouille sausage wrapped in a crisp crepe on a bed of sauteed onions topped by Normandy sauce with Calvados. He gives me a bite - it's heavenly. He's more generous than I would have been - he gives me two more bites. His entree, bass with steamed vegetables is good, but it pales in comparison to the appetizer.
Dinner is a two-and-one-half hour affair. You are never rushed in a restaurant in France. And there is no annoying music, just the low murmur of conversation around us.
As we leave the restaurant, we stop to take photos of the cathedral. It's beautifully lit at night. We plan to see it tomorrow.
Back to our lovely manor house and a good night's sleep.
August 24, 2009
We slept well and awoke to a beautiful morning. Our room is on the ground floor with a door that opens into the garden. It's walled and takes up most of the block making our place in the middle of this busy city an elegant oasis.
Breakfast is in the formal dining room in our hotel. It's croissants, bread, butter, jam, ham, cheese and fruit. Two British couples who are friends, along with one couple's son, join us. They've just traveled to the Dordogne region of France and are going to see the Bayeux Tapestry.
After breakfast we walk 200 meters to the cathedral. Each time we enter a cathedral, after we've seen the big two - Notre Dame and Chartres - we expect to be a little disappointed, that they can't all be beautiful, that there will be maybe just one gorgeous stained-glass window, but we're awed by the beauty and majesty of each one. Music is playing as we enter, something lovely, but recorded. In a few minutes, though, the organ begins to play. Music is spine-tingling, completely thrilling here.
I light a candle for Jacob and spend some quiet moments.
In the few minutes it takes to drive from Bayeux to Omaha Beach we move forward nearly 1000 years.
A gray sky threatens rain as we stand on the beach at Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer, perhaps much like the sky on June 4, 1944. We've seen newsreels from that day and the sea is much calmer today than it was then, and unlikely to turn red with blood as it on D-Day.
Only a few tourists have ventured onto the beach this morning. "Les Braves" stands on the sand. A sculpture erected for the 60th anniversary of D-Day, given only a temporary permit t remain right on the beach, it has been allowed to stand due to many requests not to take it down.
Just a few feet to the east a German gun emplacement remains, a grim reminder of what the Allied forces faced that morning. We see others on the hills surrounding the beach, strategically placed for aiming guns at the beach. We can't imagine anyone brave enough to land here but thousands did, and many died.
Pieces of concrete pier remain, the remains of the Allied effort to create an artificial harbor so supplies could be brought in to keep the troops going once they began the push inland.
We climb a steep road past another gun emplacement to the top of the cliff. It's the first road the Allies built after the invasion. Today there's a campground at the top. The view of the sea is spectacular, of course.
After climbing back down, we drive along the beach road as far as we can. A monument marks the location of the first American cemetery at Omaha Beach. The remains of those buried there have been moved to the new American cemetery on top of the hill.
It's early afternoon when we arrive at the cemetery. We take the time to see the exhibits at the visitors' center and it's well worth it. As we pass through a hallway towards the exit that leads to the cemetery, the names of those known of the 9387 who are buried here are read over a loudspeaker. Four women and 307 unknown soldiers are among that number.
If you've seen the opening scenes of "Saving Private Ryan" you have an idea of what it looks like here today. The sun has come out now and the white marble crosses and Stars of David gleam in the sun. There's a perfect blue sky overhead, and the view of the sea from the cemetery is appropriately heartbreakingly beautiful. I think that this bit of beauty and peace is a small offering of gratitude to those who died here.
The 44 acres here are American property, granted by the French government. Quiet and respect are requested for the truly brave men and women whose remains cover the top of this hill. It's hard not to cry, especially when you've passed several graves marked "Unknown."
We stop at the beautiful memorial and semicircular wall that lists the names of those who died but whose remains have never been found.
Bernie and I believe that everyone should visit Washington, D.C. Now we believe that it's just as important to visit Omaha Beach. Pause for awhile and ponder what freedom truly means, how close the world came to losing it, and that saving it isn't about slick slogans or safe-at-home stick-on flag and Support Our Troops decals.
These men were released to slog through seawater to the shore under German guns; they watched as men beside them died, and they kept on moving, perfect targets, until they at last fell. No surprises - they knew what they would face, and they kept on coming, and they died.
We are back at the car - it's after five. We'd thought we'd finish Omaha Beach and the American cemetery early in the day. But what we've experienced here shouldn't be rushed, and we're glad we had the time to linger.
We'll not see Honfleur or Dieppe today. Another day, perhaps, or another trip.
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