Thursday morning, much too early, we left the house to walk to the train station. Our train ride to Paris was uneventful, which is generally best when it comes to transportation. Upon arriving in Paris, we took the metro to change train stations. We had some time before our next train left, so we ventured above ground. Lo and behold...directly in front of us was a Starbucks. Yes, I pained 4.80 euros for a grande white mocha. When I've been Starbucks deprived for two months, there is no shame in a little splurging.
The train ride to Bayeux was equally uneventful, and we arrived in the little town around 3h00. We found our hotel with ease since the town was so small. It turns out that we were staying in a room above a bar...interesting. We left our things and headed out to see the Bayeux Tapestry. The tapestry was constructed in 1066, and is the longest tapestry in the world. It depicts an epic battle between England and France... all in a series of stitched images. Pretty cool to see, especially because I remember learning about it way long ago in French class in high school. Since Bayeux is a French city, it of course has a church. Notre Dame de Bayeux is actually pretty amazing. It wasn't terrible guilded, but it was very impressive, especially for the size of the town.
(The Bayeux Tapestry, the longest in the world.)
(Notre Dame de Bayeux.)
We were ready for a snack after the church, and we found the most adorable tea room (Anna's). We each ordered a pot of tea, and felt as though we had been transported to ENgland. After tea, we were ready for an actual meal. We decided on pizza. The 4 Temps was the most incredible pizza I have ever tasted. On a thing crust spread with basic tomato sauce were piled cheese (good French cheese, of course), tomatoes, olives, artichoke hearts, eggs, mushrooms, peppers, and a variety of other delectable veggies. My pizza was followed by a Pêche Melba, and accompanied by a pitcher of table red wine. Shawna, Jenny, Catherine, and I arrived back at the hotel moaning from excessive food consumption, but satisfied.
The next morning (Friday), we were miraculously greeted with sun, a somewhat uncommon phenomenon in Normandy. Fueled with coffee and pain au chocolat, we were picked up by David for our D-Day tour. In the van with us were two women (presumably sisters) from Connecticut, and a couple from Colorado. The tour started with a brief explanation of the day and a look at a British WWII cemetery just outside of Bayeux. We drove West a bit to St. Mère Eglise, a paratrooper landing site. On June 5, 1944, the day before D-Day, paratroopers landed in St. Mère Eglise and area as a backup to troops on the beaches. Most unfortunately, it did not go as planned (as is the case in most war), and certain areas were essentially a massacre. David told us the story of John Stelle, a paratrooper who landed and got caught on the steeple of the cathedral. Miraculously, he survived the fighting going on around him. Today, he is commemorated at the church, and stained glass windows there depict paratroopers in memory of the war.
(St. Mère Eglise.)
Our second stop was the nearby Airborne Museum. There we saw a glider, a short film, a collection of WWII uniforms, and most notably, a group of highly attractive American soldiers.
Next, we drove from the high ground to the flat marshy areas near Utah beach, the first of the two American beaches. It was so weird to be standing on the same soil as our former soldiers...in such a memorable and important spot. Moving, to say the least. David was very well informed, and he did a marvelous job of explaining the strategy behind D-Day as well as what exactly happened on the day. I've never understood better what exactly happened. Or perhaps it was just the fact that I was literally standing on history that made me finally comprehend...
(Utah Beach.)
From Utah Beach we went on to a German cemetery. While it is an American tradition to send the bodies of soldiers back to their home soil, most other countries bury them where they fel. The German cemetery was very different than most others that I have seen. The British cemetery had light colored traditional gravestones, and American military cemeteries have white crosses, but the German cemetery was all black. There lines and lines of square black stones in the ground, and sporadic rows of five black crosses. It was so sad to see all of the soldiers YOUNGER THAN ME that had died on D-Day.
(WWII German Military Cemetery.)
After our stop at the cemetery, we drove to Grandcamp, a fishing village. We ate there at a café called La Mer. I had what I call an Isabelle salad, but what everyone else calls a Campagnarde salad. It had greens, cheese, corn, ham, tomatoes, egg, and various other yummies.
Lunch was short, and next we drove to Pointe du Hoc. I had never heard of the place before, but it was probably my favorite part of the tour. The point is between Utah and Omaha Beaches, and therefore was heavily bombarded. Pointe du Hoc was the only German battery left as is, and the entire area was very heavily cratered. I had never seen something like it. With the German bunkers, bomb craters, and view of the English Channel, it was an impressive site. Most impressive, however, was that a special group of soldiers (the rangers) scaled the cliff to Pointe du Hoc in order to destroy long range guns that could fire on Utah and Omaha beaches on D-Day. I can't imagine what they went through there. 250 rangers started the mission. 90 completed it.
(A view of the English Channel from Pointe du Hoc.)
We left Pointe du Hoc to move on to Omaha Beach. Actually driving through the landscape made the history of the place so much more real. I understand now that the place was truly a massacre. I stood on the ground where 2000 men died.
(On Omaha Beach.)
Omaha Beach was followed by the very moving American cemetery. About 40% of the families chose to have their sons buried in Normandy. The cemetery just had rows upon rows of white crosses (and stars of David for the Jews). Names and names and names... I can't entirely explain the emotion that goes along with seeing thousands of white graves, perched on a cliff overlooking thevery be ach where many of hte men fought. Just imagine that.
(The American Cemetery in Normandy.)
The tour ended with a brief photo op at another German battery, and then we drove back to Bayeux, exhausted. As absolutely everything closes at 19h00 in Bayeux except for Snack Kebab, we decided to eat there. I accidentally ordered about half of a cow of meat, but that's probably fine, due to my Isabelle induced lack of iron/meat. We were planning on sitting downstairs in the bar below our room for a demi-fraise, but as I mentioned, everything closes. We decided instead to share a bottle of hard cider and some gourmet pastries. Jenny and I both had mini apple pastries that truly looked like apples. The outside part was essentially marzipan (sweet dough), but inside was a hard sugary ball. Inside the ball was a shot of calvados, an apple based liquor that is local to Normandy. Very strange. I also indulged myself on a mini fruit tarte. Pretty much the most amazing thing I have ever tasted. In all, it was a very tiring, but very enjoyable day.
Saturday started off sunny as well, but as we took the train to Pontorson, it became increasingly cloudy. To make matters worse, our tickets were checked on the train, and Shawna had forgotten her Carte 12-25 in Avignon. She ended up having to buy a duplicate and pay a fine, but at least we caught our bus to Mont St. Michel without any hassle.
The impressive sight of Mont St. Michel was complimented by rainclouds. The rain helf off for a time, and we took a brief walk on the sand (quick sand, actually) that surrounds Mont St. Michel during low tide, and then started spiraling up the side of the hill. Good lord, it was steep. The rain and the people and the umbrellas didn't help. Nor did the unexpected entrance fee, nor the smelly bathroom "guarded" by a nun, expecting us to pay to pee. I did not. Sorry, nuns of Mont St. Michel.
The abbey on the tippy top of Mont St. Michel was actually relatively cool, despite the rain. From the top, there was a panoramic view of the lake of quick sand that surrounds the island. It was still low tide, so it just seemed as though the dreary grey of the sand would stretch on forever, melting into the color of the rain clouds hanging low on the horizon. It would be interesting to see the same place at high tide, when it's completely surrounded by water. I can't imagine a tide being so big that it entirely changes the landscape.
(Grey and grey and grey...)
The actual abbey was like most other abbeys, I would suppose, except bigger, and on an island surrounded by quicksand. Most awkwardly, however, there was a service going on inside the chapel when we got there. We even got to see monks, and nuns (those not taking money inside of a bathroom), and communion. Afterwards, we wandered through the abbey, which was enorme, by the way. We only saw a tiny portion of it, and it was still huge. It kind of made me want to become a monk just so I could explore it in its entirety.
(Inside the abbey.)
The abbey tour spit us out like little tourist vomit onto the most sickeningly commercial street ever. There were so many people, so many post cards, so many shops, so many rip offs... It was raining. People were pushing us with no regard or apologies. We were hungry. We were cranky. We finally decided on a café - I don't even remember the name. We were shoved upstairs into a hot and crowded room next to a couple who talked about us in hushed French the entire meal. We ordered relatively cheap sandwiches, but when Jenny ordered water for the table, we were told that it was impossible. We had to order real drinks, making our less-than-worth-it meal even more ridiculous and over-priced.
The remainder of the day was spent milling around, avoiding panicky claustrophobia, taking pictures, and complaining about the sickeningly touristy aspects of the place. We took the bus back to podunk Pontorson, then the train to Granville.
(This is Mont St. Michel.)
(Waiting...)
Granville was a nice surprise. The town is RIGHT on the Atlantic Ocean, and our hostel was in an Aquatic Center similar to a YMCA. Except for some annoying boys that thought I was Parisian and the fact that we had to pay for our sheets, the hostel was nice.
We decided on Snack Kebab for dinner, and I ate my first kebab ever. Sidenote: Snack Kebabs in Normandy, unlike those of Provence, are not staffed by men of Arab descent. Just an observation. Anyhow, we ate our kebabs right next to the ocean. I touched it. Yes, I touched the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. And what more, I watched the SUNSET over the Atlantic Ocean. Just the concept of that is so incredible.
We climbed the stairs going up a cliff behind the beach and found ourselves at the gate of Christian Dior's garden. How did we get so lucky? It was absolutely gorgeous - groomed flower beds, tea tables, roses, vineyards, overlooks on the ocean - all surrounding Dior's Victorian style home. My goodness, it was lovely. We meandered down from the cliff and stopped at a bar to finally get our demie-fraise. A nice way to end our weekend in Normandy.
(Flowers, a repeating theme from France.)
(Sunset!)
Sunday morning we woke up and after getting our things together, we walked to a church - not to go in, just to look. No visit to a French city would be complete without a church. The church was perched on higher ground, an had a beautiful view of Granville and the ocean beyond. We spent our last hours in Granville sitting on the beach with our bags, baguettes, and groceries, writing post cards and laying out in the warm sun.
(Yet another church.)
(Chillin' on the beach.)
IF we had known the impending travel hell, we never would have left Granville. We we got on the train from Granville to Paris, we quickly discovered that the air conditioning was broken. It was a three and a half hour train ride. The train was overbooked to the point that people were sitting in the aisles. Hell. Mothers were stripping their children and squirting them with water. The smell was awful. The train completely ran out of water. Near the end, I started getting heat stroke symptoms. I wanted to die.
When we arrived in Paris, we literally ran through crowds in the hot, smelly Parisian metro to catch our connection train. I thought I was going to faint. Legitimately. To make matters worse, upon arriving in Gare de Lyon, we discovered that our train had been delayed at least 50 minutes. Really? Really?
We finally got on the train, and I was subjected to watch a very sloppy and mushy and romantic 20 minute long goodbye between a couple. Ew. On the train, things got worse. We kept having track problems, causing the train to slow down to a crawl several times. Then, Shawna got sick. Then, I started getting sick. In all, our train was nearly two hours late getting into Avignon.
When I finally climbed into bed at around 12:30, I died a little inside.
And that, my darlings, was my weekend. Epic. Minus the travel home, and being quite literally "trapped" in a tourist trap on Mont St. Michel, it was a glorious weekend. You can all see my pics on facebook, and read my stories, but it doesn't quite suffice. If you get nothing else from this, please know that I'm happy here. So, so, happy.
A bientôt.
Oh, and pictures:
Part One:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2010321&id=1417500098&l=7fd717ea07
Part Two:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2010325&id=1417500098&l=e104987b65
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