-- How tame a sight his country's flag is at home

compared to what it is in a foreign land.

To see it is to see a vision of home itself and all its idols,

and feel a thrill that would stir a very river of sluggish blood. --

Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad

Sorry I haven’t posted in over a week; I have not had a chance to get on the internet. Last weekend I went on a weekend trip to Normandy and Brittany, in the NW of France. It was a memorable weekend to say the least.

First I went to the WWII Museum in Caen, which was a great experience. The museum focused on D-Day and the following days of the invasion, because it happened literally right there. After a few hours of looking at the pictures and videos, I wanted to see the cliffs and beach with my own eyes. Ever since I knew about the invasion of June 6th, 1944, I’ve wanted to see the beach and the American Cemetery there, and never had the opportunity of going. So when I got to France, that was one of my top priorities.

We pulled up to the first stop, Mulberry Port - Arromaches. Here you can still see the makeshift breakwaters, pier-heads, and floating piers. The British Army used these to drive armored vehicles up onto the beach from far off the beach codenamed Gold. The view from the 30m cliff was amazing, as you can see in the pictures. The concrete piers still sat there, half sunk in the sand. It was mesmerizing; I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

Next, I headed off to Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery. Words cannot describe the American Cemetery, and what one feels while surrounded by the uniform white crosses and Stars of David. We pulled up, and parked a short walk away from the cemetery. While I walked through the path to the field, I grew anxious and got butterflies in my stomach. I turned the corner and froze. The Stars and Stripes were flying high. It is a very different sensation to see your country's flag flying over foreign land. It was almost a rush. Mark Twain put it best if you read the top quote. I walked through the rows and rows and rows of perfectly aligned graves. I listed to the 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky as I walked. The intro to that piece has always put a specific image in my head. The image is the aftermath of a great battle in slow motion. Dead soldiers everywhere, and the lucky ones walking through the fog trying to take it in. What my ears were hearing matched exactly what I saw...the Overture wreaks of battle. I read the names on the stones, thinking to myself what they endured in their last moments. Not all of them died in the Invasion of Normandy. Many of them died scattered throughout France in the year following. Three hundred and seven of the 9,386 American soldiers buried there are unknown. The crosses of the unknown soldiers read “HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY A COMRADE IN ARMS KNOWN BUT TO GOD”. To me, those words represent the honor and respect they deserve, better than any other combination of words. The cemetery rests overlooking Omaha beach. I stood up on the perimeter wall and looked out on the wide beach, and imagined in my head what it looked like 52 years ago. I got the chills…I walked around the beautiful resting place a little longer, in silence this time and found myself blinking away the beginnings of tears. It was time to go…

The next site was Pointe-du-Hoc. It’s a limestone plateau that ends with a 40m high cliff, with a great view of the Cotenin Peninsula. This site had been heavily fortified by the Germans, and is one of the few spots on Normandy that still looks like a battlefield. Pock marks and craters fill the area…craters as deep as 15 feet and wide as thirty feet. The German bunkers still sit in the ground, and you can go in most of them, which was eerie to say the least. The specific story of this battlefield is interesting: it was a German outlook post, which the USS Texas bombed with 600 salvoes of 14 inch shells. After the bombardment, the 2nd Rangers Battalion rappelled up the cliff with ropes, and took the outpost by assault at dawn on June 6th. The 2nd Rangers took heavy losses though, losing 135 out of 225 rangers. Even today, there were signs warning of unexploded mines. Check out my pics of these places, I tried to take as many as I could.

That night, we stayed in a small walled fishing town called Saint Malo. To me, I was reminded of Nantucket. It was grey, foggy, surrounded by grey water, and smelled like the sea….sounds like home! It was absolutely beautiful. The streets were narrow, cobble stone roads (like most of France!), and it was pretty quiet there…which I liked. The seafood here (or les fruits de mer in French) was supposed to be outstanding, so we went out for seafood. I got a plate of super fresh oysters before the main course of salmon. The oysters still had sand in them, and were delicious. A friend at the table ordered “bulot” which she did not know were sea snails. Not escargot…whole snails that were steamed in their shells. So out comes a plate of a dozen snails like you see them at the beach. Claire is pretty surprised, and after some coaxing and courage, pulls the little guy out of his shell and throws him back. At this point, you’d think she was on Fear Factor by her facial expression! Chewing, chewing, chewing…and the swallow…hey not bad, actually she says. She sends out an offer to the table, and my friend Ben and I are the only ones to take her up on it. They actually taste pretty darn good. Most of you who know me, know I’m a pretty picky eater…I did well that night!! The rest of the meal was excellent. We went out to a cool bar called L’Alchemiste (The Alchemist). This bar had a great atmosphere to it, and Ben pointed out to me that they had some cheap Cuban cigars. Special occasions are okay by me…2 or 3 a year isn’t TOO bad. So we pick up a couple cigars and he suggests we complement them with a small glass of Jameson Irish Whiskey. What the hell…why not. I’m not boozer by any means, so don’t get any ideas here. But it was fun. So after pretending to be an old man there, I headed back to the hotel for the night. In the morning, with my friend and roomie that night, Micah, we walked the ramparts. Circumnavigating the small peninsula was relaxing and reminded me of home with the sea wind blowing in my hair (which is getting surprisingly long by the way…I’m in uncharted waters in the hair dept).

After leaving Saint Malo behind, I headed for Le Mont St. Michel. The first time I saw this magical-looking place was in Mme. Forth’s French class freshman year of high school and wanted to witness it ever since. PS. Mme. Forth is you’re reading this…my French surprises me [in a good way] everyday. What can I say? Mont St Michel looks like it does in the post cards….a “pyramid of the seas,” Victor Hugo called it. We walked around the small streets inside in the walls, surrounded by 9 miles of sand, which is covered by water part of the year. This time of year, it is surround by quicksand, and only shallow rivers. We took a walk through the abbey dedicated to St. Michael which rests on the huge rock. See the pictures. It would be pointless for me to explain anymore because it is simply a place one must see for themselves.

The five hour ride back to Paris gave me time to recuperate after this tiring but memorable weekend. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, as I have since I got off the plane. As I returned to Paris, I said sarcastically, “Well guys, back to the grind on Monday…in Paris!” Everyone got a kick out of that. With that, my next post hopefully not in the distant future, will be about class and the Sorbonne I think. I’ve taken some pictures of the buildings where I have class, if you’ll notice the view out of one of the windows of my classroom. They are up on the picture site now…see ya later