March 21-April 6, 2024
| France March 21-April 6, 2024 |
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After nearly thirty years of traveling together, we are getting smarter. We leave Thief River Falls on a Thursday, spend the night in an airport hotel, and then head as quickly as possible to the Delta lounge to prepare for what is generally a fitfully sleepless night for both of us.
Having said that, we have been smart about luggage since our college backpacking days: don't check it, never check it, stuff happens. Sure enough, the flight from MSP to Amsterdam leaves almost three hours late and we are in a hurry hurry hurry at Schiphol (not our favorite airport, we sadly report) to get through passport checks and hop on our short flight to Bordeaux. IF we had checked luggage, we would never have made it!
We don't spot the Uber/Lyft rideshare spot at the airport so take a clean, inexpensive, and easy taxi to the Hotel Indigo where we'll spend our first night.
A quick look around and we immediately head for the restaurant on the top floor for snacks, drinks, and a great view. We take our Saturday afternoon walk along the Garonne River, crowded with both happy pedestrians of all ages and looks and many bikes, skateboarders - some motorized - racing on the "Wheels Only"-marked sidewalk parts, but swerving into the pedestrian lane as they wish. Still a very pleasant arrival.
And here's tidbit about the Garonne: it is one of the few rivers in the world with a tidal bore (le Mascaret). The bore occurs when the leading edge of the incoming tide forms a series of waves that travel up the river against the current. This can happen twice daily for a few days every two weeks. The Garonne Mascaret can sometimes form a barreling wave as high as five feet that constantly changes shape based on the river's depth and width: surfers, paddleboarders, kayakers and jet skiers can catch a great ride! We will not see that on this trip but those visiting during the exceptionally high tides in August and September have a real chance!
We walked along to see our Viking cruise ship at the dock a short distance away. Just across and on the west side is a carnival ride area with all the swirling, dropping rides and lights of any traveling county fair we see in the U.S. We stop beside the path for a drink at an outside table, then it's back for a nap in our room. Dinner and wine at the hotel restaurant and Wade practices a bit of weak French. Ahhhh, now we have arrived.
Hotel breakfast was good, but we are off to the Bassins des Lumieres for an amazing visual arts exposition located in a WWII German submarine base / maintenance location. The water is still in the huge inside bays, and the animated, projected photos of classic artwork are on the walls all around you. The longest section of the program was called From Vermeer to Van Gogh but the Mondrian was also exquisite. The 90 minutes are intoxicating and over too soon. Another travel lesson: do not travel in high season if you can help it. We are first in line and the crowd is small.
A quick ride back to the city center and we board the Viking Forseti at noon. This is a gamble, we think: will a week-long cruise on the rivers of Bordeaux with all meals and excursions included, a lovely room with balcony, only a few hundred guests (all over 18 years old) be worth the upfront cost? Spoiler alert: the answer is Yes. We settle in with lunch, drinks, dinner and wonderful views of the water and the city. The dining / lounge area at the bow (the Aquavit Terrace) includes a live pianist that we enjoy. We sit quite close to him and listen to him humming along with himself. Now we walk the short distance back and forth from our well-appointed room for hours, taking full advantage of these prepaid perks. Marisa grabs four books from the library (all of which she will finish in these eight days) and Wade - not unexpectedly - sings a couple of songs in the lounge to genuine applause. As he says: it was always, as ever, about me. Marisa laughs - not unexpectedly - at this obvious, late-night, happy-vacation, self-indulgent expression.
We have a lovely breakfast in the lounge and easily prepare for a short in-town, guided excursion in Bordeaux. We are quickly bused a vary short distance into a central city square. Our guide, a fine English-speaking woman and native of the city, walks with us speaking softly into our decently unobtrusive audio devices.We learn more about the major rehabilitation of the city that began just about 30 years ago after years of stasis which had seen the significant, centuries-old architecture become covered in dark, crusty facades, even as what was underneath was sustainable. The guide speaks several times of the new mayor (Alain Juppe) in the 1990s who vigorously drove the rehabilitation of the city making it now the world's largest urban UNESCO World Heritage site with 350 buildings spread over more than 4,000 acres. The details and quality shine, right down to revitalizing the feel and the value of this historic treasure. Marisa has - as usual - read and re-read a French history of the Hundred Years War and another biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine to prepare for all this. At the conclusion of our walking tour with the guide, she encourages us to take some steps on our own, which we did and will be able to do again when we return in a week. This is a wonderful, old-world French atmosphere that we have come to expect when we return to this country that doesn't disappoint.
Now back to the boat, the requisite safety drill with life vests, and then we pull away in mid-afternoon past the historic Bordeaux riverfront to arrive in Libourne for the evening. At our now favorite Aquavit Terrace we join in the after-dinner talk of the Bordeaux wine region and get our geography straight. Now, pay attention, class!
Three rivers define the Bordeaux wine country: the Gironde (actually an estuary), the Garonne and the Dordogne.
It will come as no surprise that we will ship a few cases of Bordeaux wine back from several of these appellations.
- The Gironde divides the region into the left bank on the south (Medoc and Graves) and the right bank on the north (Libournais, Blaye, and Bourg.
- The Garonne River (a tributary of the Gironde) goes south from Bordeaux around the districts of Graves, Pessac-Leognan, and Sauternes. This is the gravely land of cabernet sauvignon grapes and chateaux including Margaux, Lafite, and Mouton-Rothschild.
- The Dordogne extends the right bank and travels through Pomerol and Saint-Emilion. With more porous limestone and clay, this is Merlot country.
Remember the tidal bore? We undock at 4:50am because of one and come in again just before 6:00am. Marisa heads to the Aquavit Terrace for breakfast. Although the main dining room on the first level is lovely, she enjoys the solitude of the second level's terrace which has only six tables and an outdoor view over the bow. Breakfast-to-order is served up here as well in the quiet early morning sun. Wade joins in a bit later and we ready ourselves for a full-day excursion through Libourne, the Chateau d'Abzac and the historic city and wine region of Saint-Emilion.Thirteenth-century Libourne is lovely. It was founded as a bastide in 1270: a medieval French village or town built especially for defense. (This is where it can get tricky for us Americans who are raised to believe there is no actual history before 1776.) The English and French may have "started" the Hundred Years' War in 1337, according to some history books, but they'd been fighting over the question of English fiefdoms in France going back to the 12th century. And much of that (disputed) English land lay in the southwest of France where we are traveling. And so, it should not now be surprising that Leybourne is founded by Roger de Leybourne of Kent (England!) to defend against the French. Now Libourne is a French wine-making capital and has one of the largest fresh food markets in the area. We wander a bit but don't buy.
Now on the bus where we grab a front-row seat and drive to the Chateau d'Abzac where 40 of us will lunch later in a beautiful dining room. The eighty-year-old monsieur is our guide and is soon joined by his son and family who tell us more about the unique rose wine we will taste (and ship to Minnesota). The rain drizzles around us but the scenery is breathtaking as spring is just beginning to... spring. This is a warm and worthy experience.
We travel now to Saint-Emilion, a medieval relic of a walled city that now boasts of merely 3,000 residents within those walls. Primarily a wine-centered economy and culture going back to the 2nd-century Romans who originally planted the vineyards, the wineries are tied to multiple, independent chateaux. We learn about the four appellations and the separate classifications of the chateaux within the appellations, a classification that happens every ten years or so. ("or so!" ah, the French...) It's complicated enough but the 2006 classification was declared invalid after a legal challenge by four vintners and so the 2006-2009 vintages reverted to 1996 classifications and and and and... we'll just taste and buy them, please.
After a short guided walk, we are released to explore on our own for another hour and a half. The streets are narrow and steep; the Romanesque church does not disappoint and neither do the views.
And so, we walk and enjoy, then land in one of the caves below the street level. We sample and buy to ship home a case. The sommelier is very capable and friendly, with good English and sense of humor. Back on the bus for a one-hour ride to the new location of our boat in Bourg. Another excellent dinner and some laughs and conversations with other Americans on the excursion.
We decided that, after breakfast, we would take our own walk through the streets of Bourg, rather than joining the guided walking tour. It is a beautiful and sunny spring day and we want to be in the quiet streets on our own. Like older villages all over the Europe we love: mostly simple, older buildings in various conditions, unclear whether occupied or vacant. The tiny streets with steep inclines and sharp curves harken back to the times of their origin, simply going down or coming back from the river, the refuge of the food of life and necessary travel.
Bourg, also informally known as Bourg-sur-Gironde, hugs the right bank of the Dordogne River. Although picturesque and certainly medieval in look and feel, it was settled by the Romans two thousand years ago who wanted a strategic riverside site. And like many a strategic site, it was then invaded by Visigoths and Vikings, ravaged by Normans, fortified by the English (remember that Hundred Years War), and visited by no fewer than four kings. In addition to the Romans' architectural and engineering skills ("What have the Romans ever done for us? asks Monty Python), they brought their "Vitis Biturica" vines which are thought to be the ancestors of today's Cabernet grapes.
From long ago, Marisa remembers a class at Duke on the intellectual history of Europe. And so the bas relief of Baron Montesquieu and his ideas about the separation of powers is a nice pause to the day, even if the U.S. Supreme Court would not agree.
Back down to the boat for lunch and a smooth departure for the afternoon in Blaye. Wade brings a small lunch to the room while Marisa sits on the balcony and watches the countryside pass slowly by.
This time we are ready for the guided walking tour of the town and 17th-century citadel, dramatically set on a rock. It's part of "Vauban's Bolt of the Estuary": a system of fortifications built by Louis XIV's trusted Marshal and military engineer. The Blaye Citadel encloses a 12th-century castle and a ruined basilica where legend has the burial of the Frankish hero, Roland, nephew of Charlemagne. Neither one of us knows much about any of this, but the weather is grand and the walking is refreshing.
As we return to the ship, we notice truckloads of fresh fruit and vegetables being delivered to the onboard chefs. It's no wonder we are dining so well. We relax a bit together on the Aquavit Terrace, but then Marisa heads back to the room for another glass of wine, a good book, and a balcony. Wade dines sociably with others and brings a plate back for Marisa. This has become a true vacation.
Today will be a long one, by design and by choice as an optional part of the tour package. We leave at 8:30am and will not return to the Forseti until closer to 10pm this evening. We are in the Medoc region now, just north of Bordeaux, and the home of multiple, highly respected French wine appellations and a long history of acquiring, developing, keeping or transferring brands over centuries - mostly among well-off French, but sometimes obtained by other wealthy, European wine aficionados. The roads and streets and paths were largely empty of people, and occasionally we could see workers in the vast vineyards, executing essential routines for the beginning of the warmer season, basing their tasks on the age and variety of the vines. Many opulent homes - many that are more modest - both preserving a largely traditional image.
Saint-Estephe Chateau Giscours We end the afternoon with a look, but not a taste, of Chateau Margaux. Thomas Jefferson loved this wine and shipped dozens of cases back to Monticello in 1784. And apparently, this is also where Ernest Hemingway's granddaughter got her name. Like so many here in the Bordeaux region, Margaux vines have been cultivated for about 2,000 years. There are nearly 80 different chateaux in this appellation with Chateau Margaux being one of the most famous estates.
There are just under 200 guests on the Viking Forseti and we're all off to Chateau Kirwan where the chef and crew of 50 will serve dinner. The wine takes its name from the Kirwan family in Galway, Ireland, who purchased the vineyards in the late 18th century. The Irish?
We taste two Margaux reds (one from 2014 and the other from 2019) while our guide tells stories of history, value, tasting techniques, and the lasting quality of the winery way of life and commerce. Soon, we enter a large banqueting hall for our major dinner event. Wine, food, wine, dessert, wine... At the end, the executive chef, with his perfectly clean apron and toque, joins other crew chiefs to thank all the staff, kind of congratulating themselves while we applauded. It was merry. It was good. And now a night ride back to the boat for another long day tomorrow!
On the bus at 8:00am for a lengthy, multi-stop visit in and around Arcachon, where oysters are farmed and large, opulent, old and new buildings face across a bay where there are sparse, humble, working-class homes. A large part of the activity and ownership is dominated by owners who come for a few months a year, many sharing with others, either for cash or as family connection. The highlight of the day was at our first stop off the small boat we boarded to an oyster tasting, accompanied by wine, led by a French-only speaking, middle-aged man who knows and delivers the product in a small, not-fancy building on the bay. The 20-person crowd was all about the tasting, and many (e.g. Marisa) had a dozen oysters as our guide translated the words of the oyster man.
We now motor on our little boat through the oyster farms and on our way to a lovely restaurant for a lunch of calamari, cod and coconut pie, all with a selection of red and white wines. The place was crowded with locals and reminiscent of bayside, seaside, lakeside venues around our world that we have seen. A little casual, very boisterous crowd and the feel that only comes when you are on or near the big water. Early in their season, but a very appreciative audience already.
We have a slow, pleasing ride back on the water to our bus, then a longer, late afternoon ride back to the boat now docked again in Bordeaux. All was normal, exceptional, and memorable.
The morning is slow and easy, nothing planned. We wander a bit through the familiar riverside walks in Bordeaux and have a light lunch on the boat. This afternoon the boat stays in Bordeaux but we ride the bus to Cadillac with an older English lady guide. She told us she was here because she found and married "a very handsome Frenchman." But she affected a French-English accent, speaking almost as a French person practicing her best English. At the end of every word which ended with a consonant, she would say a little "uh". We try our best not to laugh, but a few times we can't hold back.
On this beautiful and sunny afternoon, the bus parks, and we walk through the walls of Cadillac. It is another bastide like Libourne, founded when France was ruled by both the French and the English.
These defensive towns were not only walled, but they were laid out in a grid pattern with a church in the central square. "Pretty," yes, but they also introduced a major shift in the regional social structure: farm families who moved into the bastides were proclaimed free and no longer vassals of the local lord. That shook things up a bit.
More than 700 years after its founding in 1280, much of the walls of Cadillac remain.
We wander through the streets on our own, doing a bit of window shopping, moseying around the cathedral, and then stop for a capuccino to take it all in. There are plenty of caves and wine shops, but we know what's next and hold ourselves back.
We are off to a Sauternes winery. Many years ago we'd been introduced to this sweet white wine. It's not so much a dessert wine (those cloying grape juice concoctions favored by many who don't really like wine after all) but a wine that is best had along with strong flavors like bleu cheeses, strawberries, walnuts. And yes, that can often be for dessert.
It gets its sweetness from a fungus, a "noble rot" of botrytis cinerea. It's really quite disgusting looking on the grapes, shriveling them up like raisins covered with fuzz. But the resulting wine is lovely and quite expensive. A typical grapevine produces around one bottle of wine, whereas a "nobly rotted" vine will yield only a single glass. Beware the "sauterne" without the capital S and the final s that is sold in the U.S. - it's not the real thing. Sauternes is for real. We taste two of them and shrink our wallets to ship six bottles home.
Back to the ship for our last meal, introduced and bragged about by the cleanly dressed chef again. And he's right to brag.
Everyone must leave the ship, on the last day, and no breakfast besides the cappuccino machine and some pastries. Tags on bags, many people being bused back to the airport by the crew. We chill on the terrace, then grab an Uber to the airport. With ease and appropriate speed, we pick up our rental EuropCar for the 2.5 hour drive to Sarlat-la-Caneda in the Dordogne Valley.Why Sarlat? Marisa reads books. Marisa reads travel books. And this was the place to be according to many. A medieval town, Sarlat developed around a large Benedictine abbey and still retains a lovely 11th-century cathedral that has the distinction of having not been raided by Vikings.
We're just here for the atmosphere. Modern history has largely passed by this jewel that has been preserved in 14th-century ambience. The center of the town has impeccably restored stone buildings and is largely car-free. Oops. We have a car. But we knew this coming in and are as prepared as we can be.
Yet, it was definitely a challenge in the light rain to get to the front of our hotel, the Plaza Madeleine, because of the ancient layout of streets, still narrow, very steep, and often one-way. Wade graciously lets Marisa check in with baggage and then goes off to figure out exactly where the hotel says we should park.
He strolls back and makes plans for the evening. We walk up and down the Rue de la Republique where we take the measure of the various tasty and artistic shops along the way, then get a little something for dinner to eat in our very nice room. This is what our trips to old, treasured cities and villages have always been.
Long, deep sleep for both of us before we grabbed some caffeine and hit the road again for our trip to the Loire Valley and very specifically, our hotel at the Abbaye de Fontevraud. Our ride took a full four hours, and we stopped on the way at the ruins and horrific site of a Nazi attack on the small village of Oradour-sur-Glane in Haute-Vienne. On June 10, 1944, just four days after D-Day, this village in Nazi-occupied France was destroyed when 643 civilians - non-combatant men, women, and children - were massacred by a German Waffen-SS company as collective punishment for Resistance activity in the area.The Nazis murdered everyone they found in the village at the time, as well as people who were merely passing by in the village at the time of the SS company's arrival. Men were brought into barns and sheds where they were shot in the legs and doused with gasoline before the barns were set on fire. Women and children were herded into a church that was set on fire; those who tried to escape through the windows were machine-gunned.
A new village was built on a nearby site, but the original is maintained as a permanent memorial. We walk through separately in the quiet.
Our destination this afternoon is in the village of Fontevraud-l'Abbaye, near Chinon, in the former French duchy of Anjou. This order was composed of double monasteries - both men and women in separate quarters - all of whom were subject to the authority of the Abbess of Fontevraud. Well, now, that's something.
Marisa traveled through Fontevraud and the abbey with her dad back in 1998. This time we will stay for a few days, in the hotel located inside the Saint-Lazare priority, one of the four abbey monasteries. The recent renovation is very respectful, the staff is excellent, and our accommodations are stunning.
The first permanent structures of the royal Abbey date back to 1110. And fans of Katharine Hepburn are reminded that Eleanor of Aquitaine took refuge here at the end of her life and chose to have her husband, King Henry II, and her son, King Richard the Lion-Hearted, entombed next to her. Although many buildings such as these were destroyed during the French Revolution, Fontevraud was spared and used by Napoleon as a prison. Until it closed in 1963, the Fontevraud prison was considered one of the toughest in France.
Tonight we have a snack in the rectory hall and sit with wine in front of the large fireplace, in comfortable chairs, with books.
Up early and we jump in the car for Chinon and Chambord. Chinon was one of the royal homes of Henry and Eleanor and - at least for us - a worthy visit to see where The Lion spent the Winter. Marisa's father was in the Army, stationed near here, and so she has been here before. But this time we will walk to the top of the hill to visit the 11th-century Chateau. In 1205 after Henry's death, King Philip II of France captured Chinon after a siege that lasted several months. By the late 1500's, the chateau became a prison, eventually fell out of use, and was left to decay. It was restored in the early 2000's at a cost of 14.5M Euros. And well done.It's a bit of a drizzly morning and we have arrived about 30 minutes too early to enter. We stand with our backs against the dampish walls and patiently wait. The view is spectacular up here but we're a bit chilly. Once in, we pick up our self-service audio guides and are off to the several buildings that still remain. It is an evocative site and we lose ourselves in the feeling of history.
We walk back down the tightly packed cobblestone streets and just before we get to the car we spy a little bar/coffee/cigarette/pastry shop. Ah, France. We stop for a bite at one of only two tables.
We drive to the Chateau de Villandry next but neither of us will actually enter the big house. First we stop for a lovely lunch on the property at La Doulce Terrasse. Because it's off season, there are no crowds, no lines, no blazing sun, just the two of us and a young family with a stroller.
Wade stays at the outdoor cafe but Marisa goes for what she's come for: the gardens. Even in early spring, they are breathtaking, envy-inducing, calming, intoxicating.
tulips, daffodils, hyacinths...
formality
hidden places, vistas
water Photographs don't do justice to the gardens. And videos are but a taste. Turn up the sound to hear the wind and the sound of no people.
First are cozy seats and the sound of water and a path to a hidden corner where Marisa spies the Iris Fountain. Back to the far end at the top of the stairs for a stunning lake view. Are those swans? Yes! And they're prevented from falling down the stairs with a line strung across the entrance to the glorious waterway through the gardens.
One final stop in late afternoon to the Chateau de Chambord, one of the most recognizable in the world. It's the largest in the Loire Valley, first built as a hunting lodge for King Francis I (his "real" residences being in Blois and Amboise). We are again not here for the house tour (we've both been) but for the feeling of it all. We walk separately, take photos, stroll, think about this and that. We meet back at the outdoor bars and cafes near the entrance and have a tiny bit of happy hour.
It is our last night in the Loire Valley and at this fabulous hotel at the Abbey. Marisa discovers the buildings all open to us once we're on the grounds and through the hotel's security gate. It's a lovely and soft late afternoon, all alone except for Henry, Eleanor, Richard, and his wife. Seriously. All alone. This is magical.
We order a small supper, finish the wine we purchased earlier in the day, and prepare for an early departure in the morning.
Today we are off to Bayeux in Normandy. Wade avoids the toll routes and cruises more slowly through little and lovely historic towns, often near the big and slightly overflowing Loire River. But then we join the freeway to just get to where we need to be. We arrive in the early afternoon and check into the hotel but must leave our luggage at the desk. So we walk through this beautiful, sadly resilient, and important piece of the world and of France. We meander down easy streets to the cathedral consecrated in 1077 with William the Conqueror in attendance. Beautifully restored and maintained, it is on the site of what had been even older Roman temples.
As is always expected in the invading-and-invaded areas in Europe, there are numerous war memorials in the many chapels. The crypt is medieval and evocative.
We wander around a bit. This is such an easy place to walk and all the windows brim with interesting things. It looks like a rainy drizzle is going to come up. Usually this is where we find the Hop On/Off bus and lazily ride around. What's that whistle? What should appear the other side of the cathedral but Bayeaux's version of the bus: it's the Hop On/Off train! Disney meets Normandy. We definitely hop on. Then hop off for an afternoon pastry at one of the most beautiful cafes we've ever seen anywhere.
We buy a few groceries for an easy dinner and wine in the hotel room. Tomorrow is a travel day.
Today we've purchased tickets for a small bus tour (8 of us) of the Normandy landing sites and memorials. Marisa had taken her father there some years before; now we have decided to let someone else do the navigating and the parking and the picking up.Our guide is an Englishman, though more than one of us assumed he was Australian based on his pointed, quick speak and particular pronunciation that we who watch movies assume to be from down under. At least a dozen (hundred?) times, during both educational and casual comments from the driver's seat, he said, "d'yu-kno-whuh-uh-mean?" Many times, it had no place in the description of what we were seeing or learning, but he can't help himself. Whereas he is otherwise easy to understand and has a lot of information committed to memory, he has a method that can take you off message as you sort his usage, vernacular and opinions.
One kind of troubling moment came at our first stop at the La Cambe German war cemetery. We signed up for this particular tour knowing we would see beyond the standard American day tours of Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery. But our guide very quickly goes to ginned-up drama that may play well with the reality TV crowd but is ticking us off a bit. This space once had American and German dead buried in adjacent fields. After the war, the American dead were disinterred and either repatriated back to the U.S. or re-interred at the American Cemetery in Normandy. After this, then more than 12,000 German dead were moved from about 1,400 field burials to this centralized place. Our guide talked about how "unfair" it is that multiple bodies of German soldiers - usually two - are placed in single graves.
Okay, okay, have an opinion but if you're going to be a tour guide, then your opinion needs to be based in something resembling fact. Marisa remembers from one of her masters degrees that graves with more than one body is rather common in Europe and is a tradition both modern and hundreds of years old. She mutters and Googles and mutters again and eventually wanders off for a rest from the diatribe. When she returns, he's still going except this time "unfairness" has morphed into "disrespectful." In a quieter moment walking back to the van, she asks why he chooses the words he does, tries to help him understand more of the historical context and the relativism of words such as "respect." He doesn't buy it. Although he was efficient and courteous throughout the day, these would not be his only stray references to baseless arguments and non-historical assumptions. We have learned to stay clear of ill-informed, palpably self-entitled bloviators in these tour circumstances, but are aware that they will always be with us: on tour buses, in town hall meetings, on social media, and in our own family. We love to learn the things we did not know, but cannot help but be unhappy when thinking about Americans returning home with this not-knowledge to pass on to their family and friends.
Okay, okay, our heads get back to where we need to be today. La Cambe is worth the visit and the conversation in one's own head about the wastefulness of war, the pomposity of old men sending young people to be cannon fodder, and the magnitude of both human misery and human kindnesses. The sign in front reads:
Until 1947, this was an American cemetery. The remains were exhumed and shipped to the United States. It has been German since 1948, and contains over 21,000 graves. With its melancholy rigour, it is a graveyard for soldiers not all of whom had chosen either the cause or the fight. They too have found rest in our soil of France.Indeed, there are hundreds of SS men and true believers here but one must presume there are those who could not find another way.We stop at Sainte-Mere-Eglise next. In the earliest hours of D-Day (June 6, 1944), mixed units of both the 82nd and 101st U.S. Airborne Divisions dropped into this area. We freely admit that our knowledge of the battle specifics are mostly Red Buttons hanging from the church in The Longest Day. While there are some discussions about exactly what happened, Private John Marvin Steele did land on the pinnacle of the church tower and hung there limply for two hours, pretending to be dead, before the Germans took him prisoner.
Our guide was unimpressed by this story and a bit sulky over our desire to even be here. We remain puzzled by his choice of profession. We walk inside to be still and in the moment, trying again to imagine the years of occupation and the night of liberation. While one doesn't need to walk far to enter multiple World War II "gift" shops, we instead peek inside to see the commemorative stained glass window. Wade's son, Sean, was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan for almost two years. Today is his birthday. Wade sends him the photo of the window and our thanks.
We lunch in St. Hilaire, then make our way to Pointe du Hoc: a cliff of 100+ feet scaled by U.S. Army Rangers to disable German artillery positions before 8:00am on D-Day. All done at a high cost of life. We walk separately and away from others, peering into concrete bunkers, walking along the still-pockmarked grounds.
To the American Cemetery now in time for early evening taps and then to the monuments on Omaha Beach to end the day by the water itself.
One last walk and stroll around Bayeux. Wade buys Marisa the small antique wall mirror she had been eyeing earlier. This is our last evening of calm, we figure, and we take all the advantage we can.
This is the day to get things done, to return things to be returned, to try and relax before catching the long flight home on Friday. Not unexpectedly, traffic getting into Paris is just as bad as any New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta commute. Stop and start, time your gasoline purchase just right in order to return a full tank, now try and figure out how to return a rental car at CDG. Marisa remembers surrendering on the previous trip and just parking the rental car in a parking deck and telling Hertz where to find it. This time Wade manages but it's not exactly intuitive on how to get into the circular maze of ramps OR how to eventually walk to the terminal.We do find it, then we find our Sheraton hotel (nicer than expected!) right there at Terminal 2, then find the hotel bar and park ourselves with wine, an unfinished book, a cheese plate, nuts, and a bit of chocolate until the night is over and it's time to pack up and go.
It is an easy, though early, morning. Marisa manages to leave only her Kindle behind in the hotel room but that will have to do as the final sacrificial offering to vacation gods. More trains, planes, and finally automobiles get us back home. We did it!
Both of us had been to France as college students some years apart: Wade and studied abroad in Dijon; Marisa spent time with friends in Paris before a semester in Norway; Marisa had taken her father in 1998 and we had come together in 1999. We have known for a long time that we will never soak in all tha we would choose here, but will never say we've have enough.Whatever political issues may haunt this (or any country), they do not take away the solid history or any of its monuments, landmarks, or artistry. Definitely not the food! We know we are privileged to travel and we wish for all Americans who can afford a family trip to Disney World that they would consider leaving the U.S. to sample the worlds away from home.
Never too much! Never enough. Vive la France!
