Normandy and Paris, Day 1.5

This weekend, we made a pilgrimage to Normandy and then came back through Paris to see Versailles and meet up with some of the French LBATers for dinner. It was peaceful kind of weekend, full of walking and observing. Our train got into Paris Friday night so we met Abby near the LBATers' place for a quick bite to eat. Somehow we managed to make ourselves believe that the metro closed at around 2:30 AM so we were thinking of things to do out on the night scene (we're a bunch of nerds so it'd be kind of funny), but then Abby looked at us like we were crazy and stated that she thought the metro closed at 1... When the culprit who mentioned the incorrect time was finally questioned, his response was, "Oh yeah, I just made up a number," and we all had a good laugh.

Four of us woke up early Saturday morning to catch our train to Caen while the two brothers went on their own adventure into Paris. Once in Caen, we picked up a rental car and headed up to the beaches after a few scary moments. All the cars in Europe seem to be manuals, and almost all ramps and major turns are busy traffic circles--our driver was a trooper. His most notable accomplishment was surviving my backseat-driving. :)

We trekked up to Pointe du Hoc first, and once we rounded the first corner the scene in front of us came into view and kind of floored me for a second. The whole earth was dimpled with giant craters and shattered chunks of concrete and twisted metal. Grass and weeds had covered most of it by now, and there was evidence of the famed cliffs eroding away, but that place evoked for me what war would be like. All this was occupied by the Germans, and those craters were put there by the Allies decades ago. World War II finally started to feel real, not just a chapter out of a textbook.

The monument that used to stand on the section of cliffs that the Rangers climbed isn't there at the moment because the face of the cliff is being slowly eaten away by the sea. To save this part of the cliff, they've got a big crane and lots of workers filling the holes in with concrete and steel beams. When they're finished with the inside, they're going to cover the work up with real rocks and earth that are already part of the environment so that the cliff looks like it's never been touched. Although they'll have to fix it again eventually, they expect it to last for about 50 years.

We climbed all over that pseudo-hilly surface like little ants. There was barbed wire and steel support beams sticking out of the earth, rusted and bent. Bunkers were like caves nestled down inside the ground, and going into them was like walking into a tomb. It was dark and damp and sad. At the edge of the top, we looked out onto the Atlantic, taking in the view of the cliffs all around and the drop in front of us. It was hard to imagine those 225 human beings scaling those cliffs under heavy fire from the enemy, and easy to imagine that only 90 of them survived. But the amazing part was that they accomplished their goal--they took down the German guns and won. I don't know if I'd ever be able to muster that kind of strength and determination.

Further along the road was Omaha Beach, where they landed for D-Day. As I stood there, I thought about Granddaddy and what it must have been like for him to finally arrive. I am the same age as he was, all those years ago, and I couldn't wrap my head around what he must have seen. I'm really looking forward to reading his letters when I get home. It was amazing to stand on that beach and see the little kids playing and the families enjoying their days in peace thanks to those who helped liberate Europe. Before we left, my fellow American travelers and I scooped up a good 10-pounds worth of sand in a bag and brought it back with us. I've got to bring it home in a used plastic water bottle, but it'll do until I find something nicer to put it in.

The next place we saw was the American Cemetery. After going through the small museum, we walked out to the Spirit of American Youth statue with the words, “This embattled shore, portal of freedom, is forever hallowed by the ideals, the valor and the sacrifices of our fellow countrymen,” displayed along the tops of the surrounding pillars. The reflection pool in front of it was beautiful, lily pads floating randomly and blooming pink. We saw a few graves, one of a man coincidentally named George Washington, and another of an unknown soldier.

The last place we went to was a site where some huge German anti-aircraft guns remained virtually intact. It was strange seeing the peaceful yellow fields and houses across the hill clash with the forbidding rusted guns aimed towards the ocean. We climbed up on one of the gun housings and admired the view, and then got back in our compact European vehicle and drove back to Caen, where we caught our returning train to Paris.