July 18

Who knew train passes were so handy?

We started the day by taking the Metro to the train station we would use later that day. We figured out our passes and discovered we would be able to get to Versailles for free. Woo hoo!

Each pass was good for 10 days of travel within two months of our first day. Each day you get on a train you need to write in the date. When the conductor comes around you show your ticket and on occasion they'll punch it. When they don't punch it less honest people might change the date and use the same "day" again. What bad people they must be.

It's funny, on my last trip I remember Versailles being hours and hours away from Paris. Turns out it's only half an hour by train. I also remember Versailles as a country place with nothing nearby. Another misperception. Outside the palace is a town the size of North Bend. (Yeah, I know North Bend isn't all that impressive, but it's more than a cow pasture. Sort of.)

Enough about the town outside the palace. What about the palace? Well, it's just a palace. Sure, it's amazing that they actually "lived" in a place like this. Who needs a hall of mirrors and a private chapel? Cha. Not me.

We blasted through and headed outside where it... surprise! rained on us again. Amy was so cold we wrapped our picnic blanket around her under her jacket. This, of course, left her looking somewhat droopy (if you catch my meaning). Quite entertaining.

In spite of the storm we found the grounds outside the palace far more interesting than the inside. Right out back you see a huge garden leading down to a mammoth canal system. I suppose if it had been nicer there'd have been tons of people paddling around on the lake and we might have done so, too. As it was, we decided to see some of the outdoor sights.

We weren't particularly hurried so we saw several hunting lodges, the temple of love (hawh hawh), and wound up at Marie Antoinette's peasant village. It's no wonder the French cut all their heads off. The queen had this village built so she could pretend she was just another peon. It's complete with a mill and a lavish house that barely resembled a peasant's home.

After drinking in the opulence of the palace we headed back into Paris to catch our train to Normandy. I was prepared for a long journey. After all, we were heading from the middle of the country all the way to the west coast. Imagine my surprise when it was only a couple of hours to Bayeaux. The short ride was especially appreciated since we had not yet learned the importance of understanding the smoking signs on empty compartments. "Fumar" bad. Luckily, though, the two men who joined us smoked only a couple during the ride.

Bayeaux was a neat little town. The streets were pretty tight so I'm glad we weren't driving. We wandered around a bit, found the TI, conned some poor Frenchman to let us in his taxi, and headed to Arromanches. As we drove the 10 kilometers or so we got glimpses of the ocean beyond the cliffs. Arromanches itself is in a little bay with hills/cliffs on each side. Our hotel was pretty much dead center about a block and a half from the beach.

In the bay is what's left of Port Winston, the artificial harbor the Allies used to land supplies after D-Day. Today the skeleton of the docks break the waves as little kids run around on the beach. At low tide you can walk right up to them and touch them. Amy and I were both in awe of the history, but the kids ran among the hulks as though they were part of their playground. I guess there's no History Channel in France.

July 19

Oh la la! La plage est tres bien et il fait bon, aujourdhui! Go figure, this whole French thing seems to be sticking a bit.

Our day started with a late awakening and a quick walk around town. We grabbed breakfast in the restaurant below our room and found the bus to Bayeaux. Being outside Paris fewer people seemed to speak English really well so we were more and more reliant on my French skills which was, to say the least, sad.

In Bayeaux we waited in the TI for a few minutes to get online. Once we did we discovered that the keyboard wasn't exactly as it should be. Those crazy French use an alternate keyboard layout that was so slightly different as to be amazingly annoying. Argh. Enough of this, though, it's time to go catch the tour.

We came to Normandy to see the D-Day beaches. The best way, says our guide book, is to book a tour with one of the companies that specialize in these tours. Ok. Done. It leaves at 1:30pm. Unfortunately, they borrowed a page from the airlines and overbooked their tour. Pretty crappy, huh? The van was all loaded up and ready to go when we found it around the corner from where we thought we would catch it. After a couple of minutes listening to the guide talk with HQ he told a group of three that two of them would have to make way for us. Ouch. The three talked and finally agreed that one would actually go on the tour alone while the other two stayed in Bayeaux. We climbed in and felt evil stares from the back, but oh well.

Our first stop was at Pointe du Hoc. On the way Amy struck up a conversation with a young couple from Montreal who were really interested in Seattle. He was a recently-graduated engineer interested in Boeing. She had a year remaining on her teaching degree, but planned to teach elementary school when she was done. They were in the middle of 10 weeks and headed toward Amboise the next day.

Pointe du Hoc is preserved in pretty close to the condition it was left after the first days of liberation. Pointe du Hoc is where a battalion of Rangers scaled a sheer cliff and fought a pitched battle at the top in order to destroy a battery of German guns. The area was bombed from the air and shelled from the sea, but the guns had actually been moved inland just before the attacks began.

The bombs dropped from the air left 20 foot craters. When they hit the German's concrete bunkers they scattered chunks all over. Naval shells left much smaller craters, but there were far more of those. Either way, anybody under that was in a bad way.

We traveled down to Omaha Beach which got the nickname "Bloody Beach" after D-Day. German emplacements can still be seen buried in the hillside above the vacation homes and condos going up. Aside from the fortifications and the memorial it could have been any other summer retreat in the world. On D-Day it was a mile and a half from the water's edge to the base of the dunes. There were mines for ships and men, barbed wire, and the ever-present buzz of machine gun fire in the air. It's a wonder anybody managed to cross it alive. Some 14,000 Americans died there, turning the sea red with their blood.

We took off our shoes and walked across the beach to the warm Atlantic water. Just six years ago someone pulled a complete Sherman Tank from beneath the waves. We wondered what else was hidden in the sand and how deeply it was buried.

From Omaha Beach we returned to American soil. The French gave a bunch of land to the U.S. for a cemetery and memorial. The grass was beautifully cut and the Stars and Stripes flapped smartly in the stiff breeze, but it was the row upon row of bright white crosses and stars set against the deep green sea of the grass.

A revolutionary-style band from New England marched out and began playing 18th century songs. We listened for a few moments before wandering over to a large monument surrounded by a wall with the names of all those who gave their lives during the assault. We searched the wall for a name that would link us to the majesty of the place, but failing that we walked through the trees at the top of the cliff above the beach. Two elderly gentlemen stood gazing out to sea and I couldn't help wondering if they had been there many years before.

What we had seen so far had made us both mist up a bit, but the stroll through the trees had helped settle us down. Any pretense we made to be composed was completely lost as we walked among the countless grave markers. Each was unadorned but for a long number on the back, a small number near the grass line on the front, and near the center of the cross or star the soldier's name, rank, unit, and home state.

These were hard to see, but the ones that broke us were those that bore only the simple inscription "Here lies a fallen comrade unknown but to God." It seemed so unfair that these men and women who had made such a real impact on the course of history lay unnamed.

We wandered through the rows upon rows to a little chapel situated in the center of the cemetery. Inside were words etched into the stone walls, but they failed to comfort us. We retreated from the quiet stillness of marble to the monochromatic world of white and green.

Our tour continued to another German gun emplacement which was remarkably intact. The Polish soldiers pressed into service by the Germans had sabotaged the guns and surrendered as soon as the Allies could get there. From there we went to the museum in Arromanches and then walked back to our hotel. Later we wandered up to the hill above Arromanches marked with a number of memorials. We were emotionally drained and slept well that night.

Tomorrow we head to the Loire valley and specifically to Amboise. Ready to go?