A Day of Contrasts

 A DAY OF CONTRASTS

October 26

The American cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer

Today would be our last day in Normandie (as the French spell it), and it would be my first without an expert guide and my first as the driver.  We had breakfast, checked out of the comfortable Brunville, said au revoir to Bayeux, and headed to the beaches. Normally I overplan and often overdo, but in the past 2 days I realized that I had made unrealistic plans for this day, which included visiting the sprawling American cemetery in Colleville, 3-4 museums, and D-Day sights from Ste. Mere Eglise on the west to Pegasus Bridge and Ouistreham on the east, a distance of over 60 miles along narrow, winding 2-lane roads that ran through a number of small villages. I had a traveling partner with a troublesome back who would enjoy the scenery immensely, but would soon grow weary of the history. For a rare time in my adult life, I decided to eschew the meticulous strategy of Eisenhower and his colleagues and "fly by the seat of my pants." There was simply too much to see and do, and once in a lifetime trip or not, we just couldn't do it all ... not nearly.

As we drove westward, I soon settled on the 3rd of Stephen Covey's 7 Habits, that of "putting first things first." We would begin at the American cemetery, which was about 25 minutes away. The cemetery, a place most of us have seen in movies such as Saving Private Ryan, photos, and news clips (particularly since this had been the 80th anniversary of D-Day). It is all one might expect and more. The cemetery is 172.5 square acres, hundreds (maybe thousands?) of parking spaces, lots of restrooms, and it's all immaculately well maintained. It's literally right across the beach from Omaha Beach, which you can see from the walkways along the north side. There is an impressive visitors center, which has a helpful 16 min. introductory video and a museum of displays. There are restrooms aplenty. There are a few aptly understated memorials and a small but attractive chapel. All of that is grand, but the focus is on the fallen soldiers, and there are 9,387 Americans buried there from D-Day and the battles in Normandy which followed. The crosses and stars of David are overwhelming and present an aura of solemnity. I found it to be sad, breathtaking, and quite moving. I also felt considerable vicarious pride. We probably spent close to 2 hours there. The photos tell the story ...

"The Spirit of American Youth Rising
from the Waves" memorial statue

Ceiling of the chapel 

Upon leaving the American cemetery we decided to go with the theme of contrast and drive the 15 - 20 minutes to the German cemetery at La Cambe. Only when I began to plan this Normandy trip did I realize that there is a German cemetery on French soil, particularly in Normandy. After all, the Germans had occupied the area for 4 years, often brutally so. So with a mix of resentment, bewilderment, and curiosity, I had thought seriously about whether La Cambe is a place I'd want to visit. I'm really glad that we did, although I felt emotionally conflicted.

The differences between the American cemetery and the German cemetery were many and vivid. Over twice as many Germans are buried at La Cambe as there are Americans at Colleville (21,200+ to 9,000+). Hundreds -- perhaps even 1,000 -- cars were in the parking lot at Colleville, which receives over 1 million visitors per year. There were but 5 or 6 cars in the parking lot at La Cambe, which is relatively small but well maintained. However, there's a small visitors center, and parts of the toilettes (restrooms) were out of order. In short, I felt that there was a sense of respect but not necessarily pride. There are other examples of cemeteries of adversaries having been allowed in various countries, e.g., Confederates buried at Arlington, Union soldiers buried at Vicksburg and other Southern battlefield cemeteries, and ANZAC (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) soldiers from Gallipoli in WWI buried in Turkey. This just felt different, given the hate and brutality of the SS. Yet in this somber setting I began to realize that many (most?) of the fallen Germans were to an extent victims too.  Some were conscripts, and others had fallen prey to the ravings of a sociopathic criminal. Their price was that for eternity rather than being considered heroes, as are the fallen at the American, English, Canadian, and French cemeteries, the Allemand (French for German) are forever villains. While I had a hard time feeling sorry for them, I felt sad for them and for those living in Europe during those terrible years. As a marker the French have put up in the German cemetery so succinctly says (in French, English, and German), "The dead buried in this cemetery are a reminder of how precious peace is." 

Photos of La Cambe follow:

The tan squares are individual grave markers.

Having been to two places that invoked sadness, pride, admiration, bitterness, empathy, and ambivalence, Susan and I were ready for a more positive, uplifting environment.  We could take the mostly 4-lane route and in half an hour be in alluring Arromanches, which I really wanted Susan to see. Off we went. We had an easy trip over, found a convenient parking space in one of the public pay lots, found a young Frenchman who spoke enough Anglais to show me how to pay the parking lot machine, and wandered toward the beach. It had to have been fate because we crossed over onto the beachwalk at La Marine Hotel, which I had admired from the other direction yesterday (thinking that with its perfect location right smack on the beach and near the large Mulberry washed up on the beach, I'd love to return and stay there some day ... I can dream). Their restaurant was open for lunch, and we walked in and were ushered to a table by a window overlooking the beach. Breathtaking view, superb service -- we both opted for the fish and chips and a glass of wine. Perfect!  

Action shot: lunch at La Marine

Fisherman pulling boat out of Channel

After lunch I debated going into the Musee du Debarquement (Landing Museum), which looked fascinating and was a very short walk. We decided instead to drive a little further east of town up a bluff so Susan could see the town from that perspective, then to make our way back to Caen, check in our hotel, return the car, and maybe take in the highly recommended and comprehensive Memorial Museum in Caen. That seemed to give us a more relaxing afternoon to catch our breath before our trip to Paris the next day, which would conclude with a 3 hr. tour of the Louvre. Good planning; right? As Lee Corso would say, "Not so fast, my friend!" It was an easy half hour drive back to the Best Western Royal in Caen, and I dropped Susan and our luggage off at the hotel so she could check in while I returned the car. 

That's when the contrast theme reared is ugly head, and what had been a relatively easy day abruptly and temporarily turned to merde. I couldn't find the car rental place ... and drove around in circles in increasingly heavy traffic for over 90 minutes, raging and cursing myself as I drove. It seems that the car rental place had recently changed locations, a move that apparently had eluded both Google Maps and Waze, who kept trying to send me to the old one.  I had a business card somewhere?! with the new address, but in traffic had no place to pull over and look for it. [Remember that bit about "Be Prepared," Eagle Scout?!?] After innumerable loops I finally found a place I could park and a number to call that at least gave me the new address. And of course, being on a roll, when I arrived, the office had closed. They had, however, left a map of where I was to leave the car if returning it after hours. I found it, left the damn thing, and decided to burn off the rage and accompanying adrenaline by walking the mile back to the hotel.  Good decision, except Google Maps had had its feelings hurt by the things I had said to it, and sent me on a couple of detours to remind me who was boss here. But I made it. Oh, and remember that my wife had ... umm ... donated her phone to Lucky Pierre back in Paris, so I had no way to call her and tell her I had been stuck in a holding pattern around Caen, which left her wondering if Caen too had a Moulin Rouge which had reeled me in. As someone is alleged to say over here, "C'est la vie." Or was it more appropriately, "C'est la guerre"?? 

It was time for a drink and dinner, so I made us a reservation at an ostensibly walkable place called Monsieur Louis, which had good ratings and an appealing menu.  After a shower and change of clothes, we set out ... only to find that Google Maps wasn't done with me quite yet. We took a scenic route that was roughly twice as long as it was supposed to have been, but we saw some interesting parts of Caen. It turned out that Monsieur Louis was right on the edge of a neat part of town that had narrow pedestrian streets, restaurants and bars, and seemed to be "Party Central," much like NOLA's French Quarter, Savannah's River Street, and Chicago's Rush Street. Louis must be good because there was a crowd, but we were expeditiously shown to our table and had good service and an enjoyable meal. To remain true to my "when in Rome (or Normandie) ...." theme, I strongly considered having canard (duck), which I had promised myself I'd try in France, along with a few other delicacies [more on that later]. But given how my afternoon had gone, I chose instead something tried and true for an old MS Coast boy and had Coquilles St. Jacques (scallops). Superb choice, as were the wine and the dessert. Then it was back to our comfy petite room at the BW Royal and a good night's sleep before our train trip back to Paris. Wish I could've seen more of Caen ... but I guess I inadvertently had.

Church of St. Jean de Caen