Sur Seine

Sur Seine means on the Seine. The Seine River is the primary river that cuts through Paris, France. It is the central marker for the city. When traveling the river, there are locations on the left or right banks, and describes the types of venues and clientele that can be in these regions. The Seine is also a central place for a variety of cultural aspects, including the gypsies that take advantage of people that flock to the Seine - usually tourists - as well as beach goers. Recently, Paris has modified the roads along the Seine to make them "beach" like complete with sand and showers, as well as playgrounds and places for people to sunbathe.

The Seine is also a place to shop for some interesting items. When I was here 28 years ago, I remember touring along the Seine and purchasing souvenirs for friends and family. I recall finding some tapestries that had woven into them pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc D'Triomphe, Monte Mart, and the Opera house. But this year these were not available. Instead, there were prints on nice card stock of these venues. Some were in color, some were in water colors, and others were in sketch form. But what caught my eye was the first place we visited with my sister-in-law, oil paintings on canvas. These were some of the most beautiful paintings I had seen in a very long time. I suspect they were made my starving artists because there were several of the same venue, such as the Eiffel Tower, but it was clearly detectable that each one was painted by hand because they were not entirely identical. Some colors were different, and others had different shades. But they were of high quality and at 15 Euros of one and 25 Euros for 2, it was a good deal. After shopping some of the other vendors for other types of prints, we headed back to the oil paintings and I purchased 6 of them. Fortunately I had Jeannine with me; she's a real shopper and negotiator. According to Jeannine, the vendor did not speak French all that well and felt she could get a better price. She haggled with him in French, and was able to get him down to 65 Euros for all six paintings, or barely 11 a piece. It was awesome.


After shopping for some of these works of art, took some photographs on the Pont Neuf (New Bridge) which was built as the first bridge to connect the left and right banks several hundred years ago. We headed further down the Seine a few bridges, and then crossed. We were approached by another gypsy trying out her craft with the ring trick, to which I simply walked away and said NO! They have this trick they do where they kneel down to the ground and pick up what they suggest is your lost ring. If you want it, you should pay them for it. Sometimes they do a slight of hand trick for you, and then expect payment. Jeannine's father was approached this way when he visited, and simply took the ring and said thanks, then walked away. The gypsy was lost as to what to do, so came after Mr. Reynolds. Fortunately my brother was there to tell the gypsy to scram; fortunately for the gypsy he did. I was not interested in an altercation on my last day in France. So I simply let it go.




When we reached the end of the bridge we were crossing, we came across another gentlemen painting. He was painting water colors, and they were simply magnificent. The paintings were so good, it seemed they might not be real. But according to Jeannine the were as real as they get. We took some pictures of him painting and eventually purchased some of his work. They were not cheap, at 10 Euros for a small 4" square, but they were worth it. Throughout the remainder of the day we visited several art galleries, either by window shopping or actually going into the gallery. I was impressed that the art of painting is still very much alive in France, and I look forward to a future trip to explore what develops next.





After lunch, Jeannine took us to the Luxembourg Gardens. The gardens have a palace at them where some famous Catherine once lived. I cannot remember the details because by this point my brain was saturated with information. But the gardens around the structure, which is now used by the French Government Senate, were breathtaking. In the back of the building, there were lots of garden spaces, but also a pond with a central fountain where children were playing with sailboats. It made for a nice post lunch place to relax. The chairs that were all over the place were extremely comfortable. The temperature was in the lower 70's with the sun behind the clouds, and a gentle breeze made the entire experience the easiest place to fall asleep, thus adding to the relaxing charm of Paris. After waking up, we headed out of the park towards a shopping area to purchase some wine glasses for rob and Jeannine. Just before we exited the park though, we came across a set of tables that spanned several square meters where men and women were playing chess under the canopy of the trees. We watched one game which was very exciting until the older of the two playing made a really stupid move and lost the game. It seems that he either gave up or was put off by the crowd. Nonetheless, it was interesting to find such a place.




For Parisens, Sur Seine is definitely a place to relax and enjoy life. I enjoyed it immensely and look forward to another visit in the future.

Clean Windshield

After securing the car with the GPS, my brother felt in the interest of time, that he should drive back to his apartment so we could get packed and on our way. During our limited orientation for the car, the AVIS clerk asked if we wanted a briefing on how to use the GPS. I really think he wanted to simply drive the car to see what it was like and what kind of power it would have. It was clear during our trip home on a very straight street that he had fallen in love with this car because he had commented that, "it has balls." We were also supposed to have picked up the car at 11am, but had not returned to the apartment until 12:30p, and Rob forgot to tell Jeannine we were on our way.

We loaded the car, adjusted mirrors, tried to understand the GPS and eventually began driving. It was a little rough initially because I had not driven a standard transmission car in 10 years. It was like riding a bike, within the first few changes of gear, I felt I was "back in the saddle." As we drove down the street from Rob's apartment, we missed a turn and were immediately lost. Based on the map of the GPS, I had made it to the correct road but I couldn't turn in the direction needed. As with many other GPS units, I made the turn I could make and the GPS updated our route. Once I made my turn, the GPS immediately indicated I should make the obligatory U-turn, but it gave me explicit directions of where to do that, which is different than other GPS units I have used.

Once properly heading in the correct direction I noticed the windows, and in particular the windshield was filthy. With my polarized glasses on, it was very cloudy. We came upon a turnout to a gas station and I figured I could get a paper towel or two to wipe down the windshield. I parked the car next to the station after getting turned around a few times in the fueling area. Seems the gas stations have particular directions you must move the car to get fueled; saves on space. I went inside, used the "restroom" and came out and purchased a soda for for Sarah and I, then went to car and gave Sarah the sodas. I proceeded to the fueling area to look for some paper towels. I found none. So, I went back into the station and struggled to communicate with the clerk of what I needed and realized how unproductive that was. I then went to the section of automobile care and tried to find an appropriate set of wipes. Of course they had wipes like armorall and others to shine your car, I eventually found what appeared to be windshield wipes. But there was a warning on the back in English, the only English on this package. "Not for use in hygiene. Don't get it near your eyes or mouth." I figured it was suitable for my purpose, purchased them, and went to clean the windshield. All these wipes did was make the mess worse. Wonderful. So I took out my sweatband and began to wipe down the mess; I figured ho much worse could it get. The sweatband worked very well, and I was able to clean the windshield. I asked Sarah to put these wipes on the door for use later, if we needed anything else cleaned.

As I have said in other posts, the bathrooms on the highway are numerous, every 10 to 15 miles, outside and practically unisex. When we left Rennes for the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, I had considered taking the role of toilet paper with us. At home in the states, I have small duffel bag that has jumper cables and other things including TP for those unforeseen occasions. As we were traveling north, I had a sudden urge to purge. Luckily a rest stop was about 3 minutes away when the urge hit. I pulled off, parked, and decided to bring those windshield wipes with me because I was unsure of the cleanliness of the toilet I was about to defile. When I entered what was basically the men's room, I found a stall and entered. It was not a stall, it was a shower. But on the door of this shower was a trash can filled with paper towels covered in poop. Then I found "the" stall. The toilet had no seat! It was a metal bowl and considering how cool the outside air was, I knew my ass was going to pucker the instant I sat down. I also noticed the floor was wet. I then looked up and realized the stall was covered with a screen, no roof. Since it had rained, I figured the floor was wet with water, but I was taking no chances. Also, there was no toilet paper and no towels either. Fortunately I had the windshield wipes. So I wiped off the bowl edge, pulled down my pants enough to perch but not rest on the floor, sat and puckered!

When I finished, I used those windshield wipes. Fortunately for me, my skin in that area is not too sensitive or I could have and a red ass like those baboons that we see at a zoo. I can say though that my ass was the cleanest in all of France, and there was no need to wash because my hands were chemically clean. That was good because the sink had poop in it too. I returned to the car, told Sarah what happened, and continued the trip. Above all, when traveling in France, take TP or wipes; they are useful for a variety of purposes.

Camping of Sorts

France is located on a latitude similar to Canada, and northern United States. Paris and cities north are in line with northern parts of Ontario. Since the latitude is so high, the summer months see an abundance of sunshine, from 5am to 10pm - 17 hours. Dusk is late and sleeping is not so easy.

Another side effect of higher latitudes is cooler weather. Virginia, and in particular our home in Williamsburg, has seen some amazing heat and thunderstorms. Temperatures have remained in the 100's reaching as high as 115F with humidity. In France, the temperatures have hit 90F, but generally are 70F to 80F. A twenty to thirty degree shift is comfortable, but still not as comfortable for sleeping.

Without the hum of an air conditioner, and the need to keep terrace doors and windows open, our trip has felt like camping instead of a luxury vacation. The trip itself has been awesome, spending time with my brother and sister-in-law is extra special. But the environment has been a bit harder on my daughter and I than one might expect. And the primary difference between this vacation and others has been the environment.

When you leave open windows and doors, there is a loss of security. It's a bit unnerving to have doors open where prowlers could easily enter, especially at a hotel. Then there's the early dawn. With the early light, nature gets started with life. Birds awaken, seagulls or ocean chickens begin their trumpeting, cars and trucks can be heard either passing by or starting and idling for wat seems like eternity. So there's plenty of environmental noise, light, and no security; we are camping.

We have no tents to pitch, fires to set, although the hotel was ablaze, no fishing or hunting for food and fire materials. But we have all the other elements of camping. We have to pitch and unpack clothes, clean our rooms, and otherwise prepare for the day. Shower in tiny stalls or tubs without curtains, and generally use public toilets. Without any visual entertainment in English on television, reading, writing, and playing games helps pass time in those off hours. Overall though, spending time with my daughter is time well spent.

Eastern Atlantic Water

After waking up a bit later than we have since arriving to France, since the fire last night had us in bed by 3am, we realized that breakfast could not be served in the "Breakfast Room". The fire destroyed the entire first floor of the hotel where we were staying with significant smoke damage. See "Wee-Woo" for more details. So a call to the room service proved interesting; their English was very limited. We were able to secure croissants, baguettes, marmalade, strawberry preserves, butter, orange juice, and black tea. Eggs? No! No eggs were permitted in the room. No reason was given. I think they were worried the chickens that laid the eggs were going to come looking for there peeps. Regardless, the other foods that were delivered could be used to make a psychedelic mess. But no eggs.

After breakfast, we dressed and headed to the Atlantic Ocean and the English Channel, one in the same at the place we were staying. Our walk took us by the central market and what a market it was. Parking on the streets was permitted in places that would not usually permit it because this market was now in full swing the entire months of July and August. We parked our car near the hotel and kept it there, free of charge from the city, because this market needed the usual places we would have parked. The market itself had the usual trinkets and souvenirs, but it also had needlepoint pillow covers, at least 5 purse vendors, the same for jewelry vendors, fruits, nuts, vegetables, cheese (which was rather aromatic), and meats with surf and turf. I never saw a fully cooked lobster on ice, so I'm not sure how or why you'd eat it cold. I wanted to stop and get some things at the market, but my daughter was insistent that she had waited enough to find a place to get into the water and nothing was going to stand in the way; as if the water would dry up before the market would close. So, we kept walking to the beach.

We arrived at the same location as the previous day and slowly took off our socks and shoes so we could make it to the water across the beach. I had determined I did not want to enter the water because of the aerobic exercises required to re-don my compression stockings. The stockings make my feet and legs feel awesome by eliminating the water retention, but it is easiest getting them on when the skin is dry. Since we had no beach towels, drying my legs would have been difficult in the moist air that was blowing off the water onto the beach, and if I got any sand inside the socks, I'd be sandblasting my legs the remainder of the day.

The beach was soft. Most of the beaches I have experienced in tourist areas are so compressed that they are like walking on concrete with fire below the surface. But the beach in Deauville was soft and cool. It was quite comfortable to walk along the beach, and rather relaxing. We walked to the water, and I stayed on the beach while Sarah waded into the water. She was shocked at how cool the water was, and was not interested in going too far into the ocean. She did have clothes on, and her jeans were pulled up to the thighs, but she was in her glory. My daughter is an Aquarius, the water bearer, so it's no wonder why she loves the water. Being a Cancer myself, I too love the water, but can find fun out of water as well. But Sarah is happiest in water. So, she was most pleased.

As I watched my daughter explore the water and the beach, I realized I had traveled over 5000 miles to the eastern Atlantic. We live on the western side of the Atlantic, and figured I had made it this far, I might as well get my feet wet. So, I motioned for Sarah to come back towards me. She helped me take off the stockings, and I placed them in my shoes with my socks. Then, we slowly headed to the water. Initially, it was cold, but not piercing cold; just cold. According to the weather reports, the water temperatures were about 65F. For my father, it might as well have been -200F; there's no way he or others in his generation would consider this water for swimming. But I'm more like a polar bear and this water was rather refreshing. So we began walking along the beach, while maintaining a water level to just above our ankles.

As we waded in the water, I noticed I had quickly become acclimated to the temperature and had wished I had worn a bathing suit so I could have ventured in deeper. Then, we noticed a rather interesting looking object on the beach. It was shinny, deep indigo color that it originally looked like some sort of glass. When we went up to it and poked it with a shell, we realized it was a jellyfish. This was not the typical type we had encountered. Then, within 20 feet of this one, we found another jelly, but it was clear with blackish brown tentacles emanating all around the dome. There were jellyfish here and the last thing I needed was to get stung in a country that I did not know the language. So, finding these jellies simply validated my decision to not go any further into the water. Since we were wading in the ocean, I did not take any pictures for fear of getting the camera wet. So, no pictures of these jellies are available.









After walking along the beach and water for a mile or so, picking up a couple of shells and other strange artifacts that Sarah found some intrinsic value in, we headed back to the boardwalk. I looked specifically for a place along the boardwalk that was more elevated than the remainder; there's a bit of a step down from the boardwalk to the beach. I wanted this to act as a bench for drying my feet in the sand and sun, then re-donning my socks. We found a good spot and redressed. As we rose to begin our walk back towards the market, we encountered a gentlemen painting the beach and its wares, and the Danish couple we met the previous evening during the fire. We talked for a while, and decided to exchange pictures. They were a really nice couple. We also encountered these buildings with railings that had the names of movie stars on them. We read in a history of Deauville that these names were the names of famous individuals that had been to the Cannes film festival. Check out the variety of names; we were shocked to see Buzz Aldrin.

When we made it back to the market, it was closed. So we went next door for lunch and continued to relax for the remainder of the day. But we were both satisfied that we had finally reached water on our trip. It was not as extravagant as we usually enjoy in swimming pools or ocean resorts, but it hit the right spot for this trip.

"Wee-Woo"

Monday the 26th of July, 2010, was a really long day of travel for us. We began our trip in Rennes, made our way to the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, followed a circuitous route on our fast vs. slow selection to Deauville, and still had to get dinner. After checking into the second Mercure we were staying at in France, in Deauville, we decided to head to the beach. This was more of an exploratory trip to see if there were places to park a car because I was not all that interested in walking back to the hotel in wet swim trunks. It was also an exploration to see where the best route was to get to the beach.

Since we had not really walked enough for the day, at only 3 to 4 miles, we walked to the beach. According to the front desk of the hotel, the beach was easily accessible from a diagonally stretching road from the center of town, which was just a few blocks down the road from where we were staying. So, we began our trip to see the beach. Besides, since Sarah loves the beach and we did not go into the water at Omaha Beach, she desperately wanted to get her feet wet or at least see the water. When we arrived at the beach, there was plenty of room to park, including an underground garage. That seemed really odd to me to find an underground garage on the beach, but it was there. We walked the boardwalk a short distance, then Sarah left me and headed for the beach. On the beach, there were these objects on poles, umbrellas, and even what appeared to be changing rooms. The large objects on poles were at the beach as markers because the beach was so long between the boardwalk and the water.

Upon Sarah's return, we headed for dinner. Along the way towards the beach we saw all sorts of places to eat in cafes. We settled on an Italian place for dinner. Sarah decided she wanted no appetizer, or Entree as indicated on a menu in France, and only wanted filet of sole "meunere". I ordered some grilled vegetables with pesto and Gorgonzola, a light salad of greens, and Bar, or bass sauteed. When my appetizer arrived, it was delicious. I was able to roll up the grilled veggies of zucchini, eggplant, and roasted red pepper around some Gorgonzola and eat. I gave Sarah a bite, and then she ordered one for herself. The salad was a salad, but the actual meal was fantastic for me and yucky for Sarah. The menuiere is actually a marinade of butter. This tends to make the fish very mushy in this case because it was not properly prepared. It was supposed to be sauteed in butter with a flour coating and served with capers, but there were no capers. Had they served it with capers, I suspect Sarah would have eaten it. When the waiter came back to collect our plates, he noticed that Sarah had not eaten hers. He evidently talked to the manager, and that's when we met "Jon Jon". Jon, the manager, asked in clear English why Sarah did not eat her meal. We were stunned. Sarah explained that the texture was the issue.

We spoke to Jon for a few minutes and found out that he was there from the US for the last 9 years, and was originally born in France but raised in Arizona. That explained the clear English. Jon asked if we wanted dessert, and at first Sarah said no, and then decided on the chocolate mousse. I had an apple tart to which Jon simply said the apple pie. Both were fantastic, and when the waiter came to collect the dessert dishes, he noticed that Sarah's was practically licked clean. He held up the glass and called to Jon, "I guess she didn't like this either!" Of course the variety of patrons around us were laughing. I paid the check, and on our exit, the waiter, a nice looking Italian guy, hugged Sarah, with a peck on each cheek. As we began our stroll away, Sarah blew him a kiss, to which he catches it and holds his hand to his face. The patrons were all in awe of Sarah's clear sign of thanks and affection. It was an amazing meal, and an even better visit.

Since the Hotel has a small refrigerator with things to eat and drink at high prices, we decided to go to a small store, called Casino, to get things to drink and eat. But at 10:15pm, they were closed. So we continued our walk back to the hotel. When we got to the hotel, we noticed what appeared to be steam coming off the side of the hotel. The hotel was not air conditioned, so I couldn't understand where there would be steam. Then it donned on me, the hotel was on fire. But if the hotel was on fire, where's the firemen, the smoke alarms, the crowds of people. None of these were present. So, we decided to stay outside. Our initial sighting was at 10:20pm.

As we watched our hotel continue to billow smoke, a crowd began to form. But the hotel was still filled with patrons. Someone from the crowd went into the hotel to tell the front desk the hotel was on fire, and the clerk initially dismissed it as a prank; there was no fire because the smoke alarms were not ringing. Then at about 10:30p the smoke alarms started squealing. I figured this would create some serious action, but all it seemed to do was annoy the patrons and the clerk. So the front desk clerk finally comes out and notices this now thick smoke coming from the side of the hotel. The hotel is not a single building. In fact, it is a segment of a larger building that looks like a mountain chalet. The clerk runs into the hotel and from what we learned later, calls the police and then calls all the rooms. He calls the police. I didn't know that police is what you call in the event of a fire. Also, during this mode, I notice there is an older lady on a balcony just around the corner from the smoking building on the patio of her room reading some sort of book. I called to her and told her the building was on fire. She looks at me as if I'm some nut case trying to get some attention. I looked at her and told her again and told her to look right next to her. She dons her robe, turns around, and notices the smoke. She again looks at me rather confused; I thought she was going to look for some marshmallows to toast. She goes inside and a few minutes later comes down with her husband.

Then in a distance, at about 10:35p we can hear the "wee-woos", a term affectionately given to the sound that emergency vehicles use by my daughter. The police are on their way. The arrive onto the street and begin a slow trek towards the hotel as if they are looking for the smoke, but cannot see it because of their vantage point. They stop outside of the hotel, and walk into the hotel slowly. About 3 minutes later they come out covered in dark soot and coughing up a storm. I guess they found the fire. They made some calls to the firehouse, and by 10:40p, 20 minutes after we arrived to the smoking hotel, the firemen arrive. Hurray, someone to verify there is a fire! But the fun doesn't stop here. A fire engine, ladder truck, and what appears to be some tactical truck arrive. The firemen get out, look at each other and begin to discuss, as if a committee is needed to determine what to do, what to do first. The first thing they agree is that they need water. So they send out three firemen to find a hydrant. They locate one right next to the ladder truck. While this is happening, 4 more firemen are wondering what to do next; go into the building and evacuate the people or get a ladder and get to the fire.

At that point the Calvary arrive. Four more fire engines and two more tactical trucks show up to the scene. Firemen are trying to figure out how to extend the portable ladders, while someone is on the ladder truck lifting the large ladder to see if it still works. They swing the ladder around in different directions, left then right, then up and down, and begin to get a feel for how it handles. Mean while, the smoke continues to thicken. Eventually, they get a ladder onto the second floor and a fireman climbs up the ladder onto the landing. He asks for an axe and another fireman gets up there with a deflated hose. Still another two firefighters head into the hotel to look for the hotel hose, though I'm still not sure why. They come out with the hose and attach it to another hydrant. It was pandemonium with all these firefighters running round like chickens with there heads cut off; or as I had once heard, a bunch of squirrels.



Then, what appears to be a leading firefighter yells at all of us to go across the street, downwind of the fire and smoke, so that the hotel can take a role call to see who was outside. The last thing they wanted to do was send someone inside if they didn't have to. It's bad enough I don't know French. But when you have someone screaming in French at you, it makes it that much more interesting to figure out what they are trying to tell you. So, Sarah and I simply followed the crowd. We get to where everyone was standing, now dealing with smoke inhalation, and the manager begins to call out names. We realize they are taking the roll call of who is there. We are in room 302, and they begin at 101; this is going to take some time. After 15 minutes they make it to me, and call out for Alter, Steinzen. He couldn't read the paperwork through all the smoke. I told him my name was Stephen Alter, and he said good. So we stood outside, with smoke wafting over us, watching these looney firemen try to put out the fire. As they progress, we begin to see smoke coming out of other windows in the hotel - the hotel is now filled with smoke.



Eventually, the firefighters make it up to the third floor and have to crash in a sliding glass door to get to a part of the fire. That crash was heard throughout the building complex, which had a set of apartments attached. While the firefighters are battling the blaze and smoke, a lady in a gown in the apartment adjacent to the hotel room where the door was smashed, shows up on her balcony. We call to her and especially the firefighters to warn these people. The firefighter looks down at us and sees us pointing. He looks towards where this lady is standing, and looks back at us. Then he points and we all say OUI! He looks over and this lady sees the firefighter and about poops her panties on the spot. She's shocked there's a fire, and we begin to laugh at the idiots talking to one another about what to do. The extend the ladder from the ladder truck to get her down, be she's planning on staying!

By about 11:15pm the fire is out and the fire chief asks us to come back to the hotel front door for another roll call. This seemed really stupid. After the roll call, we are told again in French in a rather hastily way to go to a nearby hotel and wait. During this trek I come across the lady I called to. The husband wanted to thank me for warning his wife about the fire and for getting them out when I did. I told them that I was confused as to why they stayed after the alarms went off. He said they were rather faint and sounded like a car alarm. So they didn't think much of it. We joined this couple and another couple from Belgium at the Hotel Ibis. The Mercure had the Ibis offer us drinks of water, cafe, tea, milk, and for the Germans, beer; typical Germans. By the way, the Aryan race is thriving in Germany.



One of the more interesting things about this entire fiasco is that the French citizens clearly understood what was being said. But all the foreigners, including the couple we met which were from Denmark, Belgium, and Germany all conversed in English. English is a defacto standard language. While at the Ibis, the firemen tell us we have to wait to return back to the hotel, until they can evacuate the smoke from the hotel. Yep, they expected us to go back to this place and sleep. With the confidence the fire department instilled on us from their performance to put out the fire, not too many wanted to go back. But the hotel Mercure was not going to refund anything. So I was stuck. I could have slept in the car, but that was not too comfortable for sleeping. So we waited until 1:45am and then were able to return to the hotel.

The hotel was a bit smoky, gee I wonder why, but seemed safe enough. That was the conclusion of our day. A very long, humbling, and somewhat odd way to end the day, day.

Omaha Beach

Starting with a title like Omaha Beach conjures up movies like the "Longest Day" or "Saving Private Ryan" or even "The Band of Brothers" series that HBO produced with the help of Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks. But there is more to this place than can be described by a movie or an idea. In one sense, it is the location for the rebirth of a nation.

World War II was started by the German government's desire to do what it failed to do in World War I; win the fight against freedom and rule the world. Tyranny swept through Europe during the mid through late 1930's as the National Socialist Party (Nazi's) tried to impose their rule of order on the world. In 1937-1938 they annexed various countries to Germany, to build a strong army, air force, navy, and pride among Germans that was taken from them at the end of World War I. In 1939, they began their reign of terror on the rest of Europe by invading and capturing Poland, France, Luxemburg, Holland, Sweden, Norway, and practically every European country. Switzerland remained neutral, and the attempted invasion of England. In 1941, two days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese, Germany and Italy declared war on the United States, awakening the sleeping giant, and changing the world as we knew it.

My grandfather fought in WWII in the Navy in the South Pacific theater, my dear friend Joe Reed fought in the European theater. Most everyone in the US knows or knew of someone, male or female, that fought in WWII. But the US response to war declaration was not just the invasion at Normandy. It began for America in late 1941, but for Europe, attacks began in early 1942. I'm not clear on dates because it's difficult to find them quickly on the web. However, what is important and a clear distinction for my daughter, the US had been fighting in WWII for more than 2 years before the massive invasion of northern France on June 6th, 1943.

During our trip through Normandy, I was told that I needed to see the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach. I love history, and live in Williamsburg as well as 3 miles from the first permanent English settlement in America, Jamestown. But going to a cemetery on vacation seemed odd and not something I wanted to do. But after plenty of advice from my siblings, my daughter and I sought out the cemetery on Monday, the 26th of July. I'm glad I did, for what I'm about to describe was simply one of the most memorable and moving experiences of our trip to France.

The US and France have shared a unique relationship for nearly 2 and half centuries. King Louis the XVI was responsible for providing money and material support both in an army and navy to help the US gain its independence from England. This venture ends up being one of the contributing factors to the fall of the monarchy in France, but it truly was one of the most noble of efforts. As a side note, the US was the only set of colonies that won their independence from England at the time of the American Revolution; many other English colonies around the world were also rebelling against England at that time. The US was again helped in the war of 1812. Then in return, the US helped liberate France from German control in both WWI and WWII, and France has been very keen on recognizing that fact. They prefer not to remember that the helped the US in its time of need because that was under the guises of a monarchy. So, visiting the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach was also a tribute to the recognition by France for what the US did for France, and France continues to remember humbly with these types of memorials.

Getting to the cemetery was not easy; in fact, it was frustratingly difficult. The GPS in the car did not recognize the site, and the local towns nearby were not in the unit as reference points. So, we headed for Bayeaux. This was the closest city to the cemetery. Rob told me that this would be a good reference point and along the way I should see signs for the cemetery and that would simply guide me to the location. Well, we made it into Bayeaux with a goal of making it to the visitor center, and the stupid GPS unit dumped us in the middle of the city, with no clear location of the visitor center. Not only was I lost, I was now frustrated. So we tried to find a place to park, and this city was a zoo; parking was difficult to find. I finally located some public parking nearby a hospital, and it appeared to be about 300 meters from the visitor center. Wonderful, I have to search an area of 282,000 square meters, about half the size of OSU's campus. I figured I didn't put on enough deodorant for the search and pondered applying a bit more.

We searched for the visitor center by starting where the GPS unit stopped us. It was actually another 30 meters off, and in a direction north of where we were deposited by the GPS unit. By this point I was beginning to think that when you put the unit into English text mode, the accuracy of the unit drops just to piss off foreigners. We walked into the visitor center, found a clerk that thankfully spoke English and told her I was lost. We told her we were looking for the cemetery, and she gave us a map and guide with everything in it. Sarah even had the forethought to ask for an address for the GPS, and the clerk circled it for us. So, we went outside, and then realized in my frustration, I forgot where I parked the car! Damn. So we retraced our steps and eventually made it back to the car. We plugged in the address we were given, and no address found. Instead, we put in another town closer to the cemetery and were able to begin our trek.

As we approached the second, closer city, Sarah noticed these burnt orange signs directing people to Omaha Beach. Initially there was no mention of a cemetery, but we figured it had to be there. As we approached the area, we see another sign for a golf course, a resort area, and at the bottom, the cemetery. Omaha Beach has become a place for recreation. That seemed somewhat sacrilegious; it was rather early given the fact that so many people died in this area less than 60 years ago. Eventually, as we continued to follow these signs, we end up on a one way road, heading towards the English Channel. And then all of a sudden, we enter the cemetery. Parking was a bit full, with nearly 1000 visitors there already. I thought wow, a place that actually gets visited in memory of our brave men and women that died for freedom of the world.



After parking and getting our wits about us, we headed towards the visitor center. There, we had to pass through security to ensure we were not bringing anything prohibited into the visitor center. The visitor center was quite a place with all sorts of statements from Eisenhower, and our soldiers. There was a sign in book at the entrance, and I decided to sign in our names and see who was visiting; most of the visitors were French. We were one of a handful of Americans. We headed downstairs, where the exit was, and found two theaters, one closed and one open. We stood and watched the open one and realized it was the second in a series of movies of what we were about to learn. We eventually viewed the first movie, and while this was playing, I began to cry. I wasn't sobbing, but I was overcome with emotions of just what this place represented. I had tears of loss and tears of pride; America at its finest was resting on this hallowed soil.





Sarah and I both learned a lot from the visitor center. Leading up to the invasion, the location was held secretly, and only disinformation was sent to throw off the Germans. The Germans had actually fortified northern France which is where they wanted, and left the south to the Vichy government; a Nazi based government that supported the Reich. The day before the invasion, 10,000 acts of sabotage were performed by the French underground, a tidbit that continues to allude movies these days. Another unknown fact was that Italy declared war on the US. That really shocked us because we thought only Japan and Germany did this. The invasion ended 4 years of tyrannical rule and oppression. Nearly 100,000 invaded on the 6th of June, 20,000 in paratroopers and another 80,000 by sea. In less than 3 days they regrouped after the initial onslaught to form a 60 mile line of the invasion. That's about the distance from Williamsburg to Richmond in Virginia. On that day however, we lost 9600, or 10%.





To understand how you lose so many, you have to see Omaha Beach. I am showing a picture to illustrate this. The beach itself is long at low tide, and moderately lengthy at high tide. As you get away from the beach area and encounter vegetation, the ground begins to rise, and eventually a rather rapid rise. The peak of this rise is about 600 feet; our men were pinned down easily. In ancient warfare, the army that had the highest ground usually won the battle. So why you would attempt to take the hill is incomprehensible unless there is a driving force. In this case, the driver was supply lines. The easiest and quickest route to Omaha Beach was straight across the English Channel. So the supply lines were a major factor in choosing this particular region. Of course history shows us that the strategy worked, but some might say at a stiff price to the loss of human life.



We toured the cemetery for quite some time. As I walked, I was saddened more at the tremendous loss. But what hit me as most interesting was the locations of all the men that are buried at this American Cemetery; they are from all over the US. Jewish markers can be seen with the star of David, while the rest had crosses. Unlike the battle markers of the American civil war, where each state was specifically mentioned with its own memorial, this memorial represented the entirety of the US. It truly is hallowed ground. It is filled with the men and women that gave their lives to restore freedom in the world, and they did this willingly.



When we first arrived and signed in, there was a place to leave any remarks. Mine was simple, "To honor thy grandfather." I wish I had included my dear friend Joe Reed who I met when I was 12 years old and who taught me everything I know about fishing. Joe was a member of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Company C, of the 101st Airborne Division. He participated in the invasion of Normandy and Market Garden, the battle of Bastogne and the Battle of the Bulge. He was with the same group that "The Band of Brothers" originated, that regiment was Company E. I walked among his fellow comrades and felt their presence.

Fast vs. Short

Each year since my daughter was four years old, I've been taking her on a vacation. Initially I took her to see her Uncle Rob and Aunt Anjali and cousins in St. Paul Minnesota. After doing that for 3 years, she was seven, and we began taking driving tours. We went to see my cousin Karen and Paul Newman in Philadelphia, my dear friend from college Brad Briggs in Lancaster, Ohio, and my parents to round out the trip. We did this trip for 5 years, sometimes not seeing either Karen and Paul and the girls, or Brad and Jane, but each year we also would spend time seeing other sites around the United States, including Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Ohio, West Virginia, and even parts of Maryland. We did this by taking US routes instead of interstates because the US routes offered us the ability to see more of what these states had to offer.



On these trips we visited Strasburg which has an operational locomotive from the early 1920's, the Jersey Shore, the Baltimore Aquarium, the Cleveland Zoo, and even the underground railroad of the Civil War. These sites are not necessarily available by interstate, but US routes offer easy access. So, when we began our trip from the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach in Normandy, France to Deauville, we had two options on the GPS to use. We could use the fastest time or the shortest route. There is a difference between each, but I was unaware of just how long that difference could be, given the functionality of the GPS we were using.

Most GPS units I have used will provide these different routes. However, in the states, the differences are significant because they seem to take into consideration that the shortest route is on roads with lower speed limits. In France, the GPS unit we were using did not do this, or at most, did not do it accurately. Sarah had requested we take the shortest route so we could see more of the French country and villages along the way to Deauville. Little did I know that the differences were more significant than we expected; lots different. The fastest time would be about an hour and a half. The shortest distance was actually about 4 hours.



As we left the American Cemetery, we saw a sign indicating there was a McDonald's nearby; 15 minute drive. It was 3:30p, and we were ravenous, so McD's seemed like a good quick stop. The last thing we wanted to do was get a typical french sandwich made on baguette because their cold cuts were lousy and the bread terribly crumby when eaten in the car. And I was not in the mood to sweep out this car before I returned it; though I probably could have simply turned it upside down and shaken the crumbs out onto the road for the pigeons to eat. So, we figured a small detour to McD's would be fine. We followed the road that said in 15 minutes we'd be at McDonald's, and we followed it and followed it. We went through a few circles, which I just really enjoy; sorta like organized chaos or reminiscent of driving in Paris. Just wen our hopes of finding a McD's had about run out, there was another sign just telling us a few more minutes to go. At the 4th sign we saw this, I began to think the French were screwing with us; they wanted us to simply visit more remote, and I mean remote, sections of France. Eventually we simply gave up and unfortunately, we were even more hungry, but now being angry helped squelched some of the hunger pains.


So we began following the "shortest" route to Deauville. One thing that struck me was that as we continued to follow the route, we encountered dozens of really small towns along the coastline that abuts the English Channel. We did encounter some very interesting homes and even what looked like some small villas and castles like the one shown in this posting. We also noticed that each town had a cross with Jesus on it as a monument at the beginning and ending of the town. I'm still not sure why these were there, but there were lots of them. And unlike the US where we have speed bumps, France has speed humps. These things come out of nowhere because they are not clearly marked with a different color paint. But if you hit these things at too fast a pace, as I did on the first one I encountered, you actually begin to fly. I could feel the steering become mushy when I hit the first one. It was scary, really scary.


So we were traveling through beach resort towns where dogs were being walked in the middle of the street, surf boards were being ushered across streets, and bathers of all ages simply waddled across the roads without a care for oncoming traffic. And everywhere we went there were cyclists on the road. No helmets, no padding, very little distinguishing characteristics, other than being in the middle of the road traveling 3 to 5 km/hr and annoying. In one incident, there was a mother walking her children home; two boys ages approximately 6 and 10. What startled us was the 6 year old was naked; stark naked. Sarah's interest was piqued, but was then turned off when she realized the boy was not circumcised. But seeing this in public was even more odd, but evidently French don't usually care about such things.



In one little village, the main route was completely torn up at the curbs for some sort of plumbing being done. That made getting through this town so difficult, I felt like a rat caught inside a maze. We went up and down various streets, both forward and backward, until we found a way out. If you ever saw "Groundhog Day" with Bill Murray, that's how I felt; I felt like I was never going to get out of this little village. And the locals were more angry that I was going up and down various streets which was clear when I asked for directions and basically received the "read between the lines" gesture. Gotta love those French.



Eventually we did make it to Deauville, but the day, which started in Rennes with a visit to the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach and a slow ride to the city was not the strangest part nor end of the day. To see what happens next, check out "Wee-Woo". So if you like driving back roads, be prepared for anything in France. At least in the US, there's all sorts of places to relax along US routes. In France, there's no place to poop or pee, and finding a place to eat is not necessarily all that easy. By the way, as we progressed through the small towns to Deauville, we did stumble across a McDonald's. The food was much better, but the staff less knowledgable. I know, how could that be possible? In France, they do not have a quarter pounder. From their perspective, why would you eat that much meat. Instead they do have the Big & Tasty, but it's called the Royal Deluxe and is very good. I simply had hamburgers and fries. Oh yeah, they don't serve French fries; you're in France. They are simply called frites, or fries, a rather confusing interchange with the staff resolved that issue.