Normandy

I've tried, and failed, many times to write this blog post. I always end up in tears, shutting the laptop and vowing to try again another day. Normandy is, bar none, the most special place I've visited in my year and a half of living and traveling in Europe. I have amazing memories of our family trips to other lands, but the hallowed ground of the Normandy beaches touched me in a way I cannot possibly describe.

We left Paris with the intention to drive to Normandy and stay four nights. However, plans changed when Tobi was needed back in Switzerland for a meeting. Instead of scrapping that part of the trip altogether, we decided to go ahead, if only for one night. This is a bit on the crazy side, given that Google Maps says it's about a nine hour trip back to Zurich from Bayeux (hint: it was a lot more than that with three little ones). But we pushed on in search of historic sites.

We arrived in Arromanches in the early afternoon, after a four hour drive from Paris. We walked around the little town on the main street and picked a place to have lunch. What struck me right off the bat were the "welcome liberators" signs and the British flags everywhere (Arromanches is along what was designated Gold Beach and was liberated by the British forces of D-day). Let us be clear here: D-Day occurred 68 years ago. Clearly, much of this is intended for the tourists who flock to these towns each summer. But it still took me a bit by surprise.

After lunch we visited the Musée du Débarquement in Arromanches. This is a small museum with artifacts, models, and uniforms from the war. It was rather crowded, though that was to be expected in August. Grant is our little World War II aficionado and he was enthralled by the entire place.

After that, we left Arromanches and drove to the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial near Omaha Beach. We got there late in the afternoon and it closes at 6 p.m. so we didn't have more than a couple of hours to visit. The first thing you do is go through security, complete with an x-ray of one's belongings. Then there is a guestbook if one wants to sign it. As I waited in line to sign the guestbook, I was contemplating that most of the visitors in line with me were not American. I heard German, French, Spanish, etc. The family before me went up to the guestbook to sign it and the mother of the group reached out and touched the American flag standing next to the table. I can't explain it but I think I visibly recoiled. At that same moment, the man attending to the visitor's desk said in a very loud voice, "Madame, please do not touch the flag." Then I suddenly wondered, are Americans the only people sensitive about the flag? The flag is to be revered, not touched. The lady was not touching it in some malicious way - maybe she just wanted to feel the cloth. I don't know, but it was an interesting moment nonetheless. (Tobi's note: No, other countries just like to burn our flag. Tiffany's note: See what I live and put up with?)

The basement of the visitor center is a small museum honoring the fallen American soldiers of D-day. It was touching and my only regret is that I didn't have more time to spend there.

I had Caroline in the stroller and Charlie walking with me, so we went on outside. Tobi and Grant took more time in the museum. As I got outside, I felt a hush fall over the crowd of visitors. With the serene backdrop of Omaha beach and the English channel beyond, the rows and rows of small white crosses came into view. Even now I can remember the simultaneous feelings of sorrow and gratitude for those men who gave their lives on that day. 

Every day at the end of the day the staff take the two American flags down from the flag poles on the grounds. They ask if there are any American veterans in the crowd who would like the honor of helping to lower the flags. If there are no American veterans, they ask for an American citizen. On this day, it was a young man, possibly of college age, who volunteered. After they lowered and folded the flag, a bugler played Taps. Other than that, you could have heard a pin drop. And I'm almost positive there wasn't a dry eye by the end. (You can view a similar ceremony here.)

The grounds are beautiful and immaculately cared for. We walked around the white cross markers, some dotted with small bouquets or a note. There is a small chapel at one end with a beautiful mosaic ceiling. At the other end is the memorial with names of the missing.

When the cemetery grounds closed, we walked down toward Omaha beach. There is a memorial for the 1st Infantry Division, the first soldiers to land on the beach, that is built atop a German bunker. There are a few bunkers that still dot the landscape above the beaches. Tobi and the kids went through some of them on our way down to the beach.

The beach of Colleville sur mer, known now as Omaha Beach, is the local beach for many residents of Normandy. There were many families playing soccer, having picnics, swimming and playing. The rational part of me knows that life goes on and these people must make use of their beaches. The irrational part of me wanted to scream, "don't you know what happened here??" It felt like walking on hallowed ground. No different, to me, than walking through the cemetery above the beach. The kids loved running through the sand and we all enjoyed dipping our toes into the English channel. But I was thankful we didn't have time to make it our play place for the next few days.

That evening we drove to our hotel in Cabourg for one night. The next morning we drove to Caen, the capital of Normandy, to visit the museum there. Grant was the one who requested that visit, if you can believe it. It was a very nice museum, and after a couple of hours, we started the very long drive back to Zurich.

We arrived after midnight, tired from the trip. But it was a very worthy endeavor and a trip I will never forget.

Cheers,

Tiffany

Up Next: Madrid