We arrived in Honfleur on the first night of July following an exhaustive day touring France's Normandy region. The stifling heatwave continued throughout the week, but Europe's lack air conditioning left us swaddled in a blanket of excessive warmth. We found refuge in the air conditioning of our hotel in Paris, but we have been without it since. As long as we had fans and could avoid our accommodation's top-floor, we managed. And thus far, we were successful - until we descended upon Honfleur.
While in Bayeux, Julie contacted the hotel in Honfleur and asked, if possible, that our rooms not be on the top floor. She was reassured to hear that our rooms were on the second floor. However, much to our chagrin, we discovered that the second floor was indeed the top floor. Apparently, when Julie confronted the employee about the top floor/second floor conundrum, she was greeted with abrupt rudeness (there are three floors: ground, first, and second. Therefore the second floor equals the top floor).
We proceeded to check-in to our Bikram Yoga hot boxes, only to find the chocolate decorum of the turn-down service melted on the bed. I have never participated in hot yoga before, but after the first night's stay in La Maison de Lucie, I perspired for eight hours while "relaxing" in Corpse Pose.
Carrousel á Honfleur and harbor
The following morning we regrouped, headed down to the harbor for breakfast, and charted our course for the day. Being the tail-end of an active vacation, we planned to minimize strenuous activity in the sweltering weather. We were content to part ways for a period of time and explore the town in our respective couples. Later, we reconvened for one last adventure, a boat ride to visit Le Pont de Normandie.
Streets of Honfleur
Le Vieux Bassin
View at night
At the moment of completion, Le Pont de Normandie was the longest cable-stayed bridge ever built, however, it was unseated nine years later. The two hour tour went from the harbor to the bridge and back; with the most interesting part being the journey through the canal waiting for the water level to rise and/or lower. There was information played over the loudspeakers pertaining to our surroundings, but the spoken English was less discernible than Charlie Brown's teacher. Sadly, this tour paled in comparison to the one we took as a group a year ago in Heidelberg.
Down the road from Hotel Hell
View from breakfast
Following the most underwhelming bridge tour in continental Europe, we returned to Le Vieux Bassin near the docks. It was early evening, but no foraging was required because we had made dinner reservations. Despite our shabby American apparel, the fine dining restaurant didn't shoo us away, a fortuitous affair because our dinner was among the best we've had all week (and we ate substantially well).
Le Pont de Normandie
The end of our boat tour
Our vacation drew to its end, but we still had the final stage of our Tour de France ahead of us, the daunting drive back to Homburg. Our car brakes had somehow deteriorated into an even louder noisemaker than when we departed. With a six-plus hours ahead of us, it was going to be a squeaky ride home. We screeched and grinded our way through Honfleur until we reached the highway where our ears were granted a well deserved reprieve. However, about two hours away from the French-German border, our air conditioner died.
Random Rue
Saint Catherine's Church
Walking back from Galerie la Véluze
Not only was our cacophonous car an auditory nightmare, we would have to suffer the remaining four hours with the windows down - exposed to the oppressive heat. I am unsure as to whether we drove in silence, or if it was impossible to hear anything while driving Autobahn speeds the rest of the way home. Despite our automotive issues, the Tour de France was an otherwise masterful success.
Early mornings and long days continued to be the theme of our Tour de France - today was no different. We were fortunate to have planned a private tour focusing on the American role during the Allied invasion of Normandy. Adding a contemporaneous twist, our day started in the commune of Sainte-Mére-Église, the area targeted five hours previous to the assault on the beaches of Normandy.
Omaha Beach
The quaint town of Saint-Mére-Église was a primary objective due to its important location relative to major roadways used for supplies and reinforcements. One would think, with the meticulousness of wartime planning, all potential obstacles would have been accounted for. However, unfavorable weather proved to wreak havoc on the campaign from the moment of inception. Heavy cloud cover and chaotic winds caused an abundance of paratroopers to miss their drop zones.
"John Steele" inspired The Longest Day
Sniper bullet damage on fence
Further complications were compounded when a coincidental house fire in the middle of Saint-Mére-Église drew attention to the townspeople and Nazi soldiers. With the night sky ablaze, Allied paratroopers could easily be seen and marked by enemy troops. Famously, paratrooper John Steele, successfully careened through enemy fire, however, his parachute caught a church spire and left him dangling from the steeple. He played dead for two-hours to ensure his safety, but was later captured and taken prisoner. Eventually, Steele miraculously escaped his captures and rejoined his regiment and the war - inspiration for the movie, The Longest Day. A dummy paratrooper still hangs from the church and dents incurred by sniper fire can be felt on the fence opposite the square. We continued our tour and drove east to the location of a strategic defensive position opposite the English Channel.
Battlement for heavy artillery
Hilly landscape provided by Allied bombardments
Pointe du Hoc
Pointe du Hoc is the site of a fortification built by the French during World War I to house their heavy artillery cannons. Under Nazi control, the Germans used the battlement for the same purpose, however, heavy bombardments by the Allies forced the removal of the 155mm cannons. As we walked the grounds and approached the precipice, the scars of battle were strewn across the landscape. Skeletons of bunkers and casements could be seen protruding through the flesh-like grass which has grown over the cratered terrain decimated by bombardments. If the plight of warfare wasn't tangible enough, our next stop was the site of the highest casualties incurred on June 6, 1944 - Omaha Beach.
Bunker destroyed by bombs
Memorial of U.S. Rangers at Pointe du Hoc
Model of Nazi 155m cannon
Unlike Saint-Mére-Église and Pointe du Hoc, Omaha Beach appeared unblemished by the destruction of warfare. I don't speak for the lot of our group, but at first sight, Omaha Beach leaves a perplexing impression. War memorials for the Allied soldiers and their nations can be seen from the parking lot, but they are the only monuments commemorating a battle that saw so much death and carnage. This five-mile stretch of beach changed the tides of World War II, yet the scars have been washed away by the ocean's ebb and flow.
Omaha Beach War Memorial
How Omaha Beach looks today
Our guide led us to the through the events of the Omaha operation, drawing lines in the sand representing the major sections of beach and their objectives. Scenes from Saving Private Ryan came to mind and helped recreate the mayhem of the Allied landfall. Standing in the exact location left a lasting impression. The distance separating the Nazi defensive lines and the shoreline (often) exceeded 150 meters and was laden with the obstacles of the Atlantic Wall. The imagination struggled to grasp the reality of such a horrifying and daunting task. With little to no cover (many tanks failed to reach the beaches), heavily armed enemy combatants gunned down those who made it to shore. With wave after wave of boats hitting the beach, the Allied forces were able to complete their mission, but not without casualties.
Normandy American Cemetery
Grave for an Unknown Soldier
Approximately 3,000 soldiers were killed or injured during the Omaha Beach invasion. A staggering number, but the sacrifices made altered the course of the war and history. To conclude our tour, we paid our respects to those who perished at the Normandy American Cemetery.
Lastly, the day ended with a drive to the final destination of our Tour de France, Honfleur.
The morning after our exploration of Mont Saint-Michel, we broke our fast with the Count of the Chateau. He shared the history of the property as well as expressed his concerns regarding the amount of noise the donkeys make when in heat. While we would have loved to stay longer, our escapade through France continued; the next stop, Normandy.
On the drive from Vergoncey to Bayeux, we planned to stop at Mémorial de Caen, a museum with exhibits focusing on the extensive history spanning from World War I to the Cold War. Approximately halfway through our short drive we stopped for gas and coffee. A benign sequence of events, but we learned Julie's mother spoke French. That is to say, she spoke English phrases with an inflection resembling a French accent. Despite our cackling over the emergence of this mysterious display of international phonetics, Julie's mother flawlessly ordered for the four of us. We soon returned to the road and would reach the museum a shade before noon.
I am not sure of the record for amount of time spent in Mémorial de Caen, however, we unknowingly committed ourselves to the cause. Little did we know, we would devote more time here than our combined visits to the Louvre and Musée d'Orsay (and we never made it to the Cold War wing). Our thorough pace through the engrossing exhibits left a unanimously pleasurable and lasting impression. Although, there was one French twist we collectively found overstated (albeit sensical, given our locale), the tide-changing importance placed on the French Resistance (Viva la Résistance). By the time we finished the World War II section, early evening descended and we still needed to check-in to our hotel a short distance away in Bayeux.
The day's tentative itinerary had planned for a visit to see the famed Bayeux Tapestry, however, our time was limited due to our (unofficial) record setting visit to Mémoiral de Caen. Unfortunately, we missed the opportunity to see the 70-meter historical artwork because the Bayeux Cathedral had closed for the evening. With the sight-seeing portion of our evening over, we concerted our efforts to satiate our growing appetites. After dinner at a "liberators welcome" restaurant, we walked down the cobble stoned street to buy desserts - coming across the largest meringues our eyes have ever seen.
Hello...? Anybody home?
We hear there is a large Tapestry here
Don't turn the lights on, let us in
We discovered a delicatessen near the hotel with pastries and meringues so delicious - we wanted to return the following morning before a full-day touring the beaches of Normandy. Much to our dismay, our broken French wasn't enough to garner the answers we needed (What time did they open?). Therefore, we employed the help of our new-found translator, Julie's mother. With her previous success at the gas station, she was encouraged to continue her French inflection-fused English.
Julie's mother delved into her role as international sustenance liaison. However, when she approached the counter with the confidence of Napoléon on the battlefield, she asked the employee, "o-PIN, TO-mar-O?" (note: capital letters signify her obscured French inflection). Much to our surprise (well, not really), the baker tending the cafe did not understand the question. Amid our laughter, we were disappointed to learn they were closed the following morning. Therefore, we doubled our purchases to have enough leftover for breakfast.
Our Parisian adventure had concluded, but the journey out of the city provided a brief epilogue to our tale. Everybody had their luggage ready and the car was packed as Julie's parents checked out of the hotel. However, the directions to our next destination, Mont Saint-Michel, went missing. Before the internet, people used maps; however, sometime between the inception of the information superhighway and present day - people used MapQuest. Julie and I waited in the car as the other half of our party frantically looked for a printout of MapQuest directions.
Approximately, a half-hour passed before the four of us were all seated in the car and ready to depart. Unfortunately, our directions were, 50240 Vergoncey - indeed, a destination; yet only specific enough to narrow our search to the small French commune with a population of 209. With little desire to spend any more time waiting than we already had, a second address reconnaissance mission proved successful - we were on our way to Château de Boucéel.
Dry island surroundings
Walking around
Rare picture of us
Driving out of Paris was predominantly uneventful, although, I was pleased to have successfully navigated through the 12-spoke traffic circle that surrounds the Arc de Triomphe. Upon our arrival to Vergoncey, we were greeted by the heir and owner of the Chateau, a real-life Count. Unfortunately, bad news was brought to our attention, a scheduling error occurred and the reservations did not match the books. To clarify, we told the Count that the four of us had four bags and drove four long hours from Paris. As he pondered our dilemma, he donned his cape on and proceeded to count four bats for unknown reasons (may or may not have happened). Regardless, the scheduling snafu was quickly amended and we were led to our rooms; each with a unique interior design.
Once settled, we returned to the car and drove to Mont Saint-Michel, a small island famous for its monastery. This is the first attraction visited where we were required to read a tide chart before our arrival. Depending on time of year and day, the island may or may not be accessible due to high tides that rise above the access bridge. With the lengthy drive, we missed high tide and arrived at the "height" of low tide. This isn't the first island monastery Julie and I have visited (see: Skellig Michael), however, it was the first island we could walk around. Following our circumvention of the island, we started the ascent up the 350 stairs to the Abbey.
So many stairs...finally at the top
Enjoying the view after all those stairs
Entering monastery
When we reached the top, we purchased tickets and continued to start our self-guided tour. Before entering, we took the time to enjoy the panoramic views atop the landing outside the monastery's facade. With our casual pace, the walk though took about an hour; and given our late afternoon arrival, the shops and restaurants were dialing down for the evening. Following a long day of travel combined with the tour of Mont Saint-Michel, the four of us welcomed the early closure. On our way out, we stopped for dinner at La Ferme Saint Michel, where everybody enjoyed their meals; however, there was more cervical vertebrae in my lamb neck than expected.
Courtyard atop Mont Saint-Michel
Grand hall
View from inside small chapel
On the drive back to our temporary home, we stopped along the way to take pictures of the island from a distance. At the chateau, there was enough daylight remaining for us to explore the grounds - our mission - find the donkeys. We made our way around the pond, passed the small stone chapel to the fields opposite the chateau. There wasn't much searching required, the donkeys came to us when we reached the perimeter of their fenced enclosure. Later, we returned to our respective rooms as night fell.
Au revoir Mont Saint-Michel
The Chateau
During the day's waning hours, Julie and I briefly discussed the unique ubiquitous pattern within our quarters. I suppose, each room at Château de Boucéel has its charm. Ours had the touch of vintage interior designer's flare - when one finds a fabric they like, they use it for everything. In that, the wall paper matched our bed comforter, which matched the pillow cases, which matched the table runners, which matched the curtains, which matched a throw rug...and so forth. To my knowledge, the only other room in existence with so much of a single fabric could only be a room with padded walls. Despite the almost kaleidoscopic stimuli of the room, our stay was very pleasant - we even dined with the Count the morning of our departure.
Our final day in the City of Light started off with a humorous escapade involving us and the Metro system. The previous night, we noticed one of our Paris Cards had a defunct operational habit when used to enter and exit each station. Mysteriously, over the course of an evening, another Paris Card joined the ranks of defunct misfit. Thus, every visit to the Metro turnstiles became our version of Parisian Roulette - whereby, two of us were granted easy passage while the other half faced the Gauntlet from American Gladiators.
The morning Metro escapade commenced as we exited Luxembourg station. Julie and I managed to select the operational cards and had no trouble passing through the turnstiles. However, we noticed the other half of our party was stuck behind the brigade of metal gatekeepers. After repeated failures, it was abundantly clear - the defunct Paris Cards would not comply. The time had come to consider if we should leave Julie's parents behind while they rode the Metro all day (we would come back for them). As we debated the abandonment option, our predicament escalated to a situational comedy. The turnstile proved a formidable adversary, there was no chance of going over, under, or around - or so it seemed. All efforts were stymied with hilarious results, leaving no option, but to crawl under; the equivalent of a human using a doggy door. Unfortunate for one, but appeasing to the remainder - we laughed as we watched Julie's mother struggle to make it to the other side. Eventually, she succeeded and we were quickly joined by Julie's father who simply hopped the turnstile. Before exiting Luxembourg station, we went to customer service in hopes of correcting the malfunctioning Paris Passes. To avoid another lengthy diatribe, the encounter with the Metro Card service team involved interminable blank stares and inexplicable confusion. Obviously a futile effort, there was no chance to fix the cards nor rectify the issue; thus, the younger half of our group were given the defunct misfits because we could Cirque du Soleil our way pass the turnstiles.
Entering Luxembourg Gardens
Luxembourg Palace
Finally, we managed to make it out of the Metro and proceeded across the street to Jardin du Luxembourg, a palatial garden where we could relax and restore some of our sanity lost during the morning's follies. We left the grounds and headed east to the Panthéon, a museum Julie and I skipped on our first trip to Paris and were (initially) pleased to visit this time around. Our ephemeral excitement was dashed upon finding out the Foucault pendulum was undergoing a three-year restoration. Missing out on the main attraction made for an otherwise underwhelming experience, however, it was enjoyable to see the crypts of France's greatest minds below the building; including, Voltaire, Marie Curie, Rousseau, and Victor Hugo. Feeling the need for consolation over the restoration frustration, we pitted the void with baguettes and pastries from a nearby delicatessen.
Imagine Foucault pendulum here
Pendulum character rendering
With the bulk of the afternoon ahead of us, we rode the Metro to Varenne Station, a centrally located area to visit both Dôme des Invalides (Napoléon's Tomb) and Musée Rodin. Initial impressions of Napoléon's tomb ironically complete the self-fulfilling prophecy of the aptly named inferiority complex. The misnomer, "Napoleon Complex," started when the British Tory press spread sizable rumors with regards to the vertical prowess of the aforementioned. The height debate is a result of a measurement conversion discrepancy between the French pouce and British inch. It is believed that Napoléon stood a meager 5' 6", about average for the time, yet; his sarcophagus measures 2.15 meters (~7 ft.) in length and a meter wide. Presumably, French retaliation to the British Tory press in an age-old debate nobody cares about. We left Dôme des Invalides and walked across the street to the Rodin Museum to ponder the majestic statue, Le Penseur.
Voltaire wondering where the pendulum could be
Marie Curie
At this point, one would think we would be tired of museums, specifically, art museums. Despite the verisimilitude of the previous sentence, one Monet-centric attraction remained, Musée de l'Orangerie. We devoted enough time to admire the Water Lillies series for us to recover from the excessive walking throughout the day. Before we departed, Julie and I were informed of our second Parisian swindling in as many days.
Little guy, big tomb
Ceiling of Dome de Invalides
We received an email from our credit card company who informed us that our information had unknowingly been stolen by some Parisian ursine. However, the amount of money involved rendered Julie's street rat swindling innocuous. Apparently, one lucky street-rat went on an spending spree at La Salle des Ventes du Particulier, a high-end antique dealer. Fortunately, we were protected from identity theft, but our credit card was canceled - allowing us to move on with our day (damn gypsies burned us again).
Radio Paris
Seats for the conceret
With most of our days and activities planned, a bit of spontaneity beckoned. We returned to the 4th arrondissement and found some filers for a performance of Antonio Vivaldi's Four Seasons in a nearby church. Following a brief search, we found the venue, Paroisse Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre. With a bit of time before curtain call, we enjoyed the tranquility of Square-Rene Viviani, a small park between Saint-Julien and Notre-Dame. The general consensus agreed the performance was great, the small church provided an intimate environment and enjoyable experience. We had dinner right around the corner from Saint-Julien and concluded our trip to the City of Light with a walk along the Seine as night fell.
