Pedaling into the World

After a short drive along the coast from Mont St. Michel we arrived at the beaches of Normandy. Unlike all the films the coast does not open up from the countryside but rather is flanked by rolling hills and fields of crops. Tall grasses and wheat grow all around and every half mile you pass through a tiny town consisting of 4- houses.

As we drove along the coastal highway we saw hundreds of tourists and big city week-enders escaping to the cooling Atlantic shore. Every so often a small museum would pop up and an American or German tank would flash by. Peeking down the narrow streets small howitzers greeted your gaze while they stood watch over small monuments and plaques. All the while the road signs directed you to the cemeteries. We were 30km away when we saw the first sign for the American beaches and we slowly wound our way to Omaha beach, stopping first at a small hotel aptly named the Burberry.

Our room was by no means the smallest or largest we had sstayed in and had a wonderfully mossy view of an adjoining houses wall to look out of. Just to the right of the wall was a church steeple tha rang every 1 minutes until midnight when they turned it off. It was a pleasant stay in a lovely hotel.

The beaches were anything but pleasant. Using the word beach to describe the landing zones is an understatement. At low tide there is only a sliver of land that just out from the cliffs. Picture an almost sheer rock wall, broken up by large jagged clusters of rock that look like they have torn up through the ground. Then, on top of the rock place rolling hills and sand with sea grass all around. Every few feet or so a small hole surrounded by concrete just from the hillside, and in some places you can see where the earth collapsed in on the holes. These are the bunkers.

From my vantage point on top of the cliffs and close to the beach scaling the walls seemed an impossible feet without climbing gear. I could not imagine having to do it under fire from what seemed to be an impenetrable position.

My dad and I toured a complex of bunkers which had been used as a ploy by the German Army. The bunkers had never held guns and instead of placing their limited number of weapons in the bunkers (where the allies could see them) they instead used tree trunks to represent guns. The actual weapons they moved back into the bushes out of sight. The weapons are still there where the germans left them.

The story of how this point was taken is quite amazing as well. 0 Army Rangers started out at night climbing the sheer cliffs under fire from above. Of the 50 that started 11 reached the top and fought the Germans for 3 days until the main landing force could break through the German lines. On the third day two of the men where holding down a position when they came under fire from behind. It was the American army shooting at them! It took another hours before they finally realized that they were friendly soldiers and had in fact taken the point.

The somber cemetery at Normandy was set along a cliff that looked out over the Atlantic Ocean. It was a humbling experience that almost equaled the World War One grounds.

Later that day we drove by a small German Mausoleum and decided to check it out. This building was rather controversial as most German dead had been sent back to Germany in the 1960′s and for many in France having German soldiers on French ground was a delicate issue. Fortunately, times have begun to ease up and it is respected as a hallowed ground for those who passed on.
It is the only large Nazi burial ground outside of Germany.

The most shocking aspect of this medium sized building was the number of soldiers there. Over 14,000 soldiers were buried there over 120 to each panel of a three sided room. There were almost the same number of soldiers buried here as there were at the sprawling American Cemetery. These remains had come from battlefields all over France and large books contained the names of all the known soldiers in the Mausoleum. Dad and I looked for my Grandmothers three brothers but couldn’t find them.

After my restless night we awoke to our host bringing us a breakfast of coffee, jam and crusty warm French bread. We packed our bags and started the short drive to Mont St. Michel. As we approached Mont. St Michel the countryside slowly closed in on a small town and the touristy signs began. On the edge of town a few Calvados distilleries were selling their wares to tourists. Over priced bottles of the liquor, distilled from Apple mash, were displayed on tables outside. As we reached the center of this tiny hamlet hotels popped up all around us. Making a right as the road ended we the tourist shops selling posters and trinkets for the island flanked us until we left the mainland.

The monastery is located on an island that at low tide is connected to the mainland. At high tide the spit of land is completely covered by water making visitors to the island take boats back to the mainland. At least this used to be the case until the municipality built a raised road out to the island. Today, there is only the slight danger of your car being flooded by a high tide, though the multitude of warning signs and parking lot attendants makes this highly unlikely.

Throughout the years the bay that surrounds Mont. St Michel has become silted up by the encroaching pasture land on the mainland side and by the canalization of the Cousenon River that empties into the bay. In 2006 the French government authorized a $164 million dollar project to build a hydraulic dam that would surround the island completely with water again. Sadly, this will probably put the tour guides who give hikes through the quicksand infested by out of business.

The entrance gate at the base of the mountain didn’t charge an entrance fee but the small medieval streets reminded me more of Disneyland than of France. Along each side of the street were over priced restaurants and shops selling souvenirs. Many of them are craftily watched over by nuns of the Monestary since a large portion of the profits are reinvested on the island.

At the top of the mountain the Monestary tour begins. Upon entering you see a gift shop and ticketing counter and then are led into the now empty inner rooms of the Monestary. Parts of the building date back to a Roman temple that was built before a small band of Christian monks added on to the foundations. Over the years the building was expanded and served as a temple, a church and Monestary, a strong hold during the 6th century, a prison and then back to a Moneistary.

The legend of the Mont is as follows:Originally called Mont Tomb before construction began it wasn’t until an act of God changed its name. According to legend, the archangel Michael appeared to St. Aubert and told him to construct a church on the rocky island Aubert repeatedly ignored the instructions of the angel until Michael burned a hole in the Saints skull with his finger.

In 1874 the dilapidated prison was closed and proclaimed a national treasure and was added as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1979. A multi million dollar restoration has been ongoing and seems to be a never ending battle between the ocean, tourists, and thousand year old construction.

The tour was interesting and the changes in architecture were wonderful to see. Unfortunately for all the tourists who didn’t speak French the room description signs were useless. Luckily, I got the chance to translate for my Dad, though many of the signs were so short and terse that they were almost useless.

The best part of Mont St. Michel was the view from the mainland at night. Unfortunately it was extremely difficult to get a good photo without the use of a tripod. Fortunately there are many thousands of wonderful photos available on the internet and in books. The next day would find us on the Beaches of Normandy, and viewing the damage of the Second World War.

Our room outside of St. Michel was surrounded by farmland. As night fell the ground began to give off heat and the chilly air crept through the open window. After reading a bit of Suite Francaise I nodded off to a comfortable sleep. I awoke later that night around 1am. At first I was unsure why I was up, perhaps I had just become to cold or hot. I drifted off to sleep again but in less than a minute I was back awake. Obviously something else woke me up.

In bed, quietly looking up at the ceiling and listening to the wind outside my window I heard a slight noise. An animalistic noise, not a growl or a bark but it had a tone that slowly melted away. The next noise from the beast was more frantic. Each time I started to drift off to sleep the noise would come back. It was as if the timing was perfectly in sync with my sleep schedule. After  45 minutes of this I had begun to analyze the situation. Behind our house was a field of sheep and the only thing I could think of was that one of them was having a problem. A few more minutes passed and I narrowed it down to two possibilities. 1). A lamb was having a terrible terrible nightmare, most likely about wolves that used to roam the area. 2). Some unfortunate sheep was being squeezed around the middle. Each squeeze elicited a baaahhh that coincided perfectly with me drifting off to sleep.

The morning came slowly and quite sleepy I arose and packed my bags. As I was heading to the car with my baggage two lambs ran up to the fence and baaahd at me. They say that in France if it has legs or moves people will eat it. Revenge will be sweet my little nightmare suffering friends.

After our visit to Verdun we set out towards Dunkerque and its famous bay where many British soldiers were evacuated during the first world war. Unfortunately, we made a minor error in judgment and found that it is extremely difficult to find a hotel in the dark. Unlike in the US hotel in France are usually around the city center and are rarely directly on a highway. IF you are lucky enough to see a tiny sign it may be 60km away from where you are.

We finally got into Dunkerque late at night and found all the hotels booked. After driving around in what seemed like 20 miles circles we decided to pull off the road and sleep in a rest area. It wasn’t the worst nap ever but “comfort” was not a descriptive adjective I would use to describe the subject. We woke up just as the sun was rising and headed out towards Dunkerque and its bay, but not before noticing the two other cars with sleeping passengers parked right behind us.

The morning was rather fridge and the beach was not super impressive. The gray condos that lined the shore made it even a bit more dreary. It was nice to watch the huge ocean liners go out to see, loaded up with wares from who knows where trudging along to far off lands. In all likely hood they were probably scooting across the English Channel on their way to England.

For the rest of the day we worked our way down the western coast eventually arriving at Mont St. Michel. Night was coming quickly and we had learned to look for hotels early rather than get caught sleeping in our station wagon again. The tiny place we found was tucked slightly outside of a small village. The hostess warmly welcomed us in and asked what time we would like our breakfast. She showed us to our room and left us to get situated for the night. It was shortly after the sun had set when the terror began.

The day after we set off from Montlucon we had traveled half way across the country. Our whims and decisions were partly based on things we wanted to see and partly based on random spur of the moment decisions to turn left. After a few hours of driving north we arrived in the area of Verdun. The city is centuries old but it has just gained infamy due to its position during the First World War. The area around Verdun was the site of one of the largest battles of the war. For miles we followed the Voie Sacree, which was a supply road that lead to the French trenches. For years 24 hours a day 7 days a week one truck would pass a point on the lines every 10 seconds. Mechanization and internal combustion had replaced the horse and carriage with amazing results.

We finally drove into the forest following brown signage that touted points of interests. The region had a few gently rolling hills but was generally flat. Coming to a sign that read “memorial” we pulled over and proceeded to unfold ourselves from our car. A small trail led into the forest with a warning sign that Read “Keep out of buildings, the war is over but there are still dangerous objects around” and “Unexploded Ordinance stay on trails”.

It was not until we began walking on the trail and got off the road that I had a small taste of the horrors of this war. Almost 100 years later, for as far as the eye could see, the forest floor was covered in deep bomb craters. Some of them were small while others were large enough to completely engulf a car. It is worth remembering that 90 years later sediments had filled in much of the holes and that they would have been even deeper when they were made. It was shocking, sobering and horrifying all at the same time. To imagine the area as a wasteland with no trees was not as difficult anymore. The forest, moist ,dark and quiet set the tone for our short visit to a commanders grave site. It was marked with an art deco granite shrapnel epitaph ,to the left of which stood a sign directing the visitor to continue their journey. Bombed out deserted villages still exit in the forests around Verdun. And it is impossible to not be touched in some small way by the terror and destruction that over-ran the country.
Later that day we drove 26 miles out into what seemed to be the middle of nowhere in search for a small mark on our map. What we found shocked me more than the beaches of Normandy. The Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery contains the remains of 14,246 American soldiers who died during World War I. The rows of headstones went on for what seemed and eternity and the location made it feel as if it was far removed from the forests of Verdun. It was one of the few times in my life where I have felt that a huge waste of man-power and humanity had taken place. Whatever the reason, the protection of a lifestyle, the stop of a tyrant bent on destroying a people, I found myself truly believing in the wastefulness of war. I love my country and would happily protect it if need be, but there were so many people at that cemetery that it is difficult for me to not wonder what else they could have done had the lived. Dad walked out to a row of tombstones close to the road. The first gentleman we came to was from Texas.

Slightly bummed out by the fact that I was leaving my friends, who were in turn leaving me, I set off on a road trip with my Dad which ballooned into a trip of immense proportions. But first things first, some important questions must be answered as to how we planned our trip and the choices that were made during our trip which had consequences for the remainder of our travels in Europe.

After two days of driving from Zurich my father finally arrived sporting a brand new Renault Megane station wagon, complete with 115 h.p. turbo diesel and on-board trip computer. After passing a few days in Montlucon we all trucked down to the train station to see Katy, and Maya off on their journey. It was over a coffee right before their departure that Katy once again inquired where we would be going on our trip. For the hundredth time a look of stupor spread over both my fathers and my face. We had thought that each one would have planned something and would have had a few ideas on where to go. We both did, though they were hardly ideas capable of planning a two week trip. We proceeded to discuss and argue over where we would go for the first night until finally Katy, being the angel she is, broke in and slammed a finger down on the map spread out in front of us.”Go there!” she said. And we did, it was the start of our crazy whirl-wind tour of France.

None of us knew what awaited at Katy’s chosen spot, in fact it looked like it was in the middle of nowhere (which is hard to find in France). Little did we know that when we finally arrived at Neuf Chateau after 8 hours of driving we would find a lovely inn named L’Oasis (complete with gaudy neon signs) as well as a completely restored Roman amphitheater.

The first day of our road trip had taken us almost half way across the country. The next day would put is one the Voie Sacree and then in Verdun-sur-Meuse.

With two laptops happily running linux I thought I had found my solution. Sadly, that was not the case. After hours of research, terminal work and programming I was still unable to get some basic musical keyboards to work. Today I moved even further and purchased an imac. Oh how pretty, and easy it is. Joy!

After traveling for two weeks around France with my father and another two weeks in Italy I have finally made it back to the USA. Stay tuned as updates on my travels will continue, including some long over due photos.