Day 2 -- The risk of buying pizza in Bayeux. Going to Normandy

Another night in Bayeux, our last. A Saturday night as I type and like last night we're in for an early evening. Andy's talking to Millicent on the phone telling her how to work the interwebs from 3000 miles away. There's probably some irony/stupidity in making a $2 a minute international call to delve into such matters. I suspect the major obstacle being her never-ending search for the anykey. I guess I'll give her the benefit of the doubt in turning the computer on. Oh, wait. Andy left it on before we left.

While I've yet to find any cheese-making documentaries on the telly, I have determined that in addition to their graffiti the French do enjoy their news bloopers and funny home videos. For some reason the show that's been on for seemingly the last 3 hours has French celebs (I presume) sitting around a table discovering YouTube together. In between occasionally promoting their latest product they laugh as they watch all the videos that you, dear reader, have seen a gazillion times through your own searches or have been sent upwards of 82 times by various well meaning mass emails. Which is not to say the language barrier dulls the hilarity of a newscaster being run over by a car, but well, even after three hours it can all get a bit same-y. Since we only have 3 English channels, all news ,and 2 German, including MTV (!) and maybe 5 other French ones, there's not been a whole lot of boobtubing in this particular room of the Churchill Hotel.


I'm not really sure if it's the region or the desire to cater to the predominately American tourist industry here, but there's an awful lot of pizza joints around. Or at least joints that sell pizza in addition to whatever local delicacy they offer. In other words, you can get an omelet or pizza on every corner and some places that sell both together. What do I know about haute cuisine?

Wishing to broaden our palettes, tonight Andy and my Dad got some form of pork in a pear sauce that got mixed reviews from the two of them. Not wanting to feel left out, I lived on the edge and allegedly got a 4 cheese pizza (Mozzarella, Gorgonzola, Roquefort and Goat Cheese) that was among the worst things I have ever attempted to eat. Beforehand I though, "How bad could it be?" I found out though I suppose, the upside is I now have a new taste nadir.

Sorry MB. I tried. A weak effort perhaps, but I tried nonetheless.

And in fairness, so did the restaurant. The had Toto's greatest hits on repeat during our entire stay. Since I really had nothing to do while Andy and Daddy enjoyed their meals to varying degrees of satisfaction, I amused myself imagining how the conversation to start up said restaurant went. Xenophobia is fun.

Owner: "I want to start new restaurant to cater to American but still be French. We've got big American dollar here." (Please ignore the fact that almost to a person every French dude/dudette I've met has spoken better English than most of the good folk I deal with each day. Given who I deal with, this is more of compliment than it sounds.)


Would-be garcon: "How you do that?"

O: "By giving what Americans like, no?" (I've yet to hear anyone actually add "no" to the end of sentence thus forming a question but that always a trait every non-native English-speaking character has in the movies.

WbG: "Oui, oui. They like pizza."

O: "Pizza, yes, good. When come to France they also want to feel French but not too much, no."

WbG: "You could offer French dish but garnish with French Fries and serve Coca-Cola. But make restaurant look nice and French."

O: "Brilliant. Do not they also like the rock and roll?"

WbG: "D'accord. I have Toto greatest hits cd. I bring and you play on endless. They will not want exit."

O: "What is this Toto?"

WbG: "You know. Singers of Africa and Hold the Line. They very big in U.S." (This much is true. Or was. In 1982. Nevertheless, in a semi-classy looking French joint that served pizza in addition to some semi-classy looking French dishes, we were treated to the four hits of Toto on for the duration of our hour+ meal. I'm sure Toto were/is a great group of super crack musicians to record with but I didn't need to hear Rosanna in 1983 and I sure don't need to hear it in 2008 on vacation in France. Needless to say, that I actually would hear them has amused me to no end.)

Most of the day, however, was spent visiting various D-Day sights as part of a 9-hour tour. As Andy well knows, me and most of his historical sights don't jibe but Normandy was different. I'm not sure if it's because unlike cathedrals and castle ruins, D-Day is something that directly affected my family and not something I know of from the brief history lesson I get on the way to said sight (we're not content with hitting the major sights, you know), but this was not of the dreaded grin-and-bear it-we'll-find-a-record-store-next category.

I was rather looking forward to it.


Truthfully, I suspect it will be the highlight of the entire trip for all of us. As most reading this may or may not know, my grandfather a.k.a Poppie, was involved in the D-Day invasion, driving a truck onto Utah Beach as part of the 4th Infantry. We don't talk all that much about what went on, though certainly more than we used to, but I've more admiration for him and his service to his country than I do for just about anything. To walk those beaches and see/hear how he and tens of thousands of men just like him simply did their duty knowing all too well the possible cost but still without hesitation was beyond words. I wonder if my generation would have that same will.


I suspect not.


In a world of instant gratification and "all about me"-ness, it seems hard to believe that, in numbers that large, we could put the well being of others and future generations ahead of our own. Let our power/cable go out for 30 minutes and see if we don't begin to go slightly insane. Let us find out our neighbor has it while we don't and be surprised thoughts of justifiable homicide don't appear. Believe me, I know. I'm no different.

Honestly, it was a lot to take in both physically and emotionally. Far more than I could accurately describe here. The town of St Mère Eglise has been more or less rebuilt as it was at the time; Utah Beach is exactly as it was that day. Omaha Beach is still a solemn place but now has a row of houses that are as out of place as they are unfortunate. I can't imagine why anyone would want the location of a vacation home to overlook the sight of such carnage; I couldn't have built there in good conscience. Maybe I'm just weird.

Our guide (hi Stuart) was most knowledgeable and added several layers to various well-known battles and stories. I got the feeling from him that, in addition to being a subject he was fascinated by, he also felt it was his duty to make sure those brave men's stories are told and never forgotten. Not as an obligation, mind, but as the least he could do for those who gave so much. His personal insights as well the stories he told from men who were actually there honestly did give me a better understanding of exactly what Poppie went through on that day and the days after. For that I am most grateful.