Bayeux, France, part 2

Having been dropped off at our hotel after our Normandy tour, we walked over to the Bayeux Museum of the Normandy Invasion, which housed very detailed displays of actual newspapers, communiqués, letters and even propaganda leaflets from the invasion. As is my style, I went through the displays in depth while Hannah napped in a chair. Eventually I realized that there is just too much in Normandy to see in one visit, and we agreed to return.

After touring historical sites and museums all day it was time to indulge Hannah's wishes. Next stop: the laundromat! Actually, it was high on my list, too, as we were both eager to lose that funky smell we'd picked up around Barçelona.

With one day left before the 55th anniversary of D-Day, we cast ourselves further back in time to another invasion, this one in the other direction. We visited the famous Bayeux Tapestry, the 900 year old, 70 meter long embroidered tapestry that depicts William the Conqueror's invasion and conquest of England in 1066. The gallery has the whole tapestry hung along the wall and an audio guide provides commentary in the form of a narrative paralleling the narrative of the tapestry. The tapestry itself is in remarkable condition considering its age, and the whole presentation is compelling.

From there, off we went by bus to the nearby city of Caen and the Memorial: Un Musée pour la Paix. While it has an emphasis on World War II, the museum's goal is to show the context of that war within the entire twentieth century. As such, the museum is arranged chronologically to show all of the major events of the century in a broad, sweeping vista. For me, the highlight was "Hope," a very moving retrospective film of the past 100 years.

After some time spent walking the grounds of the museum, including the Canadian and American memorial gardens, we headed into the city of Caen for a look around. Before the rain picked up, we got a look at the Church of St. Jean, Caen's answer to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Like the tower, it was built on unstable ground, and the bombardment of Caen during WWII didn't help matters any. During its post-war restoration, the church was stabilized, but it's got a permanent list.

Our last day in Normandy was also the 55th anniversary of D-Day, and while the whole region was aflutter with commemorative activities, we went to the Baron Gerard Museum to view his collection of lace, porcelain and paintings. We were among very few visitors to the museum, as everyone else for miles around was preparing for parades and observances. As we left the museum, we walked to Bayeux's central square, where vehicles were assembling for a parade later in the day. There were lots of Jeeps in excellent condition, fully outfitted with tools, radios, rifles and even .30 caliber machine guns. There were also trucks, vintage cars and an amphibious jeep. The owners of these vehicles were dressed in authentic uniforms; 1st Infantry, 82nd and 101st Airborne, British, French, and I think I even saw some German uniforms. ("Sorry, Jacques, it's your turn in the bad guy suit this year.")

Our schedule didn't permit us to stay for the parade, as we were to meet my mother and sister in Paris.

Normandy, France

Our tour of the Normandy beaches was a great thrill for me, as it allowed me to visit so many places I'd read about and always wanted to see.

Our tour driver, a woman named Crystal, picked us up at our hotel in her van, and then we collected another couple, and that would prove to be the whole tour group. Our first stop was the legendary Pointe du Hoc, where wrecked German gun emplacements still have a commanding view of the Channel. While we were there, we got to see current U.S. Army Rangers recreating the assault on the cliffs of D-Day morning. They were practicing for a commemorative event at the anniversary ceremonies two days hence. Hannah overheard one of the Rangers say to another at the top, "Now imagine doing that with people shooting at you." Next, we stopped for a close view of Omaha Beach and the German bunkers overlooking it. It was hard to imagine that peaceful seaside resort town as the scene of such violence.

The American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer is actually American territory on the European mainland, given to the U.S. by France in gratitude. Realizing that Colleville is only one of fourteen cemeteries that all together hold only 40% of the Allied dead, it is easy to see what they are so grateful for. Row upon row of graves, as far as the eye can see, and it's only one fourteenth of forty percent?

The next to last stop on the tour was Longues sur Mer, a German artillery position, the only one with the guns (now disabled, of course) still in place, left there since they were captured.

Our final stop was the seafront town of Arromanches, where the British built their prefabricated Mulberry Harbour for the offloading of supplies in the days after the initial invasion. Ruins of the piers and breakwater are still visible, and there is a small museum showing a diorama of the harbour, as well as a variety of artifacts of the invasion. All day long, we had seen restored military vehicles driving about, and here at the museum's parking lot they had informally assembled. Jeeps, deuce and a halfs, ambulances, even tanks, all were amazingly well preserved and on open display by their owners. It was just a small taste of what it must have looked like around here just after liberation. Regrettably, we couldn't stay too long before we were driven back to our hotel in Bayeux.

Bayeux, France

Bayeux would prove to be a complete change of pace from Paris. Whereas Paris was chaotic and dirty, Bayeux was clean and refreshing. We were very fortunate to secure a room at the Lion D'Or, especially since we were there during the few days leading up to the 55th anniversary of the most exciting event in local history, the D-Day Invasion.

The city of Bayeux is charming, and our hotel was a short walk from the train station, so we were able to enjoy the warm weather and the scenery on our way. While checking in at our hotel, we flipped through their guest book to see that our accommodations had been shared by President Eisenhower and Prince Charles, among others. After that, another walk around town to take in the sights and make tour reservations for our trip to Normandy the next day.

Paris, France

We already knew that the Ministry of Culture was on strike and that most cultural attractions would therefore be closed. What we didn't know was that that was only one of two labor strikes affecting Paris upon our arrival. We left our train and walked into the middle of the Gare de Lyon in pandemonium. It seems that the Paris Metro was also on strike and as such, there was not a cab to be had in the entire city, and the streets were gridlocked with private cars, so much so that we would later see motorcyclists take to the sidewalks.

Before we could leave the station, we first needed a destination. We had been unsuccessful in finding a hotel from Aigues-Mortes, and we had also tried and failed in Nimes. We found our way to the tourist office and joined the queue. With no sights to see and no transportation within the city available, one would expect hotel rooms to be plentiful. One would be wrong. The attendant at the tourist office politely informed all of us who were waiting that there were no hotel rooms left to be had. While Hannah telephoned throughout the city, I waited patiently in line at the tourist office, even while the sole attendant took her 30 minute Galoises break. We even considered abandoning Paris and departing for Lyon or anywhere else, but due to the European rail network, we would eventually have to get through Paris, and there was no guarantee that it would be any better later. So, eventually, the tourist office turned up a hotel room, and we set off, on foot, of course, with our heavy packs, to the Hotel Voltaire.

Walking through the streets of Paris during a transit strike is an experience I hope not to repeat. The streets were jammed with cars and the sidewalks with pedestrians (and motorcycles), as well as dog poop. Under the weight of our packs, we struggled for about two kilometers before reaching the hotel, knowing that we faced a much longer walk the next day if we were to leave Paris. That was because of the way Paris' train stations are arrayed; there are nine stations in a ring around the city, each serving a different part of the country (and beyond). We had just come in from the southeast, and were hoping to continue traveling to the northwest. That meant crossing Paris, and during the Metro strike, that meant crossing Paris on foot.

Those concerns aside, we determined to make the best of our situation. By this time it was dark, and we walked around our end of the city to view the various buildings and monuments. We saw Notre-Dame and the Centre Pompidou, although both were hidden behind scaffolding, and we walked into the Latin Quarter before tiring and returning to our hotel. The next morning, we faced our nightmare and began the day with a six kilometer trudge across the city to Gare St. Lazare, again battling the crowds. Once there, we stored our bags and set off on foot. As this was my first visit to Paris, I had resolved to see the landmarks, even if only from the outside.

We passed the scaffolding-covered Opéra on our way to the Louvre, where we acquired a leaflet, in English, from the strikers explaining their grievances. Evidently, the whole thing was over budgetary reductions in the Culture Ministry's funding. I'm sure, if a poll had been taken, all of the tourists who were waiting outside the various cultural institutions would gladly have paid double or triple the normal rate to salvage their vacations, but no one asked. From the Louvre, we went on to the Champs-Elysées and a cybercafé, where we checked our e-mail, and I sent a message of warning to my mother and sister, who were due to visit Paris in a couple of days. I did accomplish one of my Parisian goals that day as we took lunch at a sidewalk café on the Champs-Elysées and people-watched. Continuing down the avenue we came to the Arc de Triomphe, which we were able to walk around but not climb the stairs within to take in the view. Our last stop in Paris that day was the Tour Eiffel, which of course was not open to the public. Nonetheless, a small crowd had gathered at its base. We stood underneath the tower, looking up, and resolved to return to Paris in the distant future. As we were admiring the tower, an incredible squall came up, driving horizontal rain at us across the Seine. We were soaked through within moments. Taking this as the least subtle hint yet, we hailed a cab for the station and boarded our train, dripping wet, for Bayeux.

Aigues-Mortes, France

We departed Barçelona knowing we'd be spending the night in France, but not quite where. We'd brought a book with us of "Europe's Wonderful Little Hotels & Inns," and since we'd been lugging it around for a month, decided to put it to use. First, though, we had to leave Spain. Our train took us over the border at Cerbère and into France. We got off the train at Nimes, and using our book, found the Hotel des Arcades in Aigues-Mortes. We then boarded another train to take us there in time for dinner.

Aigues-Mortes translates to "dead waters," and that's what this town's got. It used to be coastal (on the Mediterranean) but over the years silt buildup has pushed the coastline farther away from the walls of the city; now there's a canal to get to the sea. The chief industry is salt production, with huge mounds of sea salt drying on the flats outside the town. The city itself is charming. It's a walled city dating back to the 13th Century and founded by King Louis IX as a rest stop on the way to the Crusades. Our hotel would prove to be equally charming. The hotel's owner was kind enough to pick us up at the train station to save us the walk, and we were thrilled to be driven through the ancient gate into the medieval city. We learned that our hotel had been constructed in the 16th century, but, fortunately for us, recently fully modernized. (After Barçelona, the plumbing was quite a treat!) We checked into our room and relaxed before heading back out to walk the inside perimeter of the city's walls and enjoy dinner at an outdoor cafe in the city's central square. As darkness fell, the square became a showplace for a troupe of young performers. They performed music, juggling, fire-eating, and acrobatics to keep the crowd entertained, and they were quite good at it.

We had heard a rumor back in Barçelona that there was a labor dispute in progress in France involving the tourist attractions, and we were soon to discover that it was true. The walls of Aigues-Mortes are normally open to visitors, but now the French Ministry of Culture was on strike, and as we were soon to find out, most publicly owned attractions in the country, including the walls of Aigues-Mortes, were closed. While this was a disappointment, we were able to occupy our time in other ways, spending a few hours by the pool at our hotel and taking a cruise through the local canals.

The cruise aboard the barge "Pescalune" took us along the local waterways past a huge salt works and into the local commercial harbor, as well as past a huge flock of flamingos and the nesting sites of a colony of bee-eaters. We shared the barge with a large contingent of local nuns, one of whom was particularly amused by my height as it compared to hers. (I had an extra 50 cm over her.)

We had dinner that night at our hotel, and the next morning, while walking around the city, took some time to call ahead to our next destination, Paris, to secure lodging. We were unsuccessful, but undeterred, we were chauffeured to the train station by the hotel's other owner. For some reason, our train to Nimes was a bus, but at Nimes we boarded the TGV and grandly vitessed our way to Paris.