France, Part 2: Normandy is Where We Enjoyed Le Perrey, A Small World and Omaha Beach

When I hatched the plan to go over to Normandy, my brother recommended a site listing rental houses and homeshares and we started the process of finding a suitable place for 9 people for a few days. We were both intrigued by the description of a "renovated cowshed" on a farm just 10 minutes from the D-Day beaches. The pictures showed an idyllic spot and the price was right. It seemed too good to be believed, so of course we went for it, with all the touristy naivete we could muster.

As we approached this fantasy of a rented farm and turned off the road, we found ourselves winding through tiny, impossibly narrow lanes with tall hedgerows on either side. The twenty-first century slipped to the edges of the scene, glimpsed only in the cars and occasional satellite dish.  Everything else could have been from 50 years ago or 300 years ago.  I was entranced. My more practical brother was a tiny bit concerned, but the GPS actually knew the name of the farm to which we were headed so we trusted in her smooth, British-accented instructions.

When we arrived at the lovely farm compound called Le Perrey, there was no bad news. It actually WAS idyllic, built in the 18th century from cream-colored stone and set in green fields edged with lavender and wild roses. Chickens were clucking somewhere in the background. The owners were friendly and let our kids play with their scooters and jump on their trampoline. This nice family had left Paris and bought this farm a few years ago and set up the guesthouse. It seemed an understatement when they described life in Blay as "better." It was so beautiful and quiet I could feel my heart rate tick down a little more every minute we were there.

After settling in, we went to the town of Bayeux to look around and discovered a charming old downtown area with a truly spectacular cathedral, which we were lucky enough to find just as the sun was setting around 9:30 pm.  More about Bayeux in another post. It's that nice of a place.

The next morning was church in Caen, France, at which we had a Small World Experience worthy of the permanent file. Two years ago a girl from Paris ended up at our Girl's camp in Pennsylvania while she was taking a summer to visit the US. Both Sara and I were acquainted with her at that camp. In this small chapel in Caen, Sara noticed first that it might be this young lady sitting to our right in the same worship service. This seemed unlikely, since she doesn't live in Caen, but it did look like her, so we went to her after the meeting and sure enough, it was her! What are the chances?? Well, it is actually a fairly common thing among Mormons to run into people like that, even far across the world, but still, this was amazing. The best part was that she was warm and kind and happy to see us and it was a completely satisfying reunion, unexpected and brief as it was.

That afternoon, we made our way to Omaha Beach, as well as the site just up the steep dunes from that historic place: one of the American Cemeteries that are found throughout the world commemorating the sacrifice of soldiers. This was our first experience so far with a large crowd. Even on a Sunday afternoon, and just a couple of hours before closing time, there were many hundreds of people here, from all over the world. Because it was a holiday weekend in France, many were French, but in a quick perusal of the guest book for that day, I saw notations of cities all over the world, from Racine, Wisconsin to Tel Aviv Israel. The large crowds were surprising and touching to me, because this place is in the middle of nowhere. You don't just come upon it. You plan to go there. And drive far from major towns and cities. It was definitely a place of reverence and contemplation. The visitor's center is filled with personal stories of the soldiers who are buried there and it is the personal stories that interest me most. I walked among the markers, wondering about the story of each and every one of the individuals whose names I saw. I'm glad we went, and on a beautifully sunny day. It made me think of how the world rolls on, even when terrible things happen. The resilience of the human spirit and the hard things that others have and will continue to do actually have an impact on those who come after. It's good to not forget.

Le Pont du Normandy-The Normandy Bridge
crosses over the River Seine on its way to the
sea. 

The ancient stone wall that bordered Le Perrey

The road past the farm

My first glimpse of La Manche or The English Channel, as
we walked up to the Visitor's Center at the American
Cemetery at Omaha Beach

The walk through the cliffs to the dunes bordering the beach.
It was gripping to imagine what it was like for the soldiers to
face all the obstacles of just the land and sea, on top of being
shot at. 

One of the memorials at the cemetery. 

The cemetery is orderly, manicured, and pristine. 

Looking out over some of the 9000 graves to the Channel. 

Without anyone mentioning it, my sweet
niece went among the stones fixing and
rearranging the
flowers that had fallen down.

We made it to the beach. 

Some might find their childish cavorting disrespectful, but
I delighted in the fact that this beach is a peaceful place, fit
for children to jump and feel safe and happy. 

There were hearts aplenty here, including this one embedded
into the walkway from the beach. Sara pointed it out to me. 

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Ancient Lands: France, Part 1

We are back in Germany at my brother's home. We had no internet in France except for a few brief stops at McDonalds for wifi, but really, it has been nice to be mostly unplugged while here. We aren't using our phones and are only checking email every so often, so it has been a vacation from everyday life in the best sense. Eric has left to return to our home while the kids and I spend another 9 or so days here. This long-planned trip is more than half-over and it has already been a feast for my senses.

Right now, there are so many things I want to remember and describe about France, so I'll begin and do my best. I am hopeful the photos will fill in the blanks where the words fail me.

Last Saturday, we Nusses, along with my brother's family, traversed a few yards of Germany, a few kilometers of the Netherlands, and all of Belgium to get to the rolling countryside of Northern France. Our destination, a tiny town called Blay with only a couple hundred inhabitants, is a few km from the town of Bayeux.

As we drove through France, we made a couple of observations. In some ways it is very similar in look and feel to the gentle farmland of the Mid-Atlantic region of the US where we live. My daughter said the land reminded her of Pennsylvania. We could imagine how the Eastern seaboard of the Americas could feel familiar and home-like to the first European settlers. In addition, to my eye,(and maybe I'm just experiencing romantic flights of fancy) there was an unmistakeable sense of quiet ancientness everywhere we went. A sort of round-cornered softness. Obviously the light is different, since we are at a different latitude, but there is something else as well. Pale-colored stone houses, stables, and other buildings that could possibly date from centuries ago (or have been painstakingly restored or rebuilt in their original style) are common. So many of the towns, villages and even cities still have a section with tiny, steep-roofed, close-set homes that sit right on the main road or a few farms arranged in the classic style of big house, barn and stables built (all of that certain-colored stone) around a central yard. Everywhere are churches and cathedrals and town halls from time out of mind, moss-covered, crumbling in places and somehow still standing.

There is also a kind of reverence to be found in so many places in Normandy, and this is one of the principal reasons I came. It has been a battlefield over and over again, and of course most recently during WW2. This part of France bears testimony of the effects of all that war, with ruins and castles and new alongside old at every turn. The quiet peacefulness of modern Normandy is in stark contrast to its history and all those old buildings seem to me to be standing up in a sort of silent, steadfast show of tenacity. "Take hope. We have been broken, but we are still here, and life goes on," they seemed to breathe.

And of course, in so many places, there are reminders of how much it mattered to these communities that the allies came up those beaches in 1944 and took Europe back from the grip of the Reich. There are memorials, bars and restaurants with names like 6 Juin (June 6), statues, flags, and stone plaques in places not on any tourist map that simply express the gratitude of an entire town for the bravery of Les Liberateurs, The Liberators. Know that I have no wish to romanticize war in any way, because it is brutal and for the men and women who fight, it is never simplistic or easy. Here in Normandy however, the feelings of the people touched by this battle are etched in stone, over and over again, in simple language that moved me to tears at times. I found it difficult to be cynical and instead felt grateful and astonished.

And so I was moved by this brief stay in Normandy. I will try to share details in other posts, but in this overview, I want to remember that I felt things deeply while I was there: The beauty of the land. The palpable lift to the soul afforded by FLOWERS everywhere (I'm not crazy to want flowers blooming near me as much as possible). The friendliness of the people. The stories from the war that helped me think so much about freedom and history and being a good citizen of the world. All of it. I want to remember the damp, fresh air, the blue and white skies and walking everywhere in the nearly constant winds coming in off La Manche that made me forget completely about how my hair looked and remember to breathe.

The River Aure in Bayeux

The farmstead where we stayed.

An entire city hall built as a monument to the d-day troops.

A door in a cathedral in
the town of  Ste. Marie du Mont. I saw this kind of
ordinary beauty everywhere we went. 

Another plaque. 

People adorn their houses with flowers and lace curtains.
Every day. In America, people write endless books and magazines on
how to get the French Country "look." Here is the real thing. 

The flower border next to our renovated stable that served
as our Normandy home

The owners believe this to be the symbol of the Knights of
Malta, meaning this was a safe place for them to find shelter
for the night. Holy History!

Can you read that? Above the window? 1720!

Off the main roads, we wended down narrow roads like this
one next to our farm. 

Spectacular clouds over Bayeux. 

Looking down the tiny, narrow streets of
Bayeux to the Cathedral there. 

Standing on Omaha Beach. 

My fairy-like niece dances in the wind with my scarf. 

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A Dutch Market, a Belgian Park and a German Cathedral

Thursday was another outing with my sister-in-law and the kids in the afternoon. In the morning, however,  she and I snuck out alone to the Thursday market day in Sittard, NL. Thank you to Eric for watching the kids! My brother lives right near the border of the Netherlands, so this was a 10-minute drive. The weather was blustery, with rain and wind, but we braved it anyway with our umbrellas and shopping bags. We were rewarded, as you can imagine, with fresh produce, wonderful pastries, breads and cheeses and an array of other stalls selling everything one needs, from underwear and socks to fabric and notions to shoes and bike panniers.

The afternoon weather cleared up beautifully and we went about 45 minutes away to Gent, BE to Bokrijklaan. (Pronounced, as near I can explain, as Bo-krake-lan. It is a large, tree-filled park with a REALLY excellent playground (they still have all the fun playground stuff here, like slick metal slides, push merry-go-rounds , see-saws and all that), a restaurant, paths for walking, and a fantastic open-air living history museum all about ancient Flemish life. Windmills, pigs, goats, blacksmith demonstration, bread baking, etc.; it was all there.

Friday, A and the niece and nephews decided to have a regular day at home, so we all piled into their generously-loaned car and took off for Aachen, DE, about 45 minutes driving time. We started off in a Lindt factory store that was as big as a medium-sized grocery store except that it sold only one thing: Chocolate. Yep. Lindt chocolate. Flavors and varieties were on those shelves that I've never even dreamed about. And then there were the big packs of seconds or odd lots that were inexpensive and filled with a kilo of chocolate surprises. Fantastic.

After that we went to the city center to explore the Cathedral complex, so another big European must-do is done. This was a good choice in cathedrals for our family. Gorgeous and medieval/gothic/renaissance all at once, easy to find, interesting, ancient, and a witness to the entire panorama of European history. Aachen was a seat of Charlemagne, and he lies buried here.  His story is told all over the cathedral complex. It was also a major site for Christian pilgrimage due to the relics that reside there (a cloak belonging to Mary, Christ's loincloth, his swaddling clothes from his birth and the cloak worn by John the Baptist at his beheading). We did not see the relics because they only come out for display every 7 years, but that's okay. It was enough to ponder the wonder of the construction of such a place such a long time ago.  Along with all that, this was the first city in western Germany to be taken by the Allies during the ending scenes of WW2. Aachen was heavily damaged in the war, and we saw evidence of that. Now though, Aachen is a peaceful yet vibrant place that speaks of both history and modernity. Such rebirth and reclaiming of the ordinary in Europe such a relatively short time since the war is a constant source of inspiration and awe for me. The destruction is nearly unimaginable, even after you see the photos of the demolished city center in the museum, yet now there is beauty and quiet.

Bear with me. I'm powerfully affected by WW2 history, and walking among it is meaningful to me.

So far, one principal dream of this trip is coming true. Because my brother is fortunate to live in a very small town, we have chosen to go to places that are not on the A-list guidebook itineraries and that are not too far from his home. They haven't been crowded (other than with the people who live there), the pace has been relaxed, and most things haven't been translated into English. I'm learning to handle my Euros without taking 10 minutes per transaction, and I feel comfortable. Everyone we've met has been happy to speak English if I need it, but for some transactions, it's not necessary, and I get a tiny thrill when I dream that I haven't stuck out like a sore thumb as a foreigner because a shopgirl simply tells me the price in German or Dutch, I look at the cash register to make sure, hand over the money and she says Danke and I say Bitte, and we go on our way.

It has been a serendipitous thing for me that we're visiting people who actually live here rather than coming on our own, so lots of things are unfolding naturally within the framework of my Sister-in-law's regular goings-on, such as shopping, errands, a trip to a park with kids etc.. Frankly, this is exactly what I wanted-to mix in the sightseeing and exploration with finding out about day-to-day life. It has been absolutely perfect.

So here are the photos of the last couple of days. Now we are off to France to see the D-day beaches and just bask in the fact that we're in FRANCE for pete's sakes. It's actually Bastille day this weekend, so we may find some fireworks, which would be grand, don't you think? I have no idea about internet in our rented farmhouse for the next 5 days, so it might be till next week that I post but never fear, je reviens!

No one is ever really too old for a good playground. 

The niece and nephew loving the plank
bridge

We did not find out the story of this building in the park,
but it sure is pretty. 

An actual, old windmill. I never knew that the entire top
part of the structure, the house part, gets rotated to catch
the wind. At least this style does.  Amazing. 

As you know, gardening is an art form in Europe, and has
been for a long time, as this view of the gardens here shows.
Every bed had a border of flowers and boxwood to set off
the vegetables. Amazing. 

Looking down from the windmill. That large beam in the
lower right is the lever for turning the entire thing on its
base to find the wind.

Gorgeous boxwood arbor in the middle
of the garden. 

The glorious hydrangeas are everywhere. 

O pets a pig. He was a good pig. So friendly. 

Baby LOVES the goat and the goat loves baby (or at least
the goldfish crumbs all over his stroller)

Old church on the grounds of the park. 

Aachen Cathedral

Under the steeple

An entire wall of stained glass. Miraculously,
this survived the war. 

The complex was built piecemeal, over centuries, so it is a
mix of styles and structures. 

Inside the Town Hall, circa about the 14th century, I think. 

Scary face and amazing vaulted hall. 

Fountain and square in front of the town hall in Aachen. 

The kids taking it all in. They have been good traveling
companions. 

The kids at the feet of Charlemagne.  

We were exploring the Treasury of the Cathedral and
suddenly found ourselves in this lovely, deserted courtyard.
If I lived here, I would want to sit here every day and have my lunch. It was so peaceful. 

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