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Friday, Nov 29, 2002
Long ago there lived a king. He had all he ever wanted: faithful peasants, loyal subjects, and good health. Of all the things he enjoyed, the king loved good food most of all. He had the finest meals prepared for him by the kingdom's best cooks. One day, he informed his servants that he would be spending the afternoon on a boat at sea--by himself. His subjects protested but accepted his orders. During the voyage, a storm crept up and overtook his boat. Soon, he was lost at sea. A day later his boat washed up on a small island. The island had a monastery ran by a group of monks. They took the king in and gave him water to drink. To the king's dismay, no food was available at the time. The monks were waiting for the rice to be ready for harvesting. A day later, the king was famished and asked when he could eat. "Not yet, but soon," they replied. The rice was not ready. The same thing happened for the next day as well. Finally, on the third day, the harvest was ready. The monks brought the king a large wooden bowl filled with hot rice. The king wasted no time in devouring the rice. Upon finishing the meal, the king replied. "Gentlemen, that was the best meal I've ever had!"
It's an old story and I wrote it out because (hopefully) it illustrates a few things that came about during my last journey: mainly that the harder you work for something, the more you appreciate it. My last trip involved a lot of prayer, patience, and perseverance. A little bit of trust didn't hurt either. And so it goes:
Friday, November 29, 2002
How I just love the early mornings! If you haven't added a liberal amount of sarcasm to that first sentence, please do so now. I'll wait. So 5:15am came immediately after 1am passed. I was tired, but ready to go. Everything had been prepared the night before. After getting dressed, I headed out into the cold, dark morning.
It was only 5:40 when I arrived at the Tube station. I was getting better--only ten minutes late this time. John was already there and eight minutes later, we were headed to the Tube/train station at Waterloo. After buying the tickets for 20 pounds, we kicked back and waited. I had a cheese bagel and black coffee. Around 9:30am, we boarded the train and headed for the south coast of England.
Riding the train always seems like a timeless experience. Aside from some of the modern buildings, it's often hard to tell what year it is outside. There are parts of the countryside that could easily resemble a time back in the 1950s. During the ride south, passengers got on and off the train. The majority of them were children heading for their schools. Numerous kids wore their standard public school attire. Odd thing in England, the private schools are called the "public" schools and vice versa. Doesn't make much sense to me, but I'm not here much longer. I don't have to understand it.
Portsmouth finally dominated the scenery. We had arrived at the south coast of England. Our next task was to find the ferry station to buy tickets for France. A local tourist office gave us all the necessary information. I've noticed that many tourist offices have had very friendly people. It's almost like they're getting paid to be helpful. Another half hour was spent walking down the coast of Portsmouth trying to find the ferry ports. I would have thought it would be next to the train station, but those ferries only went to the Isle of Wight.
Finally, we reached the port and I bought a return ferry ticket to Caen. The trouble was that the ferry wasn't leaving until 3:15pm and it was not even noon yet. So as an extra bonus to our trip, we got to explore the great city of Portsmouth. Now, the city doesn't have a whole lot to do, but over at the HMS Naval Base, a festival was going on. The cost was seven pounds, which was too much for John's pocketbook to handle. But I was curious to see the large naval vessels and he did have some reading to do. I paid the money and entered the festival. Out on the ocean was a huge ship named the HMS Warrior. I boarded it first and explored the decks. The Warrior wasn't too old of a craft. It was commissioned around the late 19th century. But it was built to be a fighter and many cannons were situated across the port and starboard sides of the decks.
After the warrior, I went over and found the HMS Victory. No pictures were allowed on the boat. I inquired as to why this was being enforced. I mean, it wasn't like anyone was going to copy the boat and build a better warship. This was a 17th century warship. I'm certain the blueprints are already public knowledge. Turns out, they had problems with photographers and videographers falling down stairwells as they captured the moment. Good grief. I'm being penalized because of a few absent-minded tourists? Why can't they just have a small test evaluating the competency of people wanting to take pictures? They could setup a table and have the prospective videographer stand upon it. Around the table, girls could pose in bikinis. If the videographer fell off the table while taping video, he would then be disqualified from taking video aboard the boat.
At any rate, I put my camera away and walked around the boat. This sailing craft was even more amazing than the Warrior. It was the ship where Admiral Nelson fell many years ago. There's even a plaque on the deck marking the spot where he fell. The curators on board tell you all about this during your self-guided tour. Of course, they tell you this like it's common knowledge to know who this admiral was and what he did. Not wanting to seem clueless, I simply responded with "Oh really? Well, cool. I will have to go see that for sure!" And I did just that. The plaque was there, but I still have no idea what happened. I'm certain he must have been shot or slain. I just don't see the Royal Navy putting plaques to show where officers slipped on the wet deck.
Time was moving fast and passengers were moving slowly. The headroom was low and each connecting set of stairs was extremely steep. Unfortunately, I was running out of time and numerous people were in my way. Somehow, no one was injured as I darted through the crowds to reach the exits and return to meet up with John outside the festival. We then made our way to the docks and boarded the ferry bound for Caen.
I remained above deck for the first part of the journey to watch the ship set sail out of harbor. It was an odd feeling having such a huge vessel depart. The motion could barely be felt. But in time, we were moving out of the harbor and into the great English Channel. A chilly air blew over the small lot of us watching the departure. To the south, the sun gave a fiery show as it set down behind the distant mountains. Even the mountains seemed to be ablaze with the waning sun.
After returning down to Deck 8, I stretched out and relaxed. The advantage of traveling by ship is the enormous amount of space that is available. Numerous options were also at our disposal to combat boredom. A bar and restaurant served food and drinks. A movie theatre had two shows going on. But all that was needed for me was just some space. I spent some time with a good book and enjoyed the simple quiet nature of the boat. Especially nice was the drone of the engines as the ship cruised across the Channel.
At 9pm, we entered port. Even though the destination was Caen, the ship enters the town of Ouistreham. Caen itself is another 10 miles away. They forget to tell you that when you buy a ticket for CAEN! But the cruise is over at that point. They leave it up to you to figure out the rest. And to their credit, it is a ferry for cars. Most of the people simply drive to Caen.
We were in France. Now they were speaking French. Sure, two months had passed since I was in Paris. I had all that time to study more French. But that simply didn't happen. Nevertheless, I remembered many words from class and I found asking questions to not be a problem.
Understanding the answers was the difficult part.
We found a cheap hotel that only costs 28 euros a night. I figured that would be per person, but it was the total cost. Yeah. This was good news. This hotel was much cheaper than many hostels I had been to during the term. And it was nice. The plumbing actually worked. The heating was very efficient. The bathroom even had a blow dryer. This little fact didn't help much since I had forgotten to bring a brush. It was to be a messy hair excursion for me.
It had been many hours since our last meal so we decided to take a walk and find some food. The problem was that it was now past 11pm. and everything was closed for the night. We waked for 20 minutes and had come across nothing. A police car came by and inquired as to what we were doing out so late. John and I simply gave up the quest and returned to the hotel.
Saturday November 30, 2002
Saturday morning was the day we would try and see the D-Day beaches. The tricky part was getting there. We figured Caen would be a good place to start. A bus finally came by and the driver said we were at the wrong stop. We needed to take Line 1. No problem. Line 1 station was only 30 yards away. From there, we finally caught a bus to Caen. It was only three euros. In Caen, we were clueless as to where to go. We did know that the 50-mile stretch of beaches lay to the west of us. We traveled to the train station to inquire about trains heading near the D-Day beaches. Alas, everything had left for the day. John looked into renting a car, but it was too expensive. We did find out that a daily tour left from the Caen memorial each day. The tour would cover all the big Operation Overlord beaches. The catch was the price--64 euros. The tours started daily at 1pm. It was now 1:05 and we were several miles away. After wandering around for some time, we finally grabbed a cab and went to the Caen Memorial. But it was now 1:30pm. The tour had left already. We did buy tickets to see the Caen Memorial. They were 12 euros. The price of this excursion was adding up fast.
After 15 minutes of exploring the memorial, my batteries went dead on my camera. I did have spares though, so I returned to the coat check and then decided to buy my D-Day tour ticket for the next day. The positive thing was that it included admission to the memorial, so I got 12 euros reimbursed. The next few hours were spent exploring the memorial. In included numerous exhibits regarding World War II. We saw jeeps, weapons, the Enigma Machines and even watched a Normandy landing video.
Afterwards, we traveled back to the city center. A pasta restaurant looked good for dinner. But it was only 6:30 and they were closed until 7pm. Apparently, people don't eat dinner before 7pm in France. That wasn't a problem. We settled for beers at a local bar until the restaurant opened.
I ordered pizza at the restaurant - well pizza and beer. Once dinner finished, we walked back to the bus stop and took a bus back to Ouistreham. At the ferry center, I changed my 4:30pm ferry ticket to 11:30pm. The cost was only 8 pounds more, which included VIP status. That would entitle me to sit in a reclining chair. If it were going to be a 7.5-hour trip, a reclining chair would be nice.
Sunday December 1, 2002
This day's alarm was set for 7am. Hardly any time was wasted in getting checked out. We patiently waited for the 7:30am bus to show. Getting to Caen early was important since John's train to Paris was leaving at 9:30am. At 7:45, we slowly realized that the bus wasn't going to show up. Nor was it supposed to. I got the bright idea to check the bus schedule. It then occurred to me that it was "Dimance" and most of France is closed on Sundays. Unfortunately, nothing could be done except call a cab. The cost of going to Caen by cab was 30 euros.
In Caen, we traveled around again, but it was Sunday morning and most stores were closed. Luckily, a pastry shop was open so John got a baguette, and I bought some croissants.
The rain was slow at first yet it picked up fast. Soon it was pouring. I had brought my umbrella so I stayed relatively dry. We walked over to the train station and I left John there to catch his train to Paris. Now, I had to figure out how I would be getting back to Ouistreham. I knew there would be around 20 minutes or less time left to catch the last bus back to Ouistreham. If I missed that bus, I would be shelling out 30 euros to take a cab 10 miles. This wasn't a happy thought.
The bus stop from the night before was different on this day. Vendors were setting up carts all over the area. It appeared that none of the buses stopped at this locale on Sundays. The bus schedule confirmed this fact. Trouble is, it didn't say where I could catch the bus. I traveled around the area looking for answers. A local tourist office informed me that there was a bus that stopped near that place. The location wasn't marked, but it was between St. Pierre church and the Old Chateau. Well, that sounded risky, but why not. I had no other choice. I thanked the girl for her information and asked her about a bus to the Caen Memorial. She told me about a location nearby. Since it sounded difficult to get to, I said that I might just walk there. She responded by saying, "Oh, it's too far to walk." Ha! She obviously had no idea who she was talking to. If roads led to a location, I could walk there. As Stephen Wright once said, "Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time."
Well, I did head to the bus stop, but missed the bus by one minute. I could even see the bus heading down the road. Looks like my choice was made for me--I would be walking to the memorial. The walk wasn't too bad and allowed me to see some nice parts of Caen along the way. Most of the center of Caen had been leveled during the war. Ironically, it wasn't done by the Germans, but by the Allies. Since Germany occupied the city, the allies had to destroy their strongholds. It's unfortunate since the city had so much history.
It was only lightly raining when I reached the memorial at 11:30. Having some time to kill, I had a chocolate chip muffin and read my book. At 1pm, I headed to the coat check area and met the tour guide. The group could hold 8 people, but only five would be going along. Two people never showed up and one person had to cancel since his train was leaving too early. This was fine with me. Less people meant more room for me. Wahoo. I even got to sit up front without having to yell, "SHOTGUN!"
Our minivan exited the memorial parking lot and minutes later, we were traveling out in the green pastures of Normandy. The road led through small towns and the scenery gave me the impression that I had gone back several hundred years in time. The only thing that broke the illusion was the fact that tiny cars were parked alongside the road instead of horses. After some time, we reached our first stop, Gold Beach. This was the one of the locations where the British forces landed. Most of what the guide told us was news to me. All through school and life, we learn about Utah and Omaha beaches. And for a long time growing up, I had no idea that Britain and Canada were really even involved in the landing. Our education system used to just pass up those little details.
From Gold Beach, we went west and reached a site where huge 155mm guns were situated on a hill overlooking the ocean. Their size was quite impressive. Each gun had the power to reach many miles out to sea, though their accuracy is questionable since no large vessels were ever directly hit during the invasion.
The American Cemetery was next. The site looked no different than the movie "Saving Private Ryan." In fact, they filmed that scene there. It was the rest of the movie that wasn't filmed in Normandy. It was filmed in Ireland. We were guided around the cemetery and then left for Omaha Beach.
Omaha Beach was deceiving. Almost all signs were gone that a deadly, bloody battle had ever been fought there. Gone were the hedgehogs from the water. Gone were most of the cement fortifications. Gone were the hundreds of dead bodies and the cratered beaches. Some things still remained. A few pillboxes could be seen, but even they were overgrown with vegetation. Nearby, a group of people was sailing down the beach in carts powered by huge sails. They looked to be having fun--and why not? Omaha is a beautiful beach. Man interrupted this fact for a while, but nature was slowly retaking her claim.
Our next stop was Pointe Du Hoc. This was the sight where the American Rangers ascended the cliffs. When viewed from above, it doesn't appear very high up. However, I would guess the view is quite different from below. We couldn't enter the bunker that held the guns (dummy guns during the time of the invasion) because the sea is eating away at the cliffs that the bunker was built upon. Someday, the bunker will fall into the sea as well. Time and nature are relentless.
Up on those cliffs, the air was heart-pounding. The other tourists had already dashed back to the bus to get out of the cold. I couldn't fault them. It was around 4pm now and the chilly wet air was blowing in from the ocean. I looked out and saw the great Channel that gave passage to all the attacking vessels nearly 60 years before. All around me were huge craters left by the bombings from the planes and the artillery from the ships. The elements were smoothing out these craters though. Each one was covered in a carpet of green grass that smoothly flowed over it. Behind me was one of the greatest sunsets I had ever seen. I was grateful for this. The night before I had been praying for some sunlight during this tour. And I got more than I asked for. Rays of bright light shot out in all directions from the setting sun. Our guide had told us that many painters used to (and probably still do) come to Normandy to catch some spectacular and inspiring sunsets. I then knew why. I then wished I were a painter with a palette in hand instead of a camera. My photos couldn't even begin to capture the magic.
The sunset was fading as we drove home. There were a few more brief stops during the trip back, but nothing could compare to the earlier sites. Riding back was peaceful. There were many things I could have been worrying about. I still wasn't sure how I was going to get back to the port. I wasn't even sure where the final bus stop was. But for now I didn't care. I just looked out the window and watched France go past me. The final views of the sun showed it as a bright orange circle that was quickly swallowed up by the dark horizon.
It was around 6pm when I reached the church of St. Pierre. I walked over to where the bus was supposed to stop. I was hoping more passengers would show up there to confirm that I was indeed at the right place. No one showed. Time passed and I was now at 6:20pm. The last bus was supposed to be passing by. Other buses came and went, but they weren't part of Line 1. I grew worried, yet stayed faithful. This was where the tourist office lady told me to stay. It was 10 minutes late when it finally showed up. But it came. I boarded the Line 1 bus and was giddy with delight as I sat in the back. Ten miles later, I was in Ouistreham. I got off at a different stop to walk around the city for a while. It was only 7:30pm and my ferry didn't depart until 11:30. There wasn't any rush to enter the ferry port building.
Most shops were now closed. Perhaps they never even opened. I entered a little bar and was greeted with "Ferme" (closed). Ah, yes. It's still Dimance (Sunday). And France is "Ferme au Dimance." Most of the city was dark as I walked around. I looked up into the sky and could actually see stars. Seeing stars was a rare thing during this whole trip. The streets were very quiet. It was hard to tell anyone lived in the town except for an occasional whiff of a smoky smell from a warm fire.
I was lost for a short while, but it was a small town so I really didn't care. Even without my compass, I had a good idea of the right direction. Shortly thereafter, I arrived at the ferry port and went inside the building. The next few hours would be spent there. I sipped a few coffees and had a bowl of vegetable soup. The hot soup helped warm my body back up. Still being hungry, I ordered a plate of French fries. Heck, I had to have some French food in France besides croissants. In dipping the salty fries, I alternated between catsup and hot mustard.
At 11:30pm, I boarded the ferry. My first visit was to the bar. I wasn't sure how I was going to spend my cruise home so I ordered a Heineken to think about things. This mistake would come back to haunt me. Since there isn't a lot to do aboard a ferry at 12:30 in the morning, I decided to rest. Searching the boat, I finally found my reserved reclining chair. The room was dark and others were quietly sleeping around me. Silently, I climbed into my chair, covered myself with the complimentary blanket, and used the button to recline back. The gentle rocking of the ship combined with the drone of the engines made sleep come quickly and peacefully...for a short while...
Boom! The ship crashed through another tall wave. I was disorientated when I woke up a 2:30am. A few seconds went by until I realized where I was. The calm English Channel was no longer sedated. We were now in rough seas. I needed to use the restroom, so I gathered my things and began heading to the latrine. Getting around would not be easy. The ship tilted up and down and from side to side. I noticed that no one else was up and about. The ship seemed almost completely deserted. My stomach was in terrible shape as well. Drinking a beer on a ship is a risky thing. If the water is calm, then the risk is small. But should you enter rough seas, you're going to regret it. I used the bathroom and returned to my chair. I wouldn't let the seasickness get the best of me, but it was sure going to try.
Getting to sleep wasn't as easy this time. Eventually, it happened though. I dozed off until about 4am. It was then that things were at their worst. The seas were downright violent now. One could hear the angry ocean whipping its waves across the ship's hull. I could hear things crashing all around me. On occasion, glasses and dishes were even breaking. The curtains in front of us would open and close from the tilting of the boat. Behind me, a lady was certainly seasick as she made use of one of the many seasick bags scattered throughout the ship. I could hear her cries of pain and felt for her. I just prayed I wouldn't smell it. Nausea is one thing that is contagious through olfactory means.
The rest of the journey was unpleasant. I rested off and on, but never solidly. Finally, 6:30pm came and we entered port. I had been riding the boat for 7.5 hours now. We gained an hour crossing a time zone. At Portsmouth, I asked how to return to London. The information desk people said that a bus would arrive in 30 minutes that would head right into London. I knew the bus ride would be long and boring, but it would also be much cheaper than the train. Plus, the train station was a mile away. Besides that, I had already spent enough money on this excursion. I walked outside and waited for the 7:30am bus to London. It arrived on time. I paid 11 pounds and boarded. The next three hours were spent looking out the window and nodding off on occasion. At 10:30am, we arrived at Victoria station in London.
Having no time to go home, I headed right for my 11am class. My 9am class was completely missed. I was tired, hungry, unshaved, and unshowered. But as always, I value my classes and hate missing even one. It was after that class that I was able to go home and clean up. Rest? Not possible. I still had another class at 3:30pm and the rest of the day to finish. Sleep would have to wait.
Essentially, that ended my journey to Normandy. I write this entry as I listen to a song called "Preparation for Battle." It's from the soundtrack to the movie "Glory." For some reason, it always fills me with great emotion. The trip I took was hard but rewarding. Many hours were patiently spent at bus stops. Much faith was required as well. I began my D-Day tour with heavy rain, but sunlight soon shone through. Yes, it was a lot of trouble getting out there. But I had to. The sacrifices made out there on those beaches should never be forgotten. Too many lives were lost.
My final thoughts of this trip come from a sign in the Caen Memorial. The quote was made even before the great wars of the 20th century. In one sentence, it sums up so much:
"All war is civil war, for it is always man against man against man, spilling his own blood, tearing out his own entrails."
- Fenelon, Dialogues of the Dead, 1712