Yesterday we visited several of the sites associated with the American invasion of Normandy in June 1944. We didn’t know what to expect; we supposed that they would be touristy and crowded with Americans. Much to our surprise (and delight), it was nothing like that at all.
We began by driving to Omaha Beach, below the small village of St-Laurent-sur-Mer. What we found was a long, curving, peaceful expanse of beach, with a few simple monuments, largely deserted in the cool, calm, cloudy morning:
There were no obnoxious t-shirt shops, no street vendors selling overpriced food, nothing like that at all, just a quiet stretch of sand, and a few respectful tourists.
It was hard to imagine what it must have been like in the small village when the American troops arrived. Hard to imagine the shelling and shooting and dying on such a peaceful stretch of land. But because we knew that had happened, and because now it was so very still and lovely, there was a simple but deep sadness and poignancy to the place; moving, in a completely understated way.
So we walked around in silence, looking at the ocean, looking at the hills, at the sand, at the bunkers, the flags, and the monuments, thinking about the idiocy of war, wondering how the Germans could ever have thought they could extend themselves so far and not be pushed back eventually.
We noticed, too, an unexpected lack of Americans. Most of the visitors were families from Europe — English, Belgians, many Dutch, French, and a few Germans as well. Andrew asked whether the Germans felt remorse for what they’d done; I replied that the Germans there now had nothing to do with the war, but probably felt some collective national guilt. It was a good question, and I really don’t know the answer.
By the time we were through with our visit is was past noon, and we were hungry. We loaded into the car and went searching for a good restaurant, Suzie seeking moules.
As an aside, the car we rented was the same kind of car we had when we stayed in Grenoble 3 years ago, a Renault Kangoo, a small SUV with a 5-speed diesel engine. Small on the outside, but with a ton of functional space on the inside, a great car for a trip like this, and fun to drive to boot. Our gas bill for the whole trip (and in addition to the freeway there and back, we did lots of driving on small windy Norman roads) was about 60 euros. This is because diesel fuel is more potent than regular gas and also significantly cheaper. I’ve blogged about this before, but why diesel cars are not more popular in the U.S. is a mystery. When Suzie bought her last car, we toyed with getting one, but only a few carmakers (Mercedes and VW) sell them in the U.S., so they are priced at a premium. At any rate, here’s our wonderful Kangoo (which, when I picked it up, had exactly 4 km on it):
We expected that there would be an abundance of restaurants to choose from, but that wasn’t the case. We passe very few and hardly anyone was in them, so we decided to go back to the “main” road paralleling the coast (the D514, barely wide enough for a truck and a car to pass at the same time, but very, very, very well-paved and smooth). We eventually found a restaurant with a parking lot that was 3/4 full — this, we thought, was the place, and we were right. The food was excellent and reasonable, the staff was friendly, the only negative being that the entire time we were there, the music playing was covers of old, bad American country-and-western and one-hit wonder pop tunes (ranging, I kid you not, from the theme from the old TV western “Rawhide” — “keep them doggies’ rollin” — to such beauties as the old Cher song Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves [again, a cover version]). I told Suzie I wanted to ask them what was with the music, but that would involve a conversation sufficiently sophisticated as to be likely to go beyond my ability to hold up my end of it in French. In any event, on the whole the restaurant was great — I had delicious Sauscisse de l’Oignon and frites, Will had a terrific ham and cheese galette, and Suzie got the best dish, a huge pot of moules (mussels) that were completely fresh and delicious. This plus drinks, a carafe of Calvados cider (shared by Suzie and Andrew), plus coffees at the end for under 55 euros. If you ever visit Omaha Beach, eat here:
By this time it was mid-afternoon, and we still wanted to visit one more spot, the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, which required us to backtrack a bit. A drive well worth it. One of the most beautiful cemeteries I have ever seen, it sits high on a wooded bluff overlooking Omaha Beach and the Atlantic:
Beautifully tended and manicured, it holds the remains of almost 10,000 American soldiers who died in WW2.
The rows and rows and rows and rows of silent, stark crosses and (a few) Stars of David, stretching on and on are a power testimony to the bravery and sacrifice of the men (some merely boys) who fought here, and to the waste of war.
These visits were more moving than I had expected. I recommend them to anyone who happens to be nearby.
Categories: France, Travel -- France
Tags: France, Normandy, Omaha Beach