VISITING NORMANDY- BAYEAUX AND OMAHA BEACH

Somewhere in the planning process for our Paris trip we made the decision to make a brief detour to Normandy to visit the area in which the Allied Invasion took place.

Both David and I have read a great deal about WWII, and my hubby in particular has longed to see the area in which the turnaround in the war occurred.

So after some research, we decided to get a car to spend two days in the area around Omaha Beach, with a one night stay in Bayeaux.

We found an VRBO for the night.

Relais Saint-Loup.

Little did we know when we pulled in around two o’clock that afternoon how beautiful our setting would be.

The main house is a B & B, and we we were lucky enough to snag their separate two bedroom stone cottage (circa 1750) just steps away.

Feel free, take a look around.

Just take a look at the sprawling yard alongside the house.

As much as we wanted to just luxuriate in that yard all afternoon, we couldn’t; time was a-wasting and we had to get to Omaha Beach to allow enough time for a proper visit before dinner.

This Allied landing site is only a short drive from Bayeaux (reachable by a tiny, winding, house-lined 2-lane road).

We walked the gardens and then toured inside.

The museum does a great job of giving an overview of the war and the lead-up to the Invasion.

There are short videos explaining the subterfuge and secrecy around the intended location and date for the Landing.

Here too there’s a thorough chronology of events leading up to D-Day and the months afterward, including Hitler’s suicide about nine months later.

What I most remember was the way the museum told the stories of individuals — certain young men and women who did unthinkably brave things despite the risks.

We saw photos and personal effects of those who survived the war — and just a few of the many who did not.

David and I both felt so strongly that they see this place and that as a family we honor the sacrifices made my strangers on our behalf.

Afterwards, we walked through the cemetery.

Anyone who’s seen Saving Private Ryan will recognize this spot.

This is the marker for Preston Niland, one of the fallen brothers whose real-life story inspired the Spielberg movie.

Apparently the mother of four soldiers received dead or missing telegrams for three of her sons within just days of each other, hence prompting the Army to find the one surviving son to bring him home safely (turns out the third brother was a POW at a Japanese prison camp in Burma who escaped and survived the war).

Her two sons rest side-by-side here.

This tombstone also stuck with me.

Think about it. This Indiana boy survived D-Day but died on Christmas Day six months later– when peace was just around the corner.

It’s also so touching to see the mementos left at the headstones.

Flowers, some fresh, some now dried. Notes. Stones.

Even wee pine cones.

Afterwards, we walked out to the bluff and headed for the stunning beach just below.

Watching the kiteboarder leap over the gorgeous waves, it was so hard to reconcile this lovely stretch of sand with its bloody history as the final resting place for thousands of young men.

Emotionally spent and starving as we’d skipped lunch, we headed back to the car and our cottage.

Eric and Nelly, the kindly owners, told us to enjoy the yard as our own so we brought out our picnic.

(Yes, the enamel tray and tablecloth travelled with us from Portland and came in handy plenty for times like this).

The owner saw we didn’t have proper wine glasses; she ran into her house and brought us out some of her own and insisted that we use them.

Charlotte picked wild flowers for our cheese tray

and I grabbed some wild oregano for the roasted pork I cooked in our cottage kitchen.

We enjoyed our feast in the little private garden outside our cottage.

We also had a warm goat cheese salad with dark, leafy greens.

I’d made a Truffle-Sherry Vinaigrette and marinated a pork roast while still in Paris and had brought it all along with us packed in a cooler; turns out it was a good thing we brought so much as it was a national holiday in France and pretty much everything we encountered was closed for the day.

Food enjoyed alfresco is the bomb.

As if the night wasn’t magical enough, we left our little corner of paradise and started walking into the center of town, an ancient village less than 5 minutes away.

Curiously, Bayeaux was the first town in France liberated by Allied soldiers and I loved looking down at the cobblestones and around at the stone buildings

and thought of all those young soldiers who were fortunate enough to have survived the landing to experience the same sights I was now seeing. Same streets, just 72 years apart.

And that’s when we came upon Bayeaux Cathedral.

It’s jaw-droppingly beautiful and the size of it (looming many stories over this tiny village) literally took our breaths away.

Built on ancient grounds that once held Roman sanctuaries, the cathedral is now nearly a thousand years old, and it’s a beloved national monument in France.

And, as it turns out, it’s very much an integral part of the community; as luck would have it, the cardinal red doors opened late at night as we stood outside and out streamed a throng of Mass attendees with candles alit.

We waited until most of the crowd dispersed and then we peeked inside.

I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was inside with the enormous stained glass windows, columns and stonework.

We walked around the back of the church and another big surprise awaited us.

The entire back section of the church was lit up in an annual summer light show — a technicolor dance of lilac, violet, mauve, rose, and everything in between.

And then there were words. And written passages.

On ancient stone walls. On cobblestones.

It was like walking into the pages of a poet’s fevered imagination.

Spectral, otherworldly.

We ambled back to our cottage in sort of reverent haze — and then polished off the better part of some exquisite chocolate bars I’d bought from Paris (good thinking, no?).

The next morning, we were treated by the owners to a scrumptious sit-down breakfast in their enormous kitchen.

Their house is like a villa full of so many beautiful things.

How would you like this for an office?

Or this room to welcome guests on a chilly evening?

We sat down to quite the spread: not just fresh croissants and bread but eggs, granola, cheeses, hams, fruits, yogurt and excellent coffee and chocolat chaud.

And here’s the view we had out onto their backyard terrasse.

We spent a good hour talking to Eric, the owner; jumping back and forth back between two languages we talked of the state of the world, politics in France and the U.S., and how difficult it is in his country to enact change.

He couldn’t be lovelier — or more hospitable.

Hard as it was to leave, we had to say adieu to our lovely little nest.

I wanted to see one last thing before leaving town: the Bayeaux Tapestry.

I’d be lying if I said it was an easy sell with the kids, but so many resources claimed that this artifact was a must do that I did a little arm-pulling and reminding them to stretch a little.

I would have gone just to behold that magnificent red door at the museum courtyard entrance — it was one of the most beautiful and impressive I’ve ever seen.

This artifact has been described as the oldest surviving comic strip; this 230-odd foot long strip of embroidered linen shows 70 scenes depicting the Norman Conquest and life 100 years ago — warring, farming, feasting, dancing, and day-to-day activities.

For Charlotte and I who’ve both dabbled with embroidery, it’s a bit of a mind-blower to see such intricate handwork –and to know that it’s survived a thousand years.

Apparently the tapestry narrowly survived destruction during the French Revolution, was shown in Paris at the bequest of Napoleon, and has been open for public viewing all these years (except during the Franco-Russian War and WWII when I assume it was protected somewhere privately).