Normandy Report: Part I - Tollbooths and Sausage

The morning I left was rough. Conal's going away fiesta the night before had dragged on until just about 3 hours before I had to get up. I don't get hangovers very often, but combine a decent amount of drink with a heavy breakfast just before a short "nap" and it made for an unpleasant car ride to the airport.

Also, on the way to the airport, I had the realization that this was probably the least prepared I'd ever been for a trip to a foreign country, particularly in terms of local language and customs. I hadn't even picked up a single guidebook on France. I had a large, detailed map of Normandy, on which I had marked specific sites I wanted to see that I had researched on-line. In that regard, I was prepared. But in terms of getting around and communicating? Clueless. I at least have enough rudimentary knowledge of Spanish, which was able to carry over some and help in Italy. And in Germany, I had the benefit of a guidebook with a short phrasebook section.

In France, I realized I didn't even (and still don't) know how to say 'please'. I got 'thank you', at least, but beyond that, I'm pretty much clueless on French vocabulary, and my pronunciation is just out the window.


Physically, anyways, I felt a bit better by the time I got on the plane, and managed to doze off for a bit on the way over. As I mentioned earlier, I woke up about an hour in and through a hole in the clouds below, spotted the gleaming white cliffs of Dover on the southeastern English coast. I scanned the sky solemnly, knowing that I didn't have to wait until the next morning to see famed battlefields. I was dancing in one at that moment.

The clouds broke up further as I came in towards the airport at Beauvais, about 30 miles north of Paris. I find the geographic layout of the countryside in Europe (Germany appeared to be similar to France in this respect. Ireland is somewhat, but less so) strangely fascinating: in the rural areas, all houses and buildings are clumped together in small towns. These towns are in turn clustered fairly densely across the countryside, sometimes only a mile or so apart. But there will be NO buildings along the roads in between. Looking at it from ground level, when a town expands, they might build a new, small development close in on the outer edge of town, expanding the well-defined town boundaries. But you will not see plots of land popping up and gradually sprawling across the roads between the towns like you do in rural parts of the US. It's really sort of strange and beautiful to look at from the air.

I landed at the airport on time and went to collect my rental car (a Rennault Clio, for the record). It was then that it struck me that I hadn't driven a car in over a month, and hadn't driven a stick shift in probably about 6 years, not to mention that I had never driven in France. But hey, at least they drive on the right side of the road, so I had that going for me.

Actually, it was fine, although I learned a valuable lesson in the French language:

On signs seen approaching a toll booth, cartes does not mean car. Rather it means card. As in credit card. I pulled up to the gate ready to give a handful of heavy coins to the nice toll-taker and found an unmanned card reader. Kicking myself for being so stupid (really, I've gotten pretty good at deciphering key important phrases in other languages, and that one particularly I should have known!), I didn't even realize it was credit cards--I assumed it was for some local pass card. (Really, it might not have mattered--my credit card didn't work in the reader for the gas station--more on that fiasco later--so it may not have worked here anyways).

I pushed the 'help' button. Repeatedly. Near panicking, with traffic backing up behind me (but no one honking! What nice, polite people, the French!) I threw on my blinkers and started to get out of the car, when the lady from the nearest manned tollbooth finally came over to help. She figured out what happened, took my money and returned with a card to open the gate for me, smiling and laughing, rather than scowling. Now holding up both my lane and hers, still no one honked. I might've pegged the French wrong all along.

The route took me through the fairly major cities of Rouen and Caen. In both cases, I was basically on an expressway running near the city center, but not exactly right through it. From what I saw of it, though, Rouen may be one of the most beautiful cities I've seen. It's nestled in the midst of a tight valley with lush green hills and rocky cliffs all around it. The cathedral in the middle nearly matched the one in Ulm for gothic beauty. Unfortunately, trying to find my way through the interchanges in the midst of thickening pre-rush-hour traffic, I did not get a chance to even stop for one picture of this lovely city.

In Caen--or several miles outside it, rather--I hit some inexplicably ridiculous traffic. The tollway that I was on became a parking lot, reminiscent of a major construction project or accident on a busy Michigan interstate in the summer. But there did not appear to be any construction or accidents. It was just backed up traffic. Just before the city center, my route veered off onto the northern part of the beltway, diverging from the bulk of the traffic that was heading onto the southern beltway and towards downtown. From a very limited viewing, Caen did not impress me much. My route took me through what I suppose to be the northern suburbs, which seemed to be littered with bland, generic hotels and high rises. The town itself was to the south, and I didn't get much of a glimpse at all. The surrounding terrain was still slightly hilly, but not nearly as picturesque as Rouen.

Still, I would've liked to have stopped to get at least one picture of a sign marking the name of the town, if for now other reason than the goofy personal trivia that I once worked at CAEN.

With a few stops to stretch my legs and to grab a sandwich at what was basically a rest area, I finally rolled into Carentan about 4 hours after leaving Beauvais. I found the B&B with no problem, checked in and headed off to grab some dinner. I walked into a small, family-style restaurant on the main street. The woman working did not speak English. I took a menu and tried to make some sense out of it. Somehow, despite not knowing how to say 'please', I knew that 'champignones' was 'mushrooms', so I ordered that. Apparently, that was just the appetizer option on a fixed-price menu, though. She managed to get across that I was supposed to order something from the bottom part as well. Oops. Ummm.... okay... here's something that says 'Andouillette' or something... hey, that looks like 'Andouille'. Probably sausage. Great! I'll take it.

Oh, it was sausage alright. A big, fat, fresh sausage, that was probably the nastiest sausage I've ever had. Why the Germans ever would've wanted to invade this country to begin with when they had all that fine bratwurst, bockwurst and weißwurst at home is beyond me. Luckily, there was some spicy brown mustard on the table, and they are serious about their spicy brown mustard in France! This stuff nearly an ounce-for-ounce equivalent to wasabi. A little of that spread along made the sausage edible.

After dinner I wandered around town a bit and took some pics of the cathedral. Since it was dusk and grey and rainy, they weren't that great, but here's a shot I took under better conditions the next day:


Carentan is a mid-sized city, I suppose, which is to say, by American standards, its pretty small. Some comparable-sized towns in Michigan would be Saline, or Sandusky. Try to imagine Saline being a critical strategic point in history, though. Carentan was significant because its location was the linkage point between the US forces that landed on Utah Beach, and those that came in on Omaha. It was also situated on the major highway that ran all the way up to the port of Cherbourg on the tip of the Cotentin peninsula. The 101st Airborne had the task of securing the city in order to enable the joining of the two invasion forces. It took them a week to do so after D-Day.

Its central location also made it an ideal place for me to base my stay. I looked around at several B&Bs and guest houses in the region, but settled on the Chambres d'Hôtes in Carentan. The place was very nice, and at 40 euro/night, or roughly half of what I paid for any of the places I stayed in Italy and Germany, it was a steal! Here are some thoughts I jotted down offline that night:

I'm apparently the only one staying here right now, so they gave me what must be the king's family suite. The room itself is roughly--nay, at least--the size of the living room in my place in Chicago. There's a queen sized bed, a second "kids?" bed that's about a double-size, a couch, a roll-top desk, a rocking chair, and oh yeah--a baby's crib (complete with a baby doll that creeped me the frick out when I first walked in and saw its head propped up in the corner. In fact, it creeps me out every time I look at it.). There's also the biggest freakin' armoire I've ever seen. I swear, when I first opened it, I expected it to be a door to a magical land with a lampost and Santa Claus and talking beavers and stuff.

Instead, it has a TV--the very best available in the 1972 catalogue, I'm sure of it--with a note that says, in four languages: "This is the only room that has a TV. Please do not share the sound with others when they cannot share the picture." M'kay. There also about 2 metric tons of assorted pillows and blankets, and a copy of what appears to be "The French Revolution: The Board Game".

The bathroom is no less impressive. Really cool tile work lines a huge main chamber with an elevated tub in an alcove by the window. The sink is very nice and spits out the best tasting tap water I've ever had (that I'm currently living in a place where the tap water is not fit for drinking may be skewing my perspective on the matter some). In each corner of the room is a door. Behind the first one on the left is the actual toilet. The other three, going clockwise, lead to: the water heater (I'm guessing?), a "closet" that is all of about 8" deep, and the hallway outside.

Speaking of doors, back in the main room, there is a door opposite the one that leads to the bathroom. I opened it up and behind it was a curtain drawn across.

I sat there staring at the curtain for several long seconds, trying to decide if I was brave enough to peek behind it. The climactic scene of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix flashed before my eyes, and I closed the door without touching the curtain.

I turned in for a good night's sleep, setting my alarm early. I had decided ahead of time I wanted to be on Utah Beach at 0630, with hopes of getting some great photos of the sun rising over the beach...

To be continued...

For more pictures around Carentan (mostly taken the second evening when the weather was better), click here.