After a lovely day in Paris, which included eating and drinking along the Seine River on Septemberr 10th, my friends and I decided we were going to take a somewhat spontaneous trip to Omaha Beach. If you don’t know what Omaha Beach is you might as well stop reading right now and go back to Communist Russia. After going through all the logistics til 1 AM we devised a plan that would go as this:
- Wake up early enough to catch a train from Versailles to Paris at 7 AM
- Transfer at Invalides and take the 8 to St. Lazarre
- At St. Lazarre, buy a train ticket to Caen, France. (2 hr + train ride).
- Arrive in Caen, buy a train ticket to Bayeux (city closest to Omaha Beach)
- Arrive in Bayeux, eat lunch, find a way to Omaha Beach whether by bike or by bus.
- Hang out at Omaha Beach, see whats around.
- Get back to Bayeux.
- Grab some dinner.
- Find a place to sleep.
- In the morning, buy a train ticket head back home.
Pretty solid plan right? I know. Sure we weren’t exactly certain how we’d get to the beach or where we were going to sleep that night but that’s what an adventure should be like.
In the morning, my roommate John and I took the bus to the train station, with the anticipation of having about 10 minutes or so to spare before the train took off for Paris. Unfortunately, more than half way there, the bus driver told everyone that they had to get off the bus because he apparently had somewhere to be at 6:45 in the morning. With no time to spare, John and I took off to the train station for a quarter of a mile sprint. Out of breath, and with a few minutes to spare, we arrive at the Rive Guache train station and find our friends Rob and Pia patiently waiting for us and whoever was seriously interested in coming along for the journey.
After transferring at Invalides, we got on a line that took us to our destination, St. Lazarre, before heading off to Normandy. We bought the next train ticket to Caen, but since we left Versailles so early we had an hr and a half to kill. But that’s ok because sleep deprivation only makes trips and adventures all the more interesting. We walk around the neighborhood for a while. We don’t find anything too interesting except for a really narrow McDonalds sandwiched between two apartments. Little did we know, the Parisian opera house was a few blocks away which is the same place where the Phantom of the Opera takes place.
The Phantom of the Opera’s lair.
Anyways, while we were waiting for the train to arrive, our friends Andrea and Natalie met us at St. Lazarre and all 6 of us boarded a train to Caen. Pia, Natalie, Andrea, and Rob sat in their own booth while John and I sat right next to them until a couple named Jim and Pam decided to sit next to us.
from left: Rob, Pia, Natalie, and Andrea.
Normandy countryside. What a beautiful day.
As it just so happens, Jim and Pam are from Pennsylvania, just west of Philadelphia. We had a lot to talk about for several reasons. Jim and Pam mentioned they owned a second home in none other than SCRANTON! Jim and Pam from Scranton!? What are the odds? You may be thinking they were just pulling our chain but these were blue-collared, sports loving people from Eastern Pennsylvania people! I don’t question the validity to their claims, and even if they are stretching the truth or flat out lying it still makes for a great story. To quote my old roommate, quoting Mark Twain, “Don’t let the truth get in a way of a great story.”
SKIP THIS PART IF YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR ME TALK ABOUT SPORTS AND THINGS OF THE LIKE.SO Jim and Pam (kinda) from Scranton were telling John and I all about their lives, which of course in my world consists of city pride and sports. For any non-Chicagoans creeping on my blog, the Chicago Blackhawks faced the surprising, but fearful Philadelphia Flyers in a chance to bring the Stanley Cup to the Windy City for the first time in 49 years. And in anticlimatic fashion, Patrick Kane scored the goal in overtime to eliminate our championship drought of a horribly long 5 years.
“Wait!…Did it go in!?……IT WENT IN OH MY GAWG WE WON!”
Anyways, we talked about the Stanley Cup for a while but I don’t think they wanted to talk about it for obvious reasons. But the best part was when I first asked if they were Flyers fans, and having already known we were both from Chicago, Jim immediately said “Congratulations.” Which is basically the equivalent of getting on his knees and exclaiming “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!” in true Wayne’s World fashion. But we also discussed important issues such as the Phillies and how awesome it was to have their team win it all in 2008. What surprised me the most was that when they arrived back at the ’09 Series, they claimed that everyone in Philadelphia knew it just wasn’t happening. To which I was highly skeptical but that’s what they claim I suppose. I can go on and on about what we talked about but the more important story at hand is Normandy, and I have not forgotten.
OK YOU CAN READ NOW. After a two hour train ride into Caen, we considered renting a car and driving the rest of the way to Omaha Beach because our travel book mentioned it would be the easiest thing to do. However, in Europe, they drive mostly in manual and not automatic which posed a problem because none of us knew how to drive stick shift (note to self: learn stick shift someday). So we decided taking a short train ride to Bayeux would suffice but what we did not know is that the same train we arrived in Caen continued to Bayeux. We looked online for train schedules the night before and we couldn’t find a train to Bayeux from Paris anywhere. The lessons hear are to look at every possibly website when planning to travel, and sometimes its just best to ask the people working at the ticket counter.
We arrive in Bayeux which is a quaint little Medieval-esque town with a really ballin’ Gothic church. http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bayeux
Bayeux Cathedral. ballin’
We grabbed a quick bite to eat at the Boulanger (pronounced Boo-Lawn-Jay in a French accent of course) which is a bakery for those who want to hear me sound extremely pretentious. Ham+Brie cheese sandwich? 4 euros. Close to the office of tourism we found a little shop that actually rents out bikes. We knew such a thing existed near the Normandy beaches and we figured with our budget and our desire for adventure, we seized the opportunity to ride our bikes to Omaha Beach. It can’t be that far. Right?
Little did we know, Omaha Beach from Bayeux is 17 km away.
Which is the equivalent to 10 miles (I googled it). Not too far but far enough to make anyone tired. But here’s another factoid we didn’t really consider: FRANCE IS HILLY. Like really hilly. And all those hills made it all the more difficult getting to our destination. But in the grand scheme of things, none of us regretted it one bit. Riding to Omaha Beach was my favorite bike ride of all time. We saw so much of the French countryside I wouldn’t normally see flying or even driving for that matter. It became increasingly apparent that moving at bike speed may be the best mode of transit when truly enjoying the scenic landscapes a road trip has to offer.
After a hardcore 1.5 hr session of biking, we made it to Omaha Beach. The first thing I noticed was the resort next to the spot where literally thousands of American soldiers had gave their lives. I am not saying that that is entirely inappropriate on the French part, but I was quite surprised.
There was even a golf course. huh?
I must admit though, I was even more surprised to see that the bunkers that you see in Saving Private Ryan where the Germans housed their MG42s and the like were not the least bit well kept. There is probably over 40 years worth of vegetation that has sinced covered the facade, which I can understand the French’s lack of enthusiasm for keeping it trimmed but still, this place is an extremely important location in World History. You’d think it would be better preserved. Also, the door that leads to the room where all the German machine gunners were protected was completely sealed off by concrete. I was expecting to be able to go inside and peer into the ocean and just imagine all the D-Day invasion from the German perspective. I wasn’t going to pretend to be shooting anything but I thought it would have been a very, fascinating view. What I am trying to say is I am not a Nazi.
Remains of the German bunkers.
We did some more exploring around the beach and saw a few memorials and plaques before making our way to the American memorial and cemetery. Call me un-American or what have you, but I had no idea there was a cemetery at Omaha Beach. The cemetery was huge. There were a lot of graves, and a lot of which were not marked with any names. It being September 11th and all, I was already feeling a sense of patriotism and pride you don’t necessarily feel everyday, but being in the presence of all those young fallen soldiers made me grateful and hopeful that I don’t have to go through anything like that in my lifetime.
After reflecting on our own lives and the lives of all those affected by World War II we decided that it was getting dark soon and we should start heading back to Bayeux before the shop closes at 8 PM, otherwise pay an additional fine worth who knows how much. We were especially not looking forward for the first segment on the way back because arriving we had to ride down the steepest hills I’ve ever rode down and the thought riding them back was too horrible to even think about at the beach. Luckily, we didn’t have to take that route because we were on a one way street as we approached the beach and had a take a different one way route to leave. However, (and this is where the adventure in all this truly happens) 3 of my friends decided to separate from the group to ride faster. Now anytime you separate from your group in a place you’re not familiar with, let alone in a different country, let alone in BUFU of said country, is a really bad idea. A really bad idea.
In the beginning of the ride I made sure to stick with one of the girls that was the slowest rider so she wasn’t alone in case something happened or she just fell really behind. Well, when the others decided to ride faster, we quickly fell behind and they were not in our line of sight. So myself and the two others eventually came across an intersection and made a wrong turn. We did not know we made a wrong turn but we did. We continue riding for over a kilometer before we begin to realize that this was not the way we came back. A moment of terror pumped through our blood veins but we used one of our newly bought cellphones to call the others and explain we got lost. We call them and we realized that turn we made over a kilometer ago was indeed a wrong turn but ALSO they mentioned how they were riding for a long time going in the wrong direction as well. So with all that information gathered, we hoped we would eventually run into each other. On our way back to the intersection, the girl who was going the slowest had her chain come off of her bike!
Another moment of terror rushed through our blood veins but I immediately alleviate the situation because I’m just awesome like that but the thought of that chain coming off again haunted me for the rest of the ride back. Shortly after we find the other three who were way ahead of us and they explained the road we were taking eventually turns into a highway. And this is the point we definitely realized we are returning back to Bayeux via a different route from before. Fortunately, Rob had a GPS system with him and we assessed the situation and found a way to get back to Bayeux without going on a highway.
It’s starting to get really late at this point. If we continue trekking along we should make it back to the shop well before 8 until the most unfortunate thing possible happens. John Sterr’s wheel pops. It is completely flat on the bottom. All hope of getting back on time is completely dashed and easily our lowest point in the entire trip. Oh and Bayeux is still over 14 kilometers away at this point. We continue riding hoping he’ll be able to keep up fast enough but it soon proves hopeless. We need to find a solution. The number to the bike shop was on the back of all of our bikes and we call the shop owner to explain the situation. He doesn’t speak a word of English. (GOD DAMN IT!) With our limited knowledge of French we try our best to explain what the hell is going but to no avail. We’re struggling communicating with him for a good 8 minutes or so before Andrea waves down the nearest oncoming vehicle which was a tractor. This French farmer gets out of the tractor and he speaks a little English (THANK GOD) so we give him the phone to serve as an interpreter for both parties involved all the meanwhile laughing because of how desperate and stupid we must look.
The farmer gets off the phone and tells us that there is a church up the road that the shop owner is going to to pick up the bike along with one other person and the other 5 have to ride back to Bayeux asap. SO we quickly decide that it is definitely not going to be a girl who stays behind and waits for the shop owner to come pick up her and the bike and then have to deal with an incredibly awkward ride home, not to mention the possibility of him being a complete creeper. We deduce that John Sterr is the best rider out of all of us so he should continue riding, and it’s between Rob and I. Together we decided that Rob was a better bike rider than me so I was the one chosen to stay behind in bufu France and wait for the guy to pick up the bike.
The Church in BUFU France.
Eventually the riders ride off into the distance, leave me in bufu France, while I wait for the bike shop owner to pick up the bike and me. I am not going to lie, I was scared. The town was small but I don’t know what hick-French people are like. The only thing I could think of what the Human Centipede. I kept repeating to myself “You’re not going to be a human centipede damnit!”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0piFZXT8Zxo&feature=fvw
Human Centipede Trailer. Please watch following the end of my story if you have not done so please.
And before I knew it, the guy from the bike shop arrives, 15 minutes didn’t even pass by, I got lucky. The ride back was somewhat awkward but I tried my best to talk to him in what little French I knew and I apologized like a million times. I make it back to the shop and wait for the other to come back. After waiting around for about 45 minutes, maybe more, it’s 8:50 and the rest of the crew arrive back! United at last and they look completely exhausted. I felt like such an asshole for not having to ride back but we really had no choice. The others talk about how physically enduring it was getting back to Bayeux but we are all really glad to be together and off of our bikes. And in the end, the shop owner didn’t charge us for the flat tire or the late bike return, I guess he felt bad for us. What nice people country French men are.
We grab a bite to eat at this delicious restaurant in town and reminisce about how we seized the day in epic adventurelike fashion. We were tired, but proud nevertheless. The last train back to Paris left at 6 PM so we knew for most of the day we were staying the night in Bayeux but didn’t bother looking for a place to stay until AFTER dinner. By this time it’s 11 PM and we thought about sleeping outside somewhere but it was raining so that idea was thrown out the window the moment we stepped back outside. We walked around and called for a place that was still open and at one point we considered sleeping in the church (no joke) but found that the doors were locked. We did find one place that was open right next to the train station and ended up sleeping there for the night. Finally, all was well in the universe, our day had finally come to an end.
In the morning we walked around Bayeux, saw the church, went back to the boulanger for a quick lunch, said goodbye to our bike shop friend one last time, and finally took the train back to Paris. On the way back I couldn’t help but admire our youthfulness. Only now in this time of our lives can we really do something so unplanned, so spontaneous as this. It was an amazing weekend, filled with several moments of sheer terror and panic, but we got through it. I don’t regret it one bit.
One Night..I Mean, One Year In Paris 