As Matt and I were waiting at Avis to secure our Ford Fusion, little did I know that our first road trip to the French country would result in such strong emotions and vivid memories. We set off on our trip, Google Maps ready, Micki, Matt, John and I four happy sardines (anchovies if I am being French) in our little tin can.
As we drove past breathtaking little villages, brilliant orange poppies, and rolling lush hills, it was hard to not relax. It was one of those “pinchable” moments. One of those times that is just so calm, so enjoyable, so surreal that it seems almost dreamlike. Little did I know that my tasty Tut crackers from the BP (I know, sorry---slim pickings on the French highway), was nothing more than just that in retrospect. The real disbelief and surrealism would not come until after our gorgeous sun-drenched lunch in the charming seaside town of Deauville.
As we pulled up to the Normandie beaches, I was in awe of the clear blue water and wide expanse. The lack of tourists is always a plus, but in this case it was a necessity. As you stand on the sand and look around you, it is hard not to feel the sacredness of the grains under your toes. In the distance were remnants of the Mulberry harbor, which remains as a reminder of the monstrosity and tragedy that was.
In typical Gangsta Milla fashion, I was overly annoyed by a cadre of teenagers unwilling to acknowledge and uphold the quiet that the experience warranted. However, who am I to fault the kids? It seems that in many ways the memories are lost, with the reality being that sometimes the story is never even imparted. We simply didn’t make it to World War II in AP U.S. History, which means that the only knowledge I have is what I have gleaned from teaching The Diary of Anne Frank to my monsters (as my preferred reading material of chicklits and gossip magazines has not increased my knowledge base of WWII).
This is perhaps why the Normandie American Cemetery, 9,387 graves wide (which is technically American soil) was not only overwhelming, it was heart wrenching. As you walk through the exhibit prior to reaching the cemetery, you get to know not only the story, but the people. In a poignant film, you meet the young men who sacrificed all to allow us to be where we are today. To allow the Marais to be not a safe place for Jewish Parisians, but today a chic and popular place for tourists. My neighborhood is filled with Kosher restaurants, bat/bar mitzvah party stores and has a distinct energy on Sunday, the day after the Sabbath. This is all possible because of those soldiers. The peaceful cemetery is located alongside pristine beach, which was one of the locations for the invasion—the exact opposite of the serenity you feel now. Heroes who left their families, their friends, and their lives behind them to uphold the human right of freedom.
Today marks the 66th anniversary of D-Day, and as I type away, the sky is dark and ominous, and the thunder is loud and jolting. I will never feel the direct impact of war, or fully appreciate all that has happened so that I can be an American living freely in France. But what I know now, is that a day like today is not just another date on the calendar. It is a day that marks the beginning of freedom and the end for many who fought for us to have it. As the rain comes barreling down outside, it is as if the city is crying. Crying for all who allowed it to stand, and allowed it to be free.
Remnants of Mulberry Harbor on the horizon
Our hotel in Bayeux
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