The Test

Originally posted April 26, 2004

How much can one squeeze into the last weekend trip of a semester abroad?

Is it possible? Can we really make this happen? That was the ultimate question for this, the last of my weekend excursions. I knew it had to be big. I had been talking to Catherine and Rachel about going to Normandy to see the D-Day beaches as that was one of my last goals for the semester. They were excited about that but when I showed them on the map where they were, they said why not do Mont St. Michel and St. Malo too? And Bayeux was right there so why not throw in a visit to the tapestry? We ended up doing 5 cities in 3 days and 3 nights. It was a very heavy itinerary but we accomplished all the goals on it with the help of beautiful weather the entire weekend, and had a great time.

Mont St. Michel

The week before wasn’t all that eventful. I went to the Louvre after work one night to explore some wings I hadn’t yet seen. I mainly went because the day was so beautiful I wanted an excuse to walk to and through the Tuileries Gardens. I also went to the Chinese Art exhibit that I have been waiting for since I heard it was coming. This collection was hailed as the equivalent of Paris gathering up the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa, the Pont Neuf, Monet’s impressionist tableaus, and all the rest of the famous pieces of art and architecture that it is known for and shipping them off to be displayed. The exhibit, called “Montagnes Celestes” or “Celestial Mountains” traces the significance, religion and mystery that Chinese artists have linked to their natural land forms such as trees and rivers and mountains, but especially mountains, throughout their paintings and objets d’art for centuries. Some pieces dated back to 300 AD. It was a gorgeous exhibit mixed with old and new pieces. One contemporary French photographer, Marc Ribou took a year long voyage into China to photograph its mountains. There is a montage of the results set to a soundtrack of wind blowing that you sit in front of and watch and it’s breathtaking to see the stark contrast and shapes that he caught in the fog against the mountains. He also had a great quote that was in the exhibit that I liked so much I had to borrow a pen from a guard to write it down. Translated it reads: “To look at a misty landscape is a little like listening to music or reading poetry. It helps you to live.”

Thursday morning the power went out at work for two hours so I went to the museum next door to pass the time. Néilly André and her husband Josef Jacquemart built this mini-Versailles in the 18th century to house their extensive collection of Venetian, Dutch and French art, as well as live the high Aristocratic lifestyle entertaining society. Every room in the house was a gorgeous masterpiece of decoration, with marble, silk damask, intricate wrought iron, elaborate plaster moldings, gilded everything, and nothing but carefully selected antique furniture or custom-made cabinets. Everything in the entire home was a work of art, including the famous Rembrandts that are housed there. The wife devoted her life to it; spent her years collecting art and antiques for her home here in Paris and another in the country. You could see that even though their house was considered very much in style and they did all the trendy things according to the rule of the day, they had a taste for the classics that they would not change for anyone.

After I would come home from the museums, I would make a little dinner then go to work on the "rapport de stage”. It’s near completion and I can’t wait to be rid of it. I only had four nights to enjoy the “living in a flat in Paris” fantasy, but I made the most of it. I stayed up late and read, I listened to whatever music I wanted to on the stereo…it was a dream. Lurking in the shadows of my mind during the week though were my apprehensions about the Normandy/ Brittany tour because there was so much planning and coordination involved.

We had decided to ask off from our places of work on Friday and to leave Thursday night. I had to leave a little early from work on Thursday to ensure for enough time to get back to the house, change bags and clothes, get dinner, and then go to the train station. Wouldn’t you know it; the one day I have to leave early I end up staying late to finish things. I was very rushed when I got home and ended up running through metro and train stations hoping to get there on time. I got to the train one minute before it left and caught it, thankfully, but I was completely out of breath because Montparnasse train station is gigantic. So we rode the train to Rennes.

It had been a while since we had all been together, Rachel, Catherine and I, and the time passed quickly with us trading stories and catching up. We arrived in Rennes before we knew it. We got off the train and walking into the center of the town to the hotel I thought I had made reservations at. (We got to stay in hotels all weekend because when there are 3 or four people in one room, the price split up is about the same as a hostel bed). The nice man there informed me that my reservation had been written down for the next night, and not, in fact, that evening. Most of the hotels in town were already full, but he found us another one, a little bit more expensive, but nice, right by the train station. We were grateful and we put our bags down in our room and headed out to find some food. We walked to the old city and ate at a cute little hole-in-the-wall creperie, which is a restaurant whose dishes consist if only elaborate combinations on crêpes. Normandy is known for a few things in its cuisine: camembert cheese, butter, crêpes, cakes, and hard cider. All of us loved the cider we had and we ordered a bottle every time we ate out. The entrée crepes usually start with an egg and cheese and then build up from there. There was a seafood crepe with mussels, scallops, crab and lobster, a foie gras crepe, and even an Italian style crepe with mushrooms, mozzarella and prosciutto ham. Fantastic dessert crepes of mint ice cream and chocolate mint sauce and little chocolate shavings and powdered sugar on the crepe itself made us never want to leave the restaurant. Catherine declared she would never return to Paris. She wanted to live in Rennes. After we had eaten well, we returned to our room and went to bed.

We got up relatively early the next morning to catch the bus to Mont St. Michel. Everywhere you go in France you pass these tiny little archaic villages and you wonder that people even have cars in them they look so untouched by time. I had already been to Mont St. Michel with my mother and also St. Malo, that evening’s destination, before, but I wanted to see St. Malo again and Mont St. Michel though touristy, is still really impressive.

To paint the scene a little, the Mont is a huge abbey built on the English Channel in a huge bay that completely empties of water at low tide. We arrived at high tide and we couldn’t see any sand, and when we left, there was only sand for miles and miles. The abbey is considered a mystery because it was built on a firm foundation in the middle of this sea of quicksand and has never sunk or moved or been harmed by the sea surrounding it. “Upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” (Matthew 16:18- 19).

My boss at work had come in one Monday morning raving about his trip to Mont St. Michel and I asked him why it was so great. (Most French people don’t really like Mont St. Michel because it’s so crowded and touristy. They go see it because you have to, but they don’t enjoy it.) He told me it was because he did the non-touristy things. He found out about this company that leads expeditions onto the sand surrounding Mont St. Michel when the tide goes out. I contacted the company to see if it would be possible for me to do the same thing the day we were there and though it took a little bargaining, they agreed to take us out with another group and let us come back early so we could catch our bus.

We arrived around 11am and went straight up (literally) to the Abbey. I was deemed tour guide and struggled to remember from the tour I took when I went there in the summer of 2000. The girls loved the cloister gardens and of course, the view.  I promised them that there they were seeing water, we would be walking on dry sand in a matter of hours.

The Cloisters at Mont St. Michel

After the abbey visit, we had some time to do a little shopping before we had to meet the tour guide. There is only one tiny narrow street on the island and it is packed with restaurants and shops selling little cakes and cookies which are a specialty of the region. I also showed them the Mere Poulard where my mom and I ate when we were here the last time. I am sure as soon as she sees that restaurant mentioned she will start to laugh because of a humorous incident that occurred there involving our waiter and a lobster. * I showed them how they make their reputed “best omelets in the world” over an open fire and how they beat the eggs to a certain rhythm which creates music. By the way, the omelet that I got when I was there was the best one I had ever had in my life. It’s like no omelet that ever was and no omelet that ever will be. And I don’t even really like omelets.

Finally, after two weeks of anticipation, coordination and begging, the hour for the tour on the bay had arrived. I met the tour guide and when I told him my name he immediately was like “ooohhh it’s yooouuu”. Yes, it was me and my friends and we were ready to go brave the quicksand. I had come a little more prepared than they had because I hadn’t been sure if it was possible to take the tour until 10 minutes before I left from work on Thursday. I didn’t have the chance to tell them to pack shorts and shoes that can get dirty. They did the best they could with what they had but we made an interesting trio: me in my regular shorts, a hiking wind shell, and an old t-shirt, they in their cute Capri jeans and Gucci sunglasses, Burberry and Gap jackets with their Longchamp handbags and beautiful shoes. They were laughing looking at the rest of the group who were in gaiters and overalls, fleeces, and Teva sandals. They were not to be stopped however. Even though they may not have had exactly the right equipment, they went for it anyway. We all took off our shoes and went barefoot across the infamous marshes of Mont St. Michel.

Jeans rolled up and ready to walk out on the bay.

Mont St. Michel from way out on the bay

In the Bayeux tapestry there is a scene of a battle at the Mont where William the Conqueror is pulling one of his knights out of the quicksand around it. I was telling Catherine and Rachel about it jokingly but I think I really scared them because they always made me walk in front of them and when we had to lead ourselves back they stopped every ten seconds and were like “I don’t think this is the right way, I think this is quicksand, we need to walk over there, look I don’t see any footprints here, we should go back”. Obviously we were fine getting back but it must have been funny to be another tour participant and to see us stop every few feet, discuss, and then me turn around finally and say "WE’RE FINE!” and us tread on through.

Reached the island. 

We laugh in the face of quicksand!

On the tour, our guide, Giles, led us out to the island that lays about 2 miles out from the Mont. When we got there we realized that it was a bird sanctuary, a former prison, and a former church for a dissenter of the bishop of the Mont. We also, of all things, saw a seal right in the middle of the bay. He was all by himself, just catching some rays and playing in the shallow water around the island. I was totally surprised by this. Seals? This isn’t sea-world. This is a 10th century abbey. But it added to the randomness and the adventure of our walk-on-the-bay-turned-safari.

The lone seal

We headed back from the island and re-crossed the bay heading back toward the abbey. We were pretty sunburned and really tired because walking on sand barefoot is hard. We sat down, rinsed the mud and sand off our legs and shoes, and waited for the bus to St. Malo. We all passed out on the bus, and woke up just in time to get off at our stop in front of the old walls of the old sea town.

I remember coming here after Mont St. Michel with my mom and loving it for its beautiful beaches and the color of the water. I was so glad to have the chance to go back and spend more time there. It instantly replaced Rennes in Catherine’s mind as her favorite town in France, and she just as soon changed her retirement plans. We walked to our hotel just inside the walls and put our stuff down, then we went out to walk through the little streets and go see the sun set on the ocean. I remember exactly the place where we stood when I watched the sun set 4 years ago and there we stood again, me a different person; with very different people, but on the same beach with the same sun. I realized how nice it is to come back to things after a long time. That's one of the best parts about Sunset Beach every year. It serves as a benchmark. A sort of, well, experimental control in the passage of time.

We ate a little restaurant and got mussels and fries (moules frites, that elusive dish from Brussels), then we went to another place for dessert because we had seen a chocolate and coffee flavored cake in the window that was, all kidding aside, a foot high. Obviously, that was the choice for dessert. Nothing less would do. We all split a piece of that cake and I will probably never forget it. It had 8 rich, thick layers alternating between a brownie-like substance, and then a fudge one that was mocha flavored, all covered with a thin shell of dark chocolate. The fact that we changed restaurants for dessert just to eat that cake says it all. 

St. Malo from outside the walls. 

Feeling unbelievably guilty for eating that cake, we walked around the city for a while longer, only to discover more good things to eat and we had to plan them for the next day. We went back to the hotel after a while and fell asleep pretty quickly even though the beds were less than comfortable.

The next morning we took our time getting up. I took a really long run along the stretch of beaches and stopped along the way to back collect pretty shells that I passed as I ran. Nearing the entrance back into the walls of the city, I passed a group of four guys who were horsing around on the beach. Either they hadn’t gone to bed from the night before, or they just like to get up at 7:30 for fun, but they were laughing it up and as I neared them I also saw that they were in their underwear (or just the Speedo briefs that Europeans wear as a rule). Maybe they were going for an early morning swim? I don’t really know but as they came in range, I pulled up along side the waves, further from them, and picked up the pace. They decided to join me so I picked up to a sprint. One of the guys was completely without any clothing and he dropped behind pretty quickly, his friends kept up for about a hundred feet and then dropped back to a jog while counting my strides “un, deux, un, deux, un, deux” and cheering me on. Nothing like running away from naked teenagers to get the adrenaline flowing.

Sunset at St. Malo

Going back to the hotel with two fistfuls of shells and a great story to kick off the day, we got ready and watched bad French soap operas while waiting for the shower. We started off at a little café then moved on to the nautical shops and bought gifts for people. Then we went back to the beach with a picnic lunch and ate, and played in the tide pools and climbed on rocks for a little while. Soon enough it was time for us to go get the car we had rented and drive to Caen. This was the part of the trip I was most nervous about. Driving in another country? But it was necessary to rent the car if we wanted to see all the beaches and the Bayeux tapestry so I went ahead and did it.

Our super cute refrigerator box rental car.

We walked to the office to get the car and when we first saw it Catherine almost fell over laughing. It was really cute though, and I took to it immediately. We loaded up, got out the map, and hit the road. We went in the wrong direction for about an hour, finally realized our mistake and then headed back in the right direction and made it to Caen without any more problems except with one-way streets and getting to our hotel once we finally got to the city. After we finally figured out how to get down the street we were staying on, we dropped off our stuff and went into town to explore a little. We walked around William the Conqueror’s castle fortress which was interesting but all the museums were already closed so we could only see the grounds. The foundations of the towers and the main fortress still remain and are being excavated for later display.

William the Conqueror's Fortress

After walking around and making ourselves hungry, we went to a couscous place and had some great food. The capper of the meal for me was the authentic mint tea that we finished it with. We had wanted to go see a movie afterwards and we were asking the waiter where we could go to see one in VO (version originale, simply put, in English.) He said he didn’t know of any movie theaters except for one all the way across town but that we were welcome to come over to his house and watch some.
Apparently he has a really good collection, and if only we could wait until about 11:30 he could drive us over there in his car. We politely declined and exited the restaurant quickly. Not finding anything else to do in Caen, we retired to the hotel room and just sat around trying to find something good on TV but to no avail so we went to bed. We had to get up early the next morning anyway.

Cathedral at Caen

And rise with the sun we did, I was done with my run by about 7am and we were in the car and rolling at 8:30 sharp. We got to Bayeux just as the museum opened and went inside to see the tapestry. It was amazing to see all that history right before me, even though it didn’t look like I thought it was going to. It was amazing to see and trace the thread of history through three kings and the battle of Hastings. The explanation of the tapestry is at the beginning and you read about what everything means and what is happening, then you go to another room to see the actual tapestry and you follow an audio guide who narrates it as you walk along. I was so glad we made the stop and saw the quaint little town and the amazing piece of historical documentation that lies within.

Tank at Utah Beach

Next on the agenda were the D-Day beaches. We started at Utah beach and got there around 1:15 pm. We walked past the memorials and along the dunes trying to picture what it was like to be a young soldier coming over them and facing a hailstorm of enemy fire. It was moving and put us in a quiet mood. We then drove to the Pointe du Hoc where the Americans actually scaled the cliffs with rope ladders in getting to land from their boats. We saw footage of it at the Caen Memorial Museum and I could barely believe my eyes. There were plaques installed by the small surrounding French towns expressing their undying gratitude and recognition of the bravery it took for the soldiers to do what they did. The immense scale and danger and imminent death that stared them in the face as they waited in the boats off shore is incredible. The next and last stop was Omaha beach and the American Cemetery there. It’s what you see in “Saving Private Ryan” at the very beginning.

German bunker

It’s so peaceful and quiet at the beach, the grass so green, the crosses so white, everything in such perfect order and beauty; it’s hard to imagine the terror and relative chaos that made that place famous. Walking through the rows of graves and seeing the inscriptions was incredible and I felt honored to be an American. I was also really surprised at hearing 90% French as opposed to English while I was walking around the beaches. The French come out in force to see these beaches and are just as in awe of the action as we are. They recognize what was done and are grateful. These places are as much theirs as they are ours, just in a different way.

After the beaches, we again picnicked in the beautiful sunny weather that we had had all weekend and then drove back to Caen to visit the world famous Musée de la Paix there. We saw actual footage and testimonials, read soldiers letters, saw the battle plans, learned, reviewed our WWII history chronology and were overcome again by a feeling of quiet respect, awe-struck horror at the atrocities that occurred during the war, and gratitude to be alive and free. They showed pictures of all the towns we had just driven through after the invasions, reduced to nothing but heaps of rubble. We got into the car and I thought of how free I was there with the window down, having almost completed a tour of northern France, driving down the highway toward the train station.

We got back to the train station, dropped off the car, and headed back to Paris reflecting on the incredible weekend both in terms of the things we accomplished, and the things we saw. A perfect mix of somber, fun, and beautiful, I couldn’t have asked for better company or better things to write about. 

I took the number 14 metro home from St. Lazare train station and rode in the very front. The 14 is the newest development in the Paris metro system and very modern. It runs in a glass tube and has no driver. It is completely automated. If you ride in the front you can see far down the dark tunnel of subterranean urban myth before you. It’s kind of spooky looking into the blackness like that, but also fun, much like an amusement park ride.

My host mom got back from her week long vacation about an hour after I did and we traded stories. She had brought back some fresh lilac and iris that she picked in the country for the house whose scents now waft in on every breeze from the living room windows. She also brought me half a brioche which is a sweet bread of sorts and I gave her the caramels I bought her. I am looking for something in the way of a final act of gratitude for all the kindness she has shown me this year but I can’t think of anything that is good enough just yet.

Coming back to work I was greeted with a call first thing in the morning from a man who was looking for Madonna’s e-mail address and insisted that I have it or at least the means to get it. He explained in earnest that he really likes her music and wants to contact her. I had to explain to this man that all we have is a list of our member companies and that Madonna was not among our contacts. All I could do was point him to her website and shake my head in disbelief. Then someone called and spoke to me in Portuguese. I tried both French and English but all I got was “eeeuuuuhhhh, euuuhhh,” and then "okeee” and she hung up. Then I had to stick 5000 address labels on envelopes. It was a strange day.

I am headed towards my last full weekend in Paris this week and the arrival of my brother on Sunday night. Then, in less than two weeks, I will be leaving for Egypt. I still can’t believe it’s almost all over; this dream year that I am sure I didn’t really live. I still have a few things left to check off the list, many of which Ben will be my excuse for doing. He arrives in Germany on Tuesday night and will be touring with his friend Claudius who lives there, then we will have our reunion on Sunday night. I am eagerly anticipating everything that has yet to come, and at the same time I want time to stop time and be 21 in Paris in the springtime with no real obligations forever. Is that too much too ask?


* My version (of a somewhat different perspective than my mother’s) of The Mère Poulard lobster story is as follows:

My mom and I had just arrived at the Mont and she wanted a nice, sit-down place to eat. Mere Poulard is right inside the entrance and appealed to her immediately. We went in knowing that it was famous and probably really expensive after seeing all the signed celebrity pictures on the wall. Nevertheless, we were already seated with menus and so we stuck with it. My mother ordered a "salade homard” neither of us really knowing what it was but she wanting a salad, and I ordered an omelet because that’s what the restaurant is famous for (and in case I haven’t made it clear enough yet, I don’t even like omelets).

So I am sitting in this place where I know we’re going too spend WAY too much money, I ordered something I didn’t even really want because it’s famous, and my mom gets up to use the restroom. I am looking at all the personalities on the wall thinking what their bill turned out to be and the waiter comes up to me and says very snottily “zees ees your lob-stair, 1.5 keelos” and I replied that we had not ordered a lobster and that he must be mistaken, but thank you. He scoffed, no, SNORTED at me, and then stalked off; I am sure cursing American tourists under his breath.

My mom returns, I tell her what happened, she thinks it’s weird but shrugs it off and we continue to wait. The waiter returns with the lobster on the silver plate, turns to my mother and says, “ZEES ees your LOB- STAIR, 1.5 KEEELOS” with indignation. My mom meekly replies that she doesn’t think she ordered a lobster and he snorts AGAIN, puts the lob-stair down, pulls out a menu and says “you ord-air salade homard, homard ees lob- stair!” then slams the menu shut in our faces. My mom says quietly, “very good, lobster salad then.” And he walks away totally disgusted.

The food arrives, the salad and the omelet are the best we’ve ever tasted, but I can hardly enjoy them thinking about that waiter. We finish, the bill arrives. That waiter charged me for a way more pricey omelet than the one I got and my mom’s salad was astronomically expensive. Now it was my turn to be indignant. I wanted to go fight the bill but my mom told me no, sit down, I’ll pay it and we’ll go. No discussion. I couldn’t believe my ears. “You mean we’re letting him get away with this??” Apparently so. We left and that waiter got his dirty money. I will never forget that restaurant and going back there and listening to that music made me laugh. I wasn’t too happy at the time, but now it definitely is funny.