Okay, so you wouldn't be incorrect to call me longwinded. The following is a resume of the first 2 days of our trip - yes, the first 2. More will be coming soon...
My trip was amazing! Not only did I get to see a lot of France, but I got to spend time with my mom, Rosemary, and Laura. My mom and I were discussing the trip and agreed that we had a great combination of people, as we all have different personalities and abilities and talents. Laura was the designated photographer, I was the translator, and, as we are both under the age of 25, our moms were charged with driving the rental car. It took all four of us to figure out the maps and to keep our eyes peeled for and interpret the exit signs. There were times when one of us felt tired, crabby, sick, or all three. The others would then act as encouragers. As Rosemary said, it was "the trip of a lifetime," and we all have memories that we will enjoy for years to come. Without further ado, a little résumé of our trip:
Friday, March 2: At 1:30 am, I had still not yet packed my suitcase. I had, however, reserved my taxi for 5:40 am. So what did I do? Went to sleep, of course. I got up at 4:30, called Juli to wish her a happy birthday, and started packing, throwing, as they say in French, "n'importe quoi [whatever]" into my suitcase. I'm not always too sharp in the morning (or is that "I'm always not too sharp in the morning?"). At 5:38 am, I was still packing, brushing my teeth, and looking for the bag of gifts that Caroline wanted to send with me for her relatives, with whom we would be staying that night. I did make it successfully to the train station and onto my 6:12 am train, scarfing a pain au chocolat on the way. I made it to the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris without incident and with about two hours to spare. At 11:15, I saw that their plane had landed and went up to stand by the doors where they would be walking out. For some goofy reason, I thought that they wouldn't have to go through customs in France, since I didn't have to. I think the reason for that, though, is that I had already gone through in Iceland. Needless to say, they did have to go through customs and so didn't make it out until about an hour after their plane landed. Each time someone would appear in the doorway, I would get my hopes up and subsequently dashed as I saw that it wasn't them. I was so excited when I finally saw them; I cried as I hugged my mom. We immediately made our way to the Hertz counter to pick up our rental car, sort of a cross between a station wagon and a minivan. The car was a non-automatic, which posed no problem, as everyone in our group knew how to drive a stick shift. As it had been several years, though, since our moms had driven a non-automatic, it was an adventure getting out of the parking lot, and we all applauded Rosemary when we finally made it out onto the highway. After a sticky drive in the Parisian traffic, we were well on our way to Normandy. As the other members of the car were sleeping, Rosemary and I made the unilateral decision to be adventurous and make a pit stop in the city of Rouen, where there were supposed to be some historical sites, including a cathedral. Well, I think they were there, but we never found them. We spent over an hour driving around aimlessly in the rain, as we did not have a detailed-enough map. We chalked that up as a learning experience and went on our way, after stopping at a pharmacy to ask for directions. The pharmacist was extremely kind, drawing me a map, and I used that situation as an opportunity to demonstrate to the other gals that the stereotype that a lot of people have of French people as rude is incorrect. Less than an hour later, however, the counterexample materialized. We were rolling along on the superhighway, minding our own business. My mom was driving, and we were in the far left lane, moving with the flow of traffic. Seemingly out of nowhere, a car containing the gendarmes (French military police) pulled up behind us and then around us, the gendarme giving us a dirty look as he passed by. They had their lights flashing and a sign that said "Suivez-moi - follow me." We followed them, exiting and parking at a gas station. The first gendarme came up to my mom's window and said the French equlivalent to, "Give me your license and the papers for the vehicle, please." I hadn't heard what he had said and got out of the vehicle, going around to tell him that I would translate. I asked him what we had done wrong, and he explained that we had been driving in the left lane. Okay...so? He took the papers back to his car to examine them, and his colleague held out his hand to me, saying, "That'll be twenty-two euros." I asked him why, and that's when he turned mean. "Because there's a fine!" he spat at me. "Well, I don't understand the law," I told him. We went back and forth like that for about 5 minutes, me insisting that I didn't understand why we couldn't drive in the left lane (there were plenty of other cars in the left lane) and assuring him that we didn't know about this rule beforehand, as we are tourists, and him explaining it to me and telling me that if he had been in the U.S. and had broken a traffic law that he hadn't know about, the police would not be cutting him any slack. I wasn't sure if he was trying to take advantage of us or not. He finally told me, exasperated, that he was not going to spend the whole night discussing this and that we could pay the fine right then, or we'd have to pay it at the "poste." Oh, really? I thought. We can go to the post office to pay this fine? Maybe it is legitimate, then. While I was pondering that, the rest of the group decided to just go ahead and pay it right then. It's a good thing, too. Because I found out later that "poste" also means the gendarme station. Yikes! We got one of the gas station employees to explain the law about the left lane being for passing only. He was a little more patient with me than the gendarme had been. We headed back out on the highway then, intent on diligently obeying the traffic rules from there on out. We did pretty well until the last day of our trip, as you will hear about a little later on. We continued on, arriving in Beuzeville, Upper Normandy, as night was falling. Although I had the address of the bed and breakfast owned by Caroline's aunt and uncle, I, prepared as I was, had absolutely no indication as to how to get there. So I called them to get directions. I'm not exactly strong with directions and maps. I pretty much need the mapquest formula to be assured of actually arriving to my destination. The French way of giving directions doesn't make it much easier: "Well, you know, just drive between the bank and the bakery there...you'll go about 400 meters and you'll see a roundabout to your left. But don't turn there. Keep going until you get to the first major intersection, then turn right at the big roundabout. Then you'll make a left at the fork in the road, and..." Too many extra landmarks, not enough detail as to what constitutes a "major" intersection. I tend to retain about half of the directions when they are given to me. "Okay, guys, we need to drive next to the bank...there will be a roundabout...we gotta make a right somewhere." I had to call them back a couple of times for further clarification. We drove around for a little while in the pitch-black forest, which was fun. We finally made it there, and Evelyn was down at the road to meet us. They were having company that night, so we didn't actually get to visit with them until the next morning. After admiring the beautiful and typically Normand rooms, everyone fell into bed.
The room I stayed in:
Saturday, March 3: We had breakfast and good conversation with Evelyn and Françoise, who speak English (and German), as well as French. They are also spirit-filled Christians, somewhat of a rarity in France. They gave us some advice as to how to go about our sightseeing that day, and we headed out.
On our way out of the forest, but still out in the middle of nowhere, we stumbled upon our first castle. It looked to be a private residence, but we got out and took some pictures anyway, hoping no one would mind. All of a sudden, I heard a woman calling to me from across the street, "Excusez-moi, madame!" I thought we were getting in trouble for taking the pictures. I walked across the street to find out what she wanted. I found a spunky little old lady (she had to be in her eighties) with several missing teeth standing in front of a cottage. She explained to me that if we took the side street, there would be another castle for us to see. I asked her if there were people living there. She told me that there were and that she had been working there since she was eighteen years of age (with a little thirty-year stint in the south of France in the middle). She then exclaimed over my beautiful hair and asked me what I was doing in France. She sent us on our way with a big smile and wave. We meandered up the side road and saw the other castle, which had a charming stream in front of it:
On our way to our next destination, we drove across the Pont du Normandy (Bridge of Normandy), a cable-stayed road bridge that spans the river Seine linking Le Havre to Honfleur. After that, we headed to Honfleur, a port town known for its old dock and harbor and six and seven story houses. Many famous artists, including Monet, used to come to Honfleur to paint because of the unique way in which the sun reflected its light on the water.
We walked around and then had lunch in Honfleur, not too long after which I started to feel sick to my stomach. Uh oh. We continued on to Caen, where we visited the Memorial de Caen, a museum dedicated to the history of the 20th century. This laid a good foundation for our next adventure, the beaches of Normandy, the site of the D-Day landings by American, British, and Canadian military. We missed the American cemetary, as it was closed by the time we got there.
Laura touching the English channel for the first time
I wasn't really wearing the right shoes
Next, we made our way to the city in which we would be staying that night. We arrived without a clue as to find our hotel (which we had just chosen randomly from a printed-out list that I had). Night had fallen once again, and we were all ready to get out of the car, especially me, who had started to feel seriously nauseated on the way there. We drove around for awhile until we found a big map of the town outside of the Office of Tourism. We found the road that our hotel was on and started driving down it. Since it was a one-way, we kept having to turn, go around the block, and re-start down the street, but farther away from the center of town. We were relieved to finally arrive at our hotel. The older gentleman running the hotel was very kind and seemed a bit amused by us. Once we got up to our room, I curled up on the bed, hoping to calm the circus going on inside of me. The gals gathered around and prayed for me. My mom, without even thinking about it, said, "And I pray that whatever is causing this would just sail right out of her-" We all burst into laughter. Everyone was hungry, so even though it was late, we headed to a pizza place across the street. I was hoping for a salad, but the proprieter was only doing pizzas at that hour. I decided it would be wise not to get anything. About ten minutes after we had sat down, I knew I was going to throw up. I practically pushed Laura out of my way in my attempt to leave the table. I asked the pizza guy where the bathroom was, telling him that I didn't feel good. "Uh oh," he says. "I'll show you." He pointed me down the stairs and out into the backyard. As I made my way down the stairs, I saw a door on the other side of the grass, but I didn't make it that far. Yep, puked four times behind the pizza joint. I'm so cool. When I finally did make it to that door, it wasn't even the bathroom - it was a shed! I went back to the hotel after that, much to the pizza guy's dismay, "But...they don't speak any French??" At midnight, I woke up and lost absolutely everything that was in my system. It did indeed "sail right out" of me.
More coming soon (I can tell you are on the edges of your seats)! :)
