The Beaches of Omaha

This week has been a total blur, to say the least; because everything in Paris was coming to a close, our group was active nonstop everyday trying to pack in as much Paris into our final days as possible. We visited a few museums, had some great meals, and spent a lot of time together. Musee d'Orsay, one of Paris's most famous museums and the home of the Impressionist movement, was beautiful; I was able to see a few more Monet's (they've dedicated 2 whole rooms to him there!) and really enjoyed the architecture of the train station-turned-museum. Nothing too excited happened in Paris on Wednesday or Thursday... Friday, however, brought one of the craziest and most frantic days I've ever had.

Five of us decided that we could not leave northern France without seeing the beaches of Normandy and the memorials dedicated to the soldiers who gave their lives liberating France on D-Day in WW2 and the following months of the war. My father suggested we take a train to Caen since that is home of the most famous Memorial Museum, dedicated to the brave men and women around the world who have sacrificed everything for the sake of freedom. At the train station, we checked a map and made our way towards the museum, some 3 or 4 miles north of us; after 30 minutes of walking, we decided a bus would be our best option so we spent at least 45 minutes searching for bus tickets and finding the right bus stop.

We finally arrived at the museum after being in Caen for almost 2 hours and were shocked to find that the only mode of transportation from Caen to the beach is by a 5 hour guided tour, all of which were fully booked that morning. The receptionist suggested that we take a train to the city Bayeaux, 15 minutes west of Caen and just south of Omaha and Utah beaches. We made our way back to the train station and tried buying the cheap passes but realized that not only would the ticket machines not take our credit cards (stupid Eurochip), they ONLY took coins, not cash. We frantically began asking people to change out our bills and shoving coins into the machines hoping our tickets would print before the train left. We grabbed the tickets and rushed on board only a minute or two before the doors closed.

Finally in Bayeaux, we tried hailing a cab from a company to take us to the beach; after promising that a driver would be at the station when we arrived, the manager of the cab company realized that he didn't have an extra driver and told us to wait 25-30 minutes, time we just did not have. Luckily, a random cab driver turned into the train station with just enough room for the 5 of us to hop in and began speeding his way towards the cemetery. When this French driver realized that we only had an hour to view the graves and memorial, he began calling friends of his at the train station to find us a new train. That's when I realized something very important... This man had not forgotten what American, British, French, and Canadian men had sacrificed 64 years ago. He kept repeating "you're American?... you need more time at the cemetery." After 25 minutes, we finally arrived and this entire day of frantically rushing around northern France suddenly disappeared from my mind.

This was another surreal experience for me, one that is very difficult to put into words. The aura surrounding this American memorial is like nothing I have ever experienced before. Walking on Virginian soil brought over from the States so that these brave men could be buried in American ground brought a wave of emotion over me. The quotes, the eerie calm of the sea, the US flags flying all added to my experience. We watched a 15 minute video entitled "Letters" about a few D-Day soldiers who had written home just prior to boarding their boats and giving their lives such that France might be free. One statement during this video stuck hard with me and I shall never forget its meaning (said by a Frenchmen freed during the liberation of France): "These thousands of soldiers gave their lives 6000 miles from home for the freedom of the French they would never have the chance to meet. That courage will never be forgotten, not by Caen, not by Paris, not by the world." Sitting in tears, I began to realize that magnitude of June 6, 1944 and what that single event in history means to the world today.

After an hour inside the memorial museum, we made our ways to the fields of 10,000 crosses marking the graves of American deaths in northern France. The air had this silencing feel to it and I stood in disbelief at the number of perfectly aligned crosses sprawled across these field where German bunkers and trenches once stood in opposition to freedom. Walking down to Omaha beach, standing in the waters of the English Channel and looking up at the ridge was another surreal site for me. My grandfather stood in that same sand on those same waters and saw the same ridge some 64 years ago as he sailed into the beach a few weeks after D-Day; instead of green shrubs and calm waters, he saw the bodies of thousands of dead soldiers, minefields, damaged tanks, bullet casings and other atrocities. Again, I cannot accurately translate my feelings into words but I can say with absolute certainty that I will never forget the 3 hours I spent at Omaha beach.

We had very little trouble getting back to Paris; our frantic experiences with the trains from earlier in the day prepared us for any problems we might have that evening. As usual, it was refreshing to be back in Paris and I slept in total peace that night, thanking God that those men did what they did 64 years ago to insure my freedoms today!