The Goodale's Take Paris - Rouen to Normandy

The next morning, our first morning in France, we started off very slow, which was really to be expected considering the previous 48 hours of travel to get there.  (A good night's rest did wonders for the morning sickness, and for the rest of the trip it was annoying, but manageable.  However, some day I'd like to go back to France again so that I can fully appreciate French cuisine, particularly the cheeses.)  I'm not sure we left the farmhouse before eleven the next morning, but from my perspective we appeared to be a much happier group than the one that had dragged themselves through the front doors the previous night.

We drove through the French countryside, and into Paris.  My first impression of Paris wasn't really all that great.  It just looked like any other big, loud, crowded city, and that's never been my idea of a beautiful place.  That being said, how fair is it to judge a city from the freeway?  As it turns out, not very, but we'll get to that.

We drove through Paris and to a smallish city an hour or so outside called Rouen.  We were separated from the van carrying the rest of the family, but we had a navigation system in the car that was supposedly directing us to the Joan of Arc museum where we were to meet up with them.  What none of us had foreseen was the marathon that ran through the center of town closing all the main streets.  After some time of cruising around the city we happened upon the van, and together we were finally able to find a parking structure.  I am of the opinion that walking to our destination(s) ended up being rather ideal since we got more of a walking tour, well and an unintended driving tour, of the city as well.  I loved this city.  I loved it because it looked just as I felt that France is supposed to look.  The cobblestone streets, the corner cafes, the city center with a towering cathedral...all of it, right down to the street performer playing an accordion.

Regrouping outside of the parking structure.

Walking towards the center of town.

This appeared to me to be the main thoroughfare.

The cathedral.

We spent the better part of the day visiting the museum, which was interesting, (but not the sort of place where you take pictures) enjoying lunch at a corner cafe, touring the cathedral, and exploring the place on foot.  The weather was perfect, and really the day was pretty perfect right up until the end when the beggar on the street started shouting at my father-in-law in French for not giving him money.  I don't know what he said, but it didn't sound like he was complimenting anyone.  Other than that...perfect.

Once we left Rouen we drove for...a while?  I slept most of the way, so I don't actually know, but we arrived in the city of Caen.  Yet another city that I cannot pronounce.  The van got lost along the way and arrived at a much later time than our car.  We met up at our hotel for the evening, went to dinner, and then retired for the evening.  Everyone was starting to assume that look of exhaustion again.  Everyone but Vivian apparently who returned with us to the hotel and shouted with enthusiasm as she discovered that our bed was very bouncy, and made an ideal trampoline for someone her size.  We finally managed to calm her down and get her off to sleep.  I actually think that Justin and I may have drifted off before her.  However, she took about a three hour nap, and was up and ready to roll at 2 or 3 in the morning.  We were trying to talk her into laying back down, and really having no success with that, when somewhere through sick, tired haze I remember my older sister Sarah giving me a bottle of Melatonin and dispensing the advice to just keep it on hand, because you never know how she's going to do with time change.  As it turns out the time changes, and her internal clock does not.  We drugged our kid back to sleep.  It was a lifesaver, and there is no part of me that regrets that decision.

The next morning was an early morning.  The schedule was packed.  We ate breakfast and left for Omaha Beach.  This is a place I have always wanted to see.  The sheer size of this beach, and the unbelievable flatness of the terrain was sobering.

Omaha Beach

Justin and I remarked to each other that we would never want to crawl across that beach in full gear, not to mention freezing cold wet gear with machine gun fire ripping through the air.  I don't know if it left me with a fresh appreciation, or an added abundance of pity, for the men that endured that.  Probably a little bit of both.  After that we continued on to the US cemetery in Normandy.  We had a busy day ahead, so we were a bit pressed for time, and only had a couple of hours to devote to the museum and cemetery.  It was enough, but truthfully I could have spent the whole day wandering around that place.  They were so young.

There were a disturbing number of these.

The cemetery is situated just above the beach.  The setting is really kind of surreal.

Once we left the cemetery we drove out for a brief stop at Gold Beach, where the British landed.  Our stop there was pretty short.  Just long enough for all of Justin's brothers to rush down to the shore and risk their necks and ankles inching their way around a lookout point surrounded by jagged rocks, fortuitously without incident.

From Gold Beach we returned to Caen to visit a museum.  I hear it was great.  Vivian and I were sound asleep when we pulled into the parking lot.  I got out of the car, looked back at my sleeping baby, and decided to call it.  I was too tired, she looked tired, and I had to conserve some energy.  The family continued on without us.  When Vivian woke up again we went inside and met up with them for lunch at the cafeteria before we all continued on our way again, this time to Mont St. Michel.  

I had never heard of Mont St. Michel before my mother-in-law told me about it.  I'm glad she did though, because although it made for a very long day, it was absolutely worth it.  For anyone who reads this far and hadn't heard of it either, it's a monastery that was built on an island of sorts (it's an island during high tide, but surrounded by sand at low tide, although there are spots of quick sand, so walking out there is not advised) back in 709 AD.  So again this is one of these places that was like walking back in time, and I liked how it again looked the way that I thought that it should look.

Souvenir shopping on the way out.  I like that the street width hasn't been modified, even though it's definitely close quarters.

After that we drove back through the French countryside, which Justin has lamented over and over again that he wishes I hadn't been feeling sick and could have stayed awake to see more of, since it's allegedly beautiful.  We found a little creperie where we stopped for dinner and then started the long trek back to the farmhouse outside of Paris.  The van and the car were pretty much immediately separated.  This did not cause any concern until we arrived in Paris and suddenly we were routed off the freeway, and no detours were offered.  As it turns out, all of the freeways in Paris were under construction at night, and they just closed.  It creates a very frustrating scenario.  After some time Justin was finally able to navigate us far enough out of the city on city streets that we could get back on the freeway.  From there we drove back to the farmhouse where we sat in our car during a downpour, waiting for the van...and the keys to arrive, and speculating about when they would arrive.  To say that we felt annoyed when we discovered the next day that one of Justin's brothers was sitting in the back seat silently receiving text messages from that party about their ETA would be a bit of an understatement.  All the same, they did arrive, and we were able to again drag ourselves into the farmhouse and collapse in bed with instructions to not set any alarm clocks.