We got a bit of a late start leaving the auberge because we had to pack and check out. Gilles, the proprieter, informed Lisa that he didn’t take credit cards, so our departure involved a trip to the ATM in Arromanches, and back to the hotel again, to settle our bill. Gilles is a bit of a poet and musician, his poems and CD’s being prominently displayed in the foyer of the tiny farmhouse that is his inn. He also had his somewhat unkept hair in a ponytail down to the middle of his back. It looked like he could take the elastic off and rock out at any time. He’d have to take off his provincial wool sweater first, as that made him look more like a grandpa. After getting his cash and returning, Lisa ran in to pay the tab and returned with one of Gilles’ CDs that he had given to her as a gift (after listening, we can now imagine him with boxes of these CDs in the back room gathering dust). Out of curiosity, we immediately unwrapped and placed the CD in the car player, and headed down the road. Not what we expected. From this soft-spoken, mostly country-looking sensitive type came some of the hairiest hair metal we have heard in a long time. And hair metal in French just doesn’t sound right. They had some chops and some catchy bits and pieces, but after two songs and part of a third, we couldn’t take it anymore, pulled the CD and filed it away permanently.

One last trip through Arromanches on the way to the American Cemetery and along those narrow French country roads that string together hundreds of tiny 10-building towns whose walls and front doors open directly onto the street just a couple of feet away. As we approached the cemetery, we took a turn off that we had taken before that leads to Omaha Beach and then winds back up to the parking area near the front gate of the cemetery. As we drove up the hill, we saw a parade of uniformed soldiers marching away from the First Infantry Monument with women and men dressed in French Resistance clothing in tow. It was like time travel and very neat to see so many people passionate about these historical and important events. We found out during our trip that most of these people are not even Americans but their connection and the feelings they have for the events surrounding the Normandy landings drive them to become involved and collect memorabilia and act out events of the period.

We parked just as it began to rain. I guess visiting a cemetery in the rain is somehow fitting. Fortunately it wasn’t pouring so we were able to walk around without getting soaked for the first little while. We first visited the large entry where the landings and subsequent battles are depicted in concrete and stone with descriptions of the events in French and English. While we were reading and viewing this information, it did begin to pour and we hid up under the monument with many other visitors and a handful of surviving veterans clad in blue suits, medals, caps, and ribbons. Most of them were British veterans visiting the American Cemetery as the main memorial services had happened the day before and they now had time to pay their respects to their American brothers-in-arms. It was touching to see the affectionate families take care of these heroes, keeping them from getting wet, finding chairs for them so they could sit, and visitor after visitor stopped by to shake hands and have brief conversations with a few of the remaining men who experienced the great losses of precious life and also the great victories which led to the end of the war.

When the rain let up a little, we ventured out onto the lawn where the headstones spread out for acres and acres. It was such a sobering experience to see in person a loss of life so great and know that many of America’s finest young mens’ lives were cut short in this series of battles. The vast majority of graves have names and ranks and home state, but many instead had the inscription “An Unknown Brother In Arms Known But To God”. My eyes teared up when I saw the first of these to think in sadness that a family somewhere never found out what happened to their son, brother, or friend, but also in some measure of comfort that truly that son is known to God and is with Him. Lisa and I strolled through the grass, bending every once in a while to straighten or unwrap a wet flag from its post to let it fly free in the wind and to read a name here and there and wonder who each of them were and at the fear they must have felt at the end.

Lisa mentioned to me her thoughts about the sheer loss of potential. Those thoughts mirror mine each time I travel through any cemetery, but particularly those graves in war cemeteries as knowing that every life in those were cut short and largely unfulfilled. We both wondered as Lisa voiced, “Which of these boys could have been the next Einstein, Edison, Ford, Carnegie, or any other great mind or great heart of their time?”.

The cemetery is oriented in a line running east-west above the shore of Omaha Beach and while the view out to sea is beautiful, with their headstones, all of the boys are looking towards home, to the west.

The middle aisle of the cemetery was unfortunately cluttered with the remnants of the platforms, seating, and other installations from the memorial services the day before. But as our focus was on the graves themselves, it didn’t ruin our view. As we made our way back toward the entrance of the cemetery, we commented to each other that we had experienced the day’s only span of sunshine while we wandered through the headstones. And as we completed our tour of that sacred place, the rain began to fall again, and we quickly made our way back to the car. It was really nice to have that break in the weather to allow us to pay our respects and spend some quiet time in the tranquility of that beautiful place.

From the cemetery we returned to the town of Bayeux which contains the best Normandy war museum we could find. It sits directly adjacent to the largest of the British cemeteries right in town. The museum contained a detailed description of the operations from D-Day through the liberation of Caen, as well as a comprehensive collection of memorabilia and vehicles, uniforms, and equipment used during the war on all sides. They even had a film clip of two of the German generals surrendering to the Allied command against Hitler’s will, as his orders were that the German Army fight to the last man, the last bullet, etc.

One of many interesting things we learned is that the general in charge of northern central France disobeyed Hitler’s orders to destroy Paris as they retreated. Ironically, Paris owes a debt of gratitude to the disobedience of a German general and so many hundreds, even thousands, of monuments, buildings, and invaluable pieces of history were left intact.

After the museum, we considered heading for our temporary home in Paris but then quickly decided that we hadn’t had spent enough time nor had very good pictures of Omaha Beach because of the rain the day before. We returned and found a sky with sun and richly textured clouds over a clear and colorful beautiful beach that shows almost no sign of its violent past. As we walked around the area of the First Infantry monument, we explored various remaining German bunkers that are in most cases difficult to see unless you are looking for them, as the vegetation has nearly overtaken them. The largest of the remaining bunkers is the one on which sits a monument to the Naval Engineers who played a special role in making the success of the Normandy landings possible. We climbed around the hillside over the beach taking photos and taking in the views before getting back in the car and returning to Paris.

While we had originally considered going to Normandy on Memorial Day, it was much better to have gone on the anniversary of the landing when all of the people, vehicles, events, and veterans were gathered to commemorate that time, and for me a fulfillment of the desire to visit since I was very young.