Sabbatical Journal: 8. Caen; Angers; Bordeaux

Saturday, 24 August. Drive from St. Witz to Caen (130 miles). Hotel Mercure.

Saturday morning we head off toward our next stop: Caen, deciding to take the country roads. We make no progress at all until we find the A13 and head in the direction of Rouen.

Saturday, 24 August. Caen. Cathy and I still have not figured out how to pronounce the name of the city we are in. (Cayenne? Cain? Cannes? [correct: kah]) How confusing the language makes everything! In England, it seems as though there is a secret code (i.e., culture): all the things that have been programmed into you since you were a little kid. No matter how familiar things seem to be in England, we often feel like strangers, trying to crack the code. In

France

the same thing is true (what do all the different parking signs mean, do people usually go too fast, are people rude or matter of fact, WHAT ARE THEY SAYING???), but our ability to crack the code is substantially hampered by the language barrier.

We try our little smatterings of French, but that's all they are. For the first time, traveling seems to be foreign, adventurous, different, even though, as we look around, things still seem familiar.

How strange are the incidents in the Soviet Union (is the name still applicable?) over the past week. How exciting to be so close at this particular point in time. We are watching the news (Sky News from Britain, first English TV since arrival). The headlines are that Gorby will abolish the Communist Party; Raisa is in the hospital with a heart attack, etc. Just to be close is exactly what I had in mind when I told Gary and the firm that now would be an interesting time to be in Europe. We are witnessing the end to the central story of our century.

Paris was busy, interesting; we walked miles and miles. We did not even eat dinner for two nights, not returning to the room until 10 or so both nights.

From our hotel we noticed the frequent comings and goings of 747s. After we left the hotel today near noon, the sight of planes taking off remained with us for such a long time that I thought we were going round in circles instead of heading west. Our 170 mile trip took about four hours, with a lunch stop for crepes and Oranginas. The lesson learned: forget the back roads and stick to the main thoroughfares! I've discovered that the green signs indicate the main direction you are going and help a lot, after you figure out what they mean.

We arrived here at about 3:30. Caen is a nice change after Paris, though it seems to be a busy little town. We visited the Chateau of William the Conqueror (it's easier to understand the centuries of problems between England and France from this side of the Channel, recalling that William, after all, was French). The Chateau has a small art museum and the most magnificent dahlias I have ever seen: perhaps thirty different colors, many of them approaching four feet tall. For good luck we saw a wedding at the Chateau's small chapel. Afterwards we walked by the shops, which are open until 7, and then visited McDonald's -- not because we missed eating there, but because Cathy and I had in mind dinner at the hotel dining room for two, not six!

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Sunday, 25 August. Caen. We are in Normandy. Caen and its surroundings still bear the scars of World War II. In the morning I go for a run through the market square, where a Sunday market is underway, then down toward the harbor and the sea. The market is fabulous! There are live rabbits and chickens and snails, beautiful vegetables and flowers, cheeses, roast chicken and fresh fish. C'est magnifique! -- especially compared to the Saturday Saffron Walden market.

We attend 11 o'clock mass at St. Pierre and afterwards walk back through the market, where we purchase a roast chicken. We gather into the car and head to the Normandy beaches and the Peace Memorial (Musee de Paix). Lunch is a piq nique in the car: the chicken is wonderful! The museum is a spectacular. It is filled with the history of World War II, including the French resistance. The museum shop has worthwhile souvenirs; I purchase a cassette of old Maurice Chevalier songs.

After visiting the museum we drive to Omaha Beach, arriving at 6:15. It is too late to see the American Cemetery, but the day is still bright and we walk down the hill, past the gun sites built into the hills, and down to the beach. The tides are out at least 200 yards. We wander about the beaches with the children, contemplating the scene 47 years ago, trying to explain to the children the incomprehensible meaning of it all.

Monday, 26 August. Caen to Le Mont St. Michel (80 miles). Arrive Angers 6:15 p.m., Hotel Mercure. (200 miles). We get another(!) late start, leaving around noon, set further behind by my leaving my computer in a drawer in our hotel room. Mont St. Michel is very crowded, but we stop for a pleasant late lunch, outdoors on another sunny day. I buy a bottle of the local specialty, spiked apple cider.

The drive to Angers is pleasant, through the now yellowing countryside. Occasionally the smell of cow manure is overpowering. We see many places where we would like to stop and poke around, but proceed on toward our destination.

Angers is very different than Caen. Caen is close to the ocean, like a Santa Monica. Angers is a big city, next to a river. Our hotel is in the downtown area. In the evening we dress for dinner in the hotel dining room. Before dinner we have cocktails and Oranginas, like the very civilized people we are!

Tuesday, 27 August. Leave Angers, arrive Bordeaux 3:45 p.m., Hotel Mercure, Bordeaux le Lac. (213 miles).

Mara and I walk around in the morning looking for an ATM, trying a few before finding one that accepts my Barclays Visa direct debit card. We return to find that our three year old THOMAS IS LOST! He has walked into an elevator by himself and Cathy, Robert and Jeffrey are in a panic. I finally find him in the arms of a maid on our floor.

Our routine has become: big breakfast at the hotel (included in the price), gas up (sans plomb) at half empty, baguette with ham and butter and oranginas for lunch, Visa withdrawals, children grabbing handfuls of sweets at hotel reception. Most hotels have locked gates which require identification to enter late at night. I say my name and our room number in French, which I practice all day.

As we cross over a bridge, driving into Bordeaux, we follow an ambulance with two bare feet in the window: dead or alive? We arrive at the hotel around four o'clock. Bordeaux is the worst weather we have experienced on our trip, very hot and muggy.

Our two hotel rooms do not adjoin, but are on opposite sides of the first (second) floor lobby. We do not worry. We are more concerned with the worsening heat wave. There is little air circulation or cooling in our rooms. We are near a lake and Cathy doesn't like to keep the window open at night for fear of mosquitoes.

After check in, the boys and I drive into town and walk around the shopping area. Back at the hotel, we discover the Simpsons on TV in French (they sound almost the same!). Later we go for a swim at the other Hotel Mercure, which is just down the street. The children are scolded slightly because of their noise and splashing.

Tuesday 27 August. Angers. 8:55 a.m. Sunny and clear.

Dodgers swept by Cardinals. Braves are one game out, per International Herald Tribune (IHT). Day in the mid 80's today. I feel better the further we are from Paris. The country is more relaxed, friendly.

Same. Bordeaux. 8:15 p.m.

Mercure Hotel (the other one) swimming. Thomas has just skinned his knees (second time) and his hands, and is terrified by the sight of a little blood. He is tired and sick (a little cold, but a cough again). I bought an inexpensive fountain pen today in Bordeaux.

Sights on the road: Sunflowers here are like cornfields back home. They are dead and dying down here, greener up north. When they ripen their heads full of seed bow down: in prayer, in adoration to the sun, in contrast to how they appear while growing: looking at the sun with attendant eyes. Corn, lot of corn, more as we come further south. We can't figure out what all the sunflowers are for. Seeds? Oil? Margarine?

It was very hot today, even at four or five, 85 degrees with high humidity. Cathy stayed up in the room and watched Charlie's Angels and some game shows (confessed she used to watch games on TV in the summer, too many, then scatter when her father came home). I remembered the same one summer, but I watched movies, not games, and my father did catch us and yelled at us for not doing anything.