Our first Saturday and Sunday in France were our weekend with Carmen "La Fabulous," our dear friend who lives in London. She took the Chunnel early Saturday morning and met us at the Quai Branly in Paris. This is the location of one of the only parking garages in Paris high enough to accommodate our rented Fiat 9-passenger van. Almost every single parking garage in Paris has a maximum height of 1.90 meters; our van measured 1.93. A bit of a nightmare, which we overcame in time.
From Quai Branly, we took the metro the Place Denfert-Rochereau where the entrance to the Paris Catacombs is located. We waited in line for a good hour (which was a surprise; I had no idea the catacombs were such a popular spot), but Carmen is so entertaining that the time flew by. She adores our kids and engages them so fully that each of them secretly believes that she loves him or her best. But I secretly know that she loves ME best.
The catacombs were fabulous. The wait was so long because they only allow 200 people to be underground at a time; once we were in the tunnels, we felt like we were basically alone, which was nice.
You have to walk for a good long time (after descending many, many stairs) before you get to catacombs proper. The tunnels were the headquarters of the French Resistance during WWII, which added to their attraction for our older boys in particular. When we finally neared the ossuarium, we turned a corner, and Tess squeaked, "I see a dead person!" We all looked, jumped, then laughed. It was a guard sitting in a corner, and he started laughing HARD when he heard Tess's outburst. The little kids were relieved to see that the catacombs contained piles upon piles of neatly stacked bones interspersed with old gravestones, but no intact skeletons. All the bones had been disinterred and moved to the catacombs in the 18th and 19th centuries, so they are nothing like the catacombs outside Rome. But they had a coolness all their own.
Once we were aboveground, we found a little restaurant that had room for the nine of us outside and had a quick saucisse frites et Fanta (Fanta is much less sweet in Europe--delicious). Then we went home and hung out with Carmen. The delightful thing about staying in France for almost three full weeks was that we had the luxury of doing just one or two things each day; we felt no pressure to pack things in and exhaust ourselves.
Sunday, we went to church in Paris. After church, we headed toward Père Lachaise Cemetery, one of Christian's requests, since Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde are buried there. On the way, we stopped at Chez Papa, a terrific little restaurant featuring dishes from the southwest area of France. We all gobbled down scrumptious entrées followed by more amazing French ice cream. How do they make it so much better? I must know!
Père LaChaise was a treat. I was envisioning typical grassy lawns dotted with headstones. Oh, no: this cemetery is instead chock-a-block with little above-ground tombs along the lines of what I've seen in photos of New Orleans, so it looks like a city in miniature.
The architecture was very diverse and always gorgeous; we happily wandered the sycamore- and chestnut-shaded pathways there for hours. We found both Oscar and Jim, as well as many other luminaries (we got a map at the guardhouse). It was the perfect stroll for a hot Sunday afternoon. The only bummer was that we had opted for the stroller instead of the baby backpack that day, and the cobblestones were so bumpy that Anne protested. She was fine being carried, though, so we traded her around as we walked. After our time there, we headed home for another fun evening with La Fabulous.
The next morning, Carmen had to make an early train so that she could get to work in London, so Patrick drove her to the station while I got us packed for our two-day trip to Normandy. This was to be our only long-distance adventure, as we had planned; we didn't want to spend money on hotels when we had the house at our disposal. Once Patrick got home (stopping at the boulangerie on his way), we set off for Mont Saint-Michel.
I've wanted to go there all my life, and after the 3.5-hour car ride, we saw the glory of it in the distance. We immediately started singing "The Holy Grail" trumpet fanfare (something we repeated throughout the day). Traffic was congested; Mont Saint-Michel is THE most visited site in all of Normandy. We didn't care, though. We parked in the vast parking lot and made our way to the town gate. Once inside, it was like being in a rock concert: a solid wall of flesh packed the narrow, precipitous streets. We took a few shortcuts through museums, though, and found a little lawn where we ate our picnic lunch.
After lunch, we got in line to go into the abbey. Apparently only one third of the visitors to Mont Saint-Michel go all the way up to the abbey, which boggles my mind. But fine: it was much less crowded once we got inside. The abbey is gorgeous, huge, and has views that are to die for. The little kids trotted around "playing castle" as we toured. We were there for hours exploring all the turrets and crypts. When we descended, the crowds had mostly cleared out. We bought fresh, hot, sugar-dusted gaufres for the walk back to the car, then drove an hour to Bayeux, where our hotel was.
We were tired once we got there, and I inexplicably hadn't done any food research, so we ended up eating dinner at the hotel restaurant. This was our only disappointing meal of the entire trip. The food was disgusting and insanely expensive. What can you do? We gambled and lost. The rooms were comfortable, though. The Big Three had their own room, while Daniel, Tess, and Anne slept in with us.
The next day, we went straight to the museum housing the Bayeux Tapestry. I was in full medievophile nirvana. Here is a cool animated version of part of it.
There was a little audioguide that accompanied our walk down the entire 230 feet of the cloth. The kids once again amazed me by being completely absorbed. "They cut off his head!" Daniel crowed at one point. I realized then that the tapestry really is like a cartoon or a comic book.
Bayeux Cathedral is very near the tapestry museum. I was worried that the kids would balk at yet another church (why I didn't have more faith in them, I'm not sure), but they adored Bayeux. It is a splendid one. "Yessss!" James cried as we walked up to it. "Flamboyant Gothic is my favorite! It's so much cooler than Romanesque."
From the cathedral, we walked to a bakery where we bought croissants for breakfast and pre-made sandwiches for lunch. Then we piled into the car and headed to Caen.
I had read that the WWII museum in Caen was amazing. I had also read that they had FREE, unlimited daycare for kids up to age 10. I was hopeful, but basically thought that all this was too good to be true.
NOT. Not only is the museum fantastic in every regard of its exhibits--including an extensive pictorial psychoanalysis of the world events that led from WWI to WWII and a very cool film of the events of D-Day, with the screen split so that you see footage of Allied preparations on the left and Axis preparations on the right--THERE IS FREE CHILDCARE. Given by a lovely, cheerful, and capable staff in a bright, open, clean, and well-stocked nursery. Anne promptly took a nap in a little crib in the darkened nap room. Daniel and Tess played happily for HOURS with a lot of other European children while the rest of us took our sweet time. Without this option, not only would we have had to drastically curtail our visit there, but also a lot of the material was simply unsuitable for the smaller kids. The childcare was heaven-sent.
After Caen, we headed to Omaha Beach. So. Cool. So. Non-American. Because if this site were in the States, the bunkers would be fenced off and have warning signs posted everywhere. But it's France, so the kids got to wander through and clamber on top of the emplacements (though I was a bit nervous at how unsafe it all was). We found a Corporal Wendell B. Perkins on the Memorial Obelisk there; it turns out he was from Binghamton, NY, enlisted in the Big Red One in 1942, and was awarded both the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star (we looked him up when we got home). He died on 17 June 1944 from wounds he incurred storming the beach on D-Day.
The kids eventually got their fill of the beach. Our next stop was the American Cemetery. How gorgeous it was: golf-green-like lawns with rows upon rows of white marble crosses and stars of David. It was late afternoon by now, so we stayed until closing time. The lowering sun gilded the air as the crystal-clear tones of a bugle playing "Taps" rang out. We all got a bit choked up.
I'd read that any visit to Normandy must include a meal of oysters in Courseulles (Juno Beach), so that was our last stop. It was about 6:30, early for dinner by French standards, so La Maison Bleue, the charming restaurant we found, was nearly empty when we arrived. We sat outside and watched a swan glide around the inlet near our table (the restaurant was right on the beach). I'll remember this meal all my life. The sunset looked like something from a Renaissance painting. Both the oysters and our entrée of steamed mussels were the best I've ever had, followed by more indescribable cheese and ice cream.
Only one event marred the beauty of our idyllic evening. Between the main course and the cheese, Anne got a bit restless, so Christian offered to take her for a walk. Unbeknownst to us, while on the beach, he got caught in quicksand. While holding the baby. He spent a good amount of time trying to get himself out (without calling for help--he was behind the restaurant and we couldn't see him), and finally had to set Baby Anne on a rock (which made her mad) so that he could lever himself out with both hands. He was in up to his knees by that point and was pretty traumatized. He got out, comforted the screaming baby, and headed back up the hill. I had gone looking for him to spell him, so I met him on the path. Patrick took him down to the water so that he could try to rinse off as best he could; it was pretty stinky mud. We put his shoes in the car and he put on flip flops for the remainder of the evening. Poor kid! He shook it off pretty well, though, and ice cream did much to restore his spirits.
After our lovely, three-hour meal, we got in the car and drove back to our house in Neauphle. I taught the kids some rounds; we sang a lot of the way home. It was only a two-hour drive, so we got in at about 11:00 and crashed after putting Christian's shoes in a bucket to soak.
The next day, we all slept in to our heart's content. We did extra laundry, then spent the afternoon in Montfort, which I've already told you about out of turn--that was the day of the bathing suit drama and the visit to the castle ruins.
This was a longggggg installment. Stay tuned for part quatre!