Last Friday, several of my classmates and I had the opportunity to escape from the "metro, boulot, dodo" (metro, work and sleep) routine of Paris and head to the provinces of Normandy and Bretagne for the weekend. While most of Paris still slept, we boarded a bus and set off for Normandy in the gloomy, overcast dawn.
Our first stop was the town of Caen, where we visited "Le Memorial," a museum dedicated to WWII and its aftermath. We strolled around the exhibits of artifacts and memorabilia and watched two short compilations of historical footage from the D-Day invasion. While wandering around the expansive, well-maintained grounds, I came across a striking sculpture of a revolver with its barrel twisted into a knot. I thought this simple work of art, appropriately titled "Non-Violence," was the museum's most memorable and meaningful testament to that dark period of history and to all of the world's conflicts since.
It became cloudy and began to rain as we left the museum for Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery; the weather seemed to mirror the somber tone of the trip thus far. By the time I walked down to the beach, the rain had ceased and the blue sky and white clouds over the English Channel created an interesting contrast with the light brown sand, colors I had never noticed while looking at the black and white photos of D-Day.
Walking on Omaha Beach felt surreal. It was strange to realize that on this serene strip of shore, the site of so much carnage and violence six decades ago, people were now strolling calmly and snapping pictures. As I scooped up some sand as a souvenir, I realized how lucky I was to be able to come to this place that so many Americans talk about but have not visited.
That evening, the old fortified port of St. Malo in Bretagne welcomed us with the sight of empty beaches and fine breezes from the Channel. After a rainy, dreary day my fellow travelers and I were treated to one of the most stunning sunsets I've ever seen.
The next day, we toured the ancient walls of St. Malo that miraculously survived the WWII bombings. I also learned that the fiercely independent "Bretons" place the flag of St. Malo that flies from the fortress higher than the French "tricolor." That afternoon, we went to the charming medieval city of Dinan where we enjoyed some filling Breton crepes and galettes. I was certainly not "famished in France" after that lunch.
Upon our return to St. Malo we visited the tomb of the French writer Chateaubriand, located on a tiny island accessible by foot during low tide. Like good college students, we went out again that evening and sampled the local nightlife, a ritual I often think of as our humble tribute to those American icons of the "Lost Generation" who enjoyed France so much.
Our last stop on this whirlwind tour was a visit to the abbey of Mont Saint Michel, which has its origins in the 8th century A.D. and is surrounded by quicksand at low tide. Although the place is now filled with throngs of tourists, Mont Saint Michel offers spectacular views of the almost mystical landscape of endless beach and sky, which I admired as long as I could before turning my back to it and starting the long trip home.
Miro Nikolov is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. His e-mail address is mn7752a@american.edu.
