D-Day; Normandy and Left-Over Germanic Volk

After a lovely stay in Not the Cheese Town, we headed off to the beaches of Normandy. This is, without a doubt, a childhood dream of mine. Apart from Cowboys and Indians, there was no game we played more in my childhood than fighting the Germans. We were raised on "Combat!!", "Garrison's Guerillas" and "The Rat Patrol" - oh, and don't forget "Hogan's Heroes".

We dug trenches, charged, bayoneted and, in the heat of action, engaged in swordplay (never mind historical accuracy) for hours and hours and days and weeks on end. We tromped through the forests, sniping from behind the trees * * * well, you get the idea.

We had engaged a professional guide to tour us around for the day. We saw Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, the American cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer (where the film "Saving Private Ryan" starts and ends) Pointe du Hoc, where the U.S. Rangers scaled a hundred foot cliff while under heavy enemy fire. The sites are incredible and very moving for anyone. For someone who knows a lot behind the story, they are unworldly.

To get to the starting point for the early beginning of the tour, we skipped breakfast and had to drive about 120 miles (a whole bunch of kilometers in Euro-speak). This error became more critical later in the day. The guide was encyclopedic in his knowledge about D-Day and drove us around for hours. He also apparently lived off of D-Day history, as we went well into the afternoon without food or water and only one quick toilet break. Perhaps he was trying to give us the "full Normandy experience", but a chocolate bar or a watery cup of coffee in a helmet would have been appreciated.

 

 

Finally, we were given a 15-minute stop at a gasoline station cafe. France has some very nice cafes at many of their gas stations. This was not one of them. The food was abysmal (not an easy thing to find in France), there was no alcohol (I didn't know that was legal in France) and the clerks were rude (okay, this can be found, but most of the places to which Karen and I normally go they are appreciative that someone wants to pay their exorbitant prices). All in all, a very winning experience.

We made it back to the town of Sainte-Mer-Eglise, which you may have seen in photos because it is the one with the Church with the paratrooper hanging from it. He is still there. It's a dummy, but there is still a parachute and a man hanging from there. It's a little creepy.

There was still about an hour and a half to go on the tour. I think the idea was that we were going to "walk about" Saint-Mer-Eglise and talk about the paratrooper. Karen and I looked at each other with that pained and wistful look of "Oh, God, will this never end? If we bag out now, we could be sipping a glass of wine in 15 minutes." No actual words needed to be spoken, just a quick whispered, "Ready to bag it?" on my part and a discrete nod on her part. That is one of the many reasons I love her.

I politely informed the guide that Karen was an asthmatic cripple with only minutes to live, but that we really appreciated his tour. I don't normally like to take the blame for these decisions.

We headed off to our Country Inn which promised to be nice and homey and I was certain could provide me with a drink. The Country Inn was a working farm, with cows and a wonderful calm air about it. We were greeted by a cute older couple with thick accents which we were assured were "Not German" but from one of the Benelux Countries. Of course, I remember traveling around Europe in the 70's when you could never find a German outside of Germany, they were all Austrians. Perhaps, Benelux is the New Austria.

The room was cute, in a tired country kind of way, and I went down to collect the luggage. As I was in the parlor I noticed an impressive collection of alcohol on the sideboard and I asked Fraulein Hostess whether I might have a drink later. She immediately headed towards the sideboard saying "I will get you one." I said, "I don't need it right now, perhaps I can bring in the luggage first." "No, I will get it for you now."

Given our day, it is possible that I looked like I needed a drink, so I couldn't fault her apparent enthusiasm. However, I knew that Karen was upstairs in the bedroom waiting for luggage to appear and I was pretty sure I couldn't fall back on the "But the Fraulein insisted I drink first!" argument. I politely waited for the drink to be poured and, to her credit, she was generous. I then asked whether I could take the drink up to our room. From the look on her face you would have sworn I told her I had a dead weasel that I'd like to put under the bed for good luck. The look passed in a moment, and she said, "If you must, but be careful and tell me if anything goes wrong." I'm not totally sure what could go wrong with a drink apart from running low, but I assured her I would take care. I should have heard the warning music at that point, but I didn't.

We came down for dinner that evening and met an interesting group of people, three from New Zealand and one from Arizona and we hit it off right away. They were touring the war sites (well, the three guys were touring and the wife of one of the New Zealanders was "accompanying" patiently waiting for the shopping and champagne portion of the tour later in the week much like Karen). We migrated to the parlor where the liquor sideboard beckoned. The New Zealanders stepped up to the bar and began to pour. In fairness, the bar looked exactly like most honor bars we have seen in many locations where you pour yourself a toddy and mark down that you took one so that the management will charge you later. I blissfully forgot my weasel experience as everyone seemed comfortable and joined them.

It was at this point that Fraulein Hostess and the Herr Host joined us in the parlor, but not in a convivial way. We received a stern chastising lecture about how it was "their Haus und not ein Hotel" and that "only they could be the gepourers" or something like that. We apologized and groveled in what we thought was an appropriate manner, backed away from the sideboard and promised we would all abstain from liquor as best we could.

Fortunately, one of the New Zealanders came to the conclusion that wine was not liquor and announced that he had some New Zealand wine which he would be happy to share. We all thought that was a marvelous idea, so he went to his room to retrieve the wine and share it with us. It turns out the Rule No. 2 in this Haus was that "only their wein can be geserved, no other" so we were scolded yet again, but not before we had topped off our glasses and finished the bottle.

Rule No. 3 came out shortly after that when one of the New Zealanders discovered that the bathroom marked "Bathroom" downstairs off the parlor was not available to guests. If you must go (and obviously, that in itself was not approved), then go to your room and use your assigned toiletten.

So, it was around 10:30 at night in the parlor and we were all sitting around quietly giggling. Karen excused herself to go upstairs as the downstairs room was not available. A few minutes after she left, Herr Host came in and started collecting glassware and blowing out candles, all the while glaring in our general direction. We were quiet as the room continued to darken. I finally broke the stillness by asking, "Are we supposed to go to bed?" "Ja."

We left the room and I went upstairs. Karen was readying herself to come back down when I entered our bedroom and she asked, "What's up?" "We are supposed to go to bed now." "You're kidding".

The next morning, we looked at each other and asked, "Are you ready to go down to breakfast with Uncle Adolph and Aunt Eva?" The dining room was empty and we thought the other group had left. It turns out that they were in the parlor thinking we had left. We quietly giggled, passed the breakfast plates, asked whether anyone wanted another toddy for the morning and then we packed up and said our goodbyes to the other group who had previously unwittingly booked more than one night at the "Gast Haus". When we last heard from them, they were busy tying bedsheets together, assembling fake identification papers and hoping to escape in the dead of the following night.