When it comes to guide books, I've always been a Lonely Planet girl. So I was a bit alarmed when my dad starting talking about this Rick Steves fellow prior to our trip. He spoke of him in such high regard that I started to feel as though I was going to be the third wheel. However, after using his guidebook I take it all back. Rick is thoughtful and realistic. His directions are spot on and he offers practical and economical advice. With Rick's help, my father was able to plan the perfect French adventure. And I have to admit that it was nice leaving everything up to the men for a change!
I'd like to fill you in on a few of the other places that we stayed in France. After leaving Paris we went to a small port town called Honfleur. Honfleur is picturesque to say the least. We were lucky (and by lucky I mean thanks Rick!) enough to land there during the weekend where they have a street market that overtakes the town. I was excited to shop until I realized that cheap French flea market stuff is very similar to cheap American flea market stuff. But I did pick up a few scarves that became a staple of my wardrobe for the remainder of the tip.
Next we headed west and stayed in a working farm house. This was hands down my favorite spot of the trip. Our hosts were warm and welcoming and although we couldn't speak the same language we got along just fine with smiles and giggles. The other guests of the house included a Canadian family and a retired couple from Iowa. We all shared the bond of Rick Steves.
We spent a lot of time talking to the couple from Iowa. At one point we were talking about how great our hosts were and how trusting and wonderful it was for them to open their home to us. I made some comment about how that would never happen in America. The husband corrected me and said that if they came to his town everyone would be very accommodating and would love to host them. I believed him. It's funny how easy it is to give small town America a hard time. Especially during election years where they are painted as ignorant, gun-toting, right-wing conservatives. The fact of the matter is these stereotypical, small town, Marine Corp vet, farmers spend their free time traveling the world and showing gratitude and kindness to everyone they come across. We may not share the same political values but we certianly share the same human values. And chances are they execute them more consistently than I. It hurt a bit to fall off my high horse but it was a necessary reminder. I'm not sure if I can attribute this lesson to Rick as well...but I will anyways - thanks Rick!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial
The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial is a World War II memorial and cemetery honoring the American soldiers that died in Europe during the war. It is located in Normandy right on Omaha beach, the site of D-Day. Having grown up in D.C., I have been to countless war memorials and cemeteries. They are all beautiful, sad, and touching. So, although I was looking forward to visiting this memorial I wasn't expecting to be especially taken back. I was wrong.
Although the memorial is dedicated to the etire European fight during WWII the main focus is D-Day. When you first walk into the memorial there is a museum portion that is essentially a history lesson about the planning, execution, and results of D-Day. They have individual stories about soldiers that lost their lives during the invasion complete with letters home and interviews with their wives and children. I was really impressed with how thorough this portion was. They litterally took you through day-by-day, hour-by-hour. All the while there is a woman's voice reading off the names of the soldiers who lost their lives. It leaves a knot in your stomach and a lump in your throat.
After you leave the museum portion you walk out onto Omaha beach. The beach is peaceful and it's beauty rivals any other I have seen. Although you close your eyes and try, it's hard to imagine the battle that took place there June 6, 1944. After you walk across the beach you enter the cemetary portion. This section is reminiscent of Arlington National Cemetary in that it contains bright white tombstones against lush green grass. In this case, however, each tomb is either a cross or a star of david.
As I said before, I have been to memorials before. Even of this size and beauty. However, it was always easy to just be sad. To say, these people shouldn't have died. Whether it's the Holocaust Museum or the Vietnam Memorial, the emotions are pretty cut and dry. But this was different. It was confusing and pulled me in all directions. Am I a fan of war? No. Am I sad these 19 year old boys died? Yes. Did this day play a key role in bringing down Hitler? Yes. Would we have been able to any other way? I don't know. Did the death of these soldiers make the world a better place? I think so. So is it all worth it? Ah, I don't know! It's enough to drive you insane. Or at least me insane.
If you ever find yourself in Normandy set aside a few hours and spend some time here. If you don't find yourself in Normandy, set aside a few minutes to read about D-Day. You'll be glad you did...even if it drives you just a teentsy bit insane.
Although the memorial is dedicated to the etire European fight during WWII the main focus is D-Day. When you first walk into the memorial there is a museum portion that is essentially a history lesson about the planning, execution, and results of D-Day. They have individual stories about soldiers that lost their lives during the invasion complete with letters home and interviews with their wives and children. I was really impressed with how thorough this portion was. They litterally took you through day-by-day, hour-by-hour. All the while there is a woman's voice reading off the names of the soldiers who lost their lives. It leaves a knot in your stomach and a lump in your throat.
After you leave the museum portion you walk out onto Omaha beach. The beach is peaceful and it's beauty rivals any other I have seen. Although you close your eyes and try, it's hard to imagine the battle that took place there June 6, 1944. After you walk across the beach you enter the cemetary portion. This section is reminiscent of Arlington National Cemetary in that it contains bright white tombstones against lush green grass. In this case, however, each tomb is either a cross or a star of david.
As I said before, I have been to memorials before. Even of this size and beauty. However, it was always easy to just be sad. To say, these people shouldn't have died. Whether it's the Holocaust Museum or the Vietnam Memorial, the emotions are pretty cut and dry. But this was different. It was confusing and pulled me in all directions. Am I a fan of war? No. Am I sad these 19 year old boys died? Yes. Did this day play a key role in bringing down Hitler? Yes. Would we have been able to any other way? I don't know. Did the death of these soldiers make the world a better place? I think so. So is it all worth it? Ah, I don't know! It's enough to drive you insane. Or at least me insane.
If you ever find yourself in Normandy set aside a few hours and spend some time here. If you don't find yourself in Normandy, set aside a few minutes to read about D-Day. You'll be glad you did...even if it drives you just a teentsy bit insane.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
es mi cumpleaños catorce de noviembre
If you were to have asked me a week ago if I could speak spanish, I would have said no. I mean, I took it in high school but only seem to have retained the ability to tell people my birthday or ask them where I can find the library. So yes, just the important stuff. However, now every time I open my mouth to attempt French perfectly conjugated Spanish spills out. My dad, on the other hand, practiced level 1 French prior to our trip. He is now anxiously awaiting the opportunity to tell someone that he saw the girl/boy/man/woman running.
Despite our sloppy French and cluelessness everyone has been very accommodating and quite kind. Except for one angry shop owner who wouldn't let us eat our ice cream at his tables (ice cream is French for steamed vegetables). Other than him the general flow goes like this: We attempt French - We Fail at French - We ask if they speak English - They say "a little" - They continue in a use of the language that would make my AP English teacher Mr. Harris proud. Perhaps they have the same insecurity as I do with Spanish. Tomorrow I will ask someone when their birthday is.
Really, the most difficult part of our trip has been locating a US/Europe electricity adaptor. Remember when I said I had 3 jobs? Well, I misspoke. My 4th job was to bring the electricity adapter. I obviously forgot. So the past few days have been spent trying to find one on the French countryside. At first it wasn't that urgent because I only needed to charge my phantom blackberry, but then my camera died followed by my fathers. Now, the race was on.
You have no idea how difficult it is to ask for a US/Europe electricity adapter in broken Fren-Span-Glish. Especially when the "Fren" is limited to "hello," "thank you," and "I saw the girl running." So you are left to hand gestures. I'd like you to turn to your neighbor and ask them, using only hand signals, for a plug...yup, that's what I came up with as well. Awkward. So after offending countless French store owners I resigned myself to the fact that the second half of our trip would be captured only in memories.
That is until I met Eric. Eric is an employee at a Hechinger type store. Hechinger's? What? Do they still exist? Welcome to 2008, Tara. I mean Lowe's or Home Depot. We stopped in there for one last ditch effort. That's where I found the adapter. We had been looking for so long that neither my dad or I believed that it would really work. So I turned to Eric for verification. He poulled out his sword (x-acto knife), opened the package and tested it with my US plug. It worked! I was so excited I grabbed a very alarmed Eric, hugged him, and gave him a big ol US/Europe kiss. No tongue.
Despite our sloppy French and cluelessness everyone has been very accommodating and quite kind. Except for one angry shop owner who wouldn't let us eat our ice cream at his tables (ice cream is French for steamed vegetables). Other than him the general flow goes like this: We attempt French - We Fail at French - We ask if they speak English - They say "a little" - They continue in a use of the language that would make my AP English teacher Mr. Harris proud. Perhaps they have the same insecurity as I do with Spanish. Tomorrow I will ask someone when their birthday is.
Really, the most difficult part of our trip has been locating a US/Europe electricity adaptor. Remember when I said I had 3 jobs? Well, I misspoke. My 4th job was to bring the electricity adapter. I obviously forgot. So the past few days have been spent trying to find one on the French countryside. At first it wasn't that urgent because I only needed to charge my phantom blackberry, but then my camera died followed by my fathers. Now, the race was on.
You have no idea how difficult it is to ask for a US/Europe electricity adapter in broken Fren-Span-Glish. Especially when the "Fren" is limited to "hello," "thank you," and "I saw the girl running." So you are left to hand gestures. I'd like you to turn to your neighbor and ask them, using only hand signals, for a plug...yup, that's what I came up with as well. Awkward. So after offending countless French store owners I resigned myself to the fact that the second half of our trip would be captured only in memories.
That is until I met Eric. Eric is an employee at a Hechinger type store. Hechinger's? What? Do they still exist? Welcome to 2008, Tara. I mean Lowe's or Home Depot. We stopped in there for one last ditch effort. That's where I found the adapter. We had been looking for so long that neither my dad or I believed that it would really work. So I turned to Eric for verification. He poulled out his sword (x-acto knife), opened the package and tested it with my US plug. It worked! I was so excited I grabbed a very alarmed Eric, hugged him, and gave him a big ol US/Europe kiss. No tongue.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
King of France vs. King of Pop
Ok, so let me bring you up to speed as to where I am. Our time in Paris was a whirlwind. We went to a ton of beautiful churches, the Orsay Museum, the Rodin Museum, Versailles, the Arc de Triumphe, the Eiffel Tower, and Monet's gardens. Here are some highlights:
- I'm not sure if I have ever seen a Van Gough in real life. If i have, I wasn't paying attention. His heavy and bold use of paint reaches out from the canvas and grabs you. Amazing.
- Versailles is beautiful and ridiculous. It is 7,600 acres of what happens when you have too much time, $, and power. The most shocking part of the trip was that in each 18th century decorated room there was a giant metallic balloon animal. Except for one room that contained a ceramic statue of Michael Jackson and his monkey. I'm serious. Google Jeff Koontz Versailles. I can't imagine that any of the Loui's would be happy about that. Who's bad?
- Water lilies are stunning.
- Dictators get stuff done. Not to make light of the pain they cause, but between Versailles and the Arc de Triumphe you really can't argue the fact that they are doers. If we could get a temporary moderate green thumbed dictator with a dislike for greedy investment bankers, I really think things would bet cleaned up quickly. Maybe we could even get that Sept. 11th memorial started.
- My dad is a fantastic tour guide, but he keeps trying to get me to wear his sweaters. Vests and full sleeved. I don't know if we should pick up some new glasses or if I should lay off the crepes.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Cry Me A River Hunch Back
The Catholic churches in Paris are no joke. Prior to my day today, St. Patrick's Cathedral was the largest church I had been to. Not even close to what I've seen here.
I'll start with Sainte-Chapelle. This was originally bult to house the crown of thorns and the remains of the holy cross. Unfortunately these were melted down during the French Revolution. Now it is mainly known for it's intricate stained glass. The stained glass windows tell the story of mankind from Genesis through resurrection. So 3000 years in colorful glass. I have to be honest, I didn't read the entire thing but I'm going to assume they got it right.
Next there is Montmartre. The story is that a 4th century bishop (St. Denis) was beheaded by the Romans at Notre Dame. He then picked up his head, put it under his arm, and headed north. He finally collapsed at Montmartre so they built a church. Now to put this in perspective (as if walking with your head is not impressive enough) I traveled a similar distance my first day here. In order to do so I had to put my 30-year-old-yoga-doing-marathon-running-veggie-eating self into a cab. And as far as I know my head was securely fastened the entire way. Whoa Denis!
Finally there is Notre Dame. It is stunning an enormous. You could easily spend days there taking it all in. It makes you want to tell the Hunch Back to quit his whining. He could have been ringing that bell at St. John Neumann's in Herndon, VA and had a whole lot more to complain about than unrequited love. Glass half full buddy.
I'll start with Sainte-Chapelle. This was originally bult to house the crown of thorns and the remains of the holy cross. Unfortunately these were melted down during the French Revolution. Now it is mainly known for it's intricate stained glass. The stained glass windows tell the story of mankind from Genesis through resurrection. So 3000 years in colorful glass. I have to be honest, I didn't read the entire thing but I'm going to assume they got it right.
Next there is Montmartre. The story is that a 4th century bishop (St. Denis) was beheaded by the Romans at Notre Dame. He then picked up his head, put it under his arm, and headed north. He finally collapsed at Montmartre so they built a church. Now to put this in perspective (as if walking with your head is not impressive enough) I traveled a similar distance my first day here. In order to do so I had to put my 30-year-old-yoga-doing-marathon-running-veggie-eating self into a cab. And as far as I know my head was securely fastened the entire way. Whoa Denis!
Finally there is Notre Dame. It is stunning an enormous. You could easily spend days there taking it all in. It makes you want to tell the Hunch Back to quit his whining. He could have been ringing that bell at St. John Neumann's in Herndon, VA and had a whole lot more to complain about than unrequited love. Glass half full buddy.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
An American Ninja in Paris
24 hours later, and still chucking about my threesome, I arrived in Paris. Unfortunately my bag was not with me. Truth be told, I took such a round about trip from San Diego to Paris I would have been shocked if my bag was able to keep up. Plus this was a great opportunity for me to get yet another Delta toiletry kit in lieu of luggage. If anyone wants to borrow one of my Delta Sky Team t-shirts I now have two. Both in a perfect size muumuu.
The other amazing thing was that my dad found me a day late on a completely different flight, with no way of getting in touch. Who said you needed a plan?
So here I am, finally in Paris and it is cold. We're talking coat-scarf-sweater cold. Notice I didn't say flowy-wrapped-thailand-pants cold. Well, unfortunately that's what I was wearing. So my first stop was the pants store.
For such a fashion mecca, there are really no decent clothing stores by our hotel. I came across one that looked promising but upon further investigation they specialized in mom jeans. I'd rather freeze. Ultimately i ended up with charcoal cargo pants. Those, in combination with my black shirt, black jacket, and black chacos leave me appropriately dressed should Jason Bourne need help finding his identity.
The other amazing thing was that my dad found me a day late on a completely different flight, with no way of getting in touch. Who said you needed a plan?
So here I am, finally in Paris and it is cold. We're talking coat-scarf-sweater cold. Notice I didn't say flowy-wrapped-thailand-pants cold. Well, unfortunately that's what I was wearing. So my first stop was the pants store.
For such a fashion mecca, there are really no decent clothing stores by our hotel. I came across one that looked promising but upon further investigation they specialized in mom jeans. I'd rather freeze. Ultimately i ended up with charcoal cargo pants. Those, in combination with my black shirt, black jacket, and black chacos leave me appropriately dressed should Jason Bourne need help finding his identity.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Cin City
Bonjour - or "hello," as they say in Cincinnati which is where I spent the first day of my European vacation.
My day started off rather uneventful. I made it to the airport in time, didn't hop onto any random red buses, boarded my plane and was off. Really the only unusual thing was that I was still wearing purple eyeliner from the 80s prom the night before. This was not due to a lack of trying but you would be suprised how hard it is to get that particular shade off. This is the only explanation as to why such an obviously poor fashion trend lasted for so long.
My layover was in Cincinnati and this is where I found out that they had canceled the second half of my flight. What followed was a few hours of confusion and negotiation resulting in a discount voucher for the cheapest hotel they could find (my request), my very own Delta toiletry kit, and me wondering how I was going to spend the next 24 hours in Cincinnati.
Well, the first hour was taken care of because that is how long it took my hotel shuttle (a.k.a. child molester van) to show up. The driver jumped out in a stained white undershirt and told me that he would by happy to take me to the hotel but they had no electricity. Seriously? You want me to jump into your sketchy white van to take me to your molestation den? No. I chose rather to grab the next shuttle that came along.
Unfortunately this shuttle dropped me off at Cincinnati's most expensive hotel. Crap, Crap, Crap...I had such wonderful French plans for that money. Oh well, at this point I just wanted a room and a glass of wine. They couldn't get me in the former right away because their computers were down but they did point me to the bar. I do have to say that there was only a short period of time that I lost my sense of humor about this whole situation. A special thanks to BT and Brittanie for fielding my cranky texts and making me feel better!
This renewed sense of humor came in handy as I finally walked into my hotel room and found an alarmed couple sleeping in my bed. I thought this was absolutely hilarious and was kinda hoping they wanted to call it a day and split the price of the room. They said no, in the same tone I gave the molester van driver (karma - I shouldn't have judged) and asked me to leave in a volume that was entirely unnecessary. I really hope they are now able to see the humor, because from a cheered up, wine filled, purple eyelined perspective it was glorious!
My day started off rather uneventful. I made it to the airport in time, didn't hop onto any random red buses, boarded my plane and was off. Really the only unusual thing was that I was still wearing purple eyeliner from the 80s prom the night before. This was not due to a lack of trying but you would be suprised how hard it is to get that particular shade off. This is the only explanation as to why such an obviously poor fashion trend lasted for so long.
My layover was in Cincinnati and this is where I found out that they had canceled the second half of my flight. What followed was a few hours of confusion and negotiation resulting in a discount voucher for the cheapest hotel they could find (my request), my very own Delta toiletry kit, and me wondering how I was going to spend the next 24 hours in Cincinnati.
Well, the first hour was taken care of because that is how long it took my hotel shuttle (a.k.a. child molester van) to show up. The driver jumped out in a stained white undershirt and told me that he would by happy to take me to the hotel but they had no electricity. Seriously? You want me to jump into your sketchy white van to take me to your molestation den? No. I chose rather to grab the next shuttle that came along.
Unfortunately this shuttle dropped me off at Cincinnati's most expensive hotel. Crap, Crap, Crap...I had such wonderful French plans for that money. Oh well, at this point I just wanted a room and a glass of wine. They couldn't get me in the former right away because their computers were down but they did point me to the bar. I do have to say that there was only a short period of time that I lost my sense of humor about this whole situation. A special thanks to BT and Brittanie for fielding my cranky texts and making me feel better!
This renewed sense of humor came in handy as I finally walked into my hotel room and found an alarmed couple sleeping in my bed. I thought this was absolutely hilarious and was kinda hoping they wanted to call it a day and split the price of the room. They said no, in the same tone I gave the molester van driver (karma - I shouldn't have judged) and asked me to leave in a volume that was entirely unnecessary. I really hope they are now able to see the humor, because from a cheered up, wine filled, purple eyelined perspective it was glorious!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Travel 2: The Electric Boogaloo
Well, it's time for my next chapter in my 3-month-on-2-week-off life plan. For 
those of you doing the math it has been a bit less than 3-months-on but in today's internet instant gratification world it's to be expected. This time around my father and I are headed to France!
Originally, the plan was to attend a wedding of a distant 2nd-3rd-cousin-once-removed-by-marriage or whatever the correct Family Tree terminology is. Unfortunately, there was some confusion with the RSVP (or lack there of) so the excuse for my dad and I to take a trip together has changed to simply an excuse to spend some time together. No excuse needed.
As luck would have it my father read my Thailand blog and realized that planning isn't my strong point (or perhaps he has picked up on a thing or two over the past 30 years) and has taken the reigns. So the result is that I have little idea as to where we are going and what we are doing. This time, however, it is not because a plan doesn't exist but rather I have not been involved. Thank goodness.
My only jobs have been to learn French (which I will try to fit in tomorrow), pack (which I will certianly do after I write this blog), and show up for my flight on Sunday (the only obstacle being an 80's prom party on Saturday). I am confident that I will accomplish 2 out of the 3. Assuming that making the flight is one of the two I should be A-OK!
My final goal is one on a personal level. As with most people (I think) my behavior when around my dad stopped developing between the ages of 14 and 18. Unfortunately this was not a high point in my evolution and often results in me acting in ways that I would never deem appropriate towards anyone else in the entire world. Luckily, almost 2 decades later, I can now recognize that it is happening and always apologize immediately (or almost immediately) after the fact. Unfortunately I have not yet mastered how to prevent the ridiculous teenage behavior from happening. So, perhaps I should replace the "So My Dad Knows I'm Still Alive" tag line with "So You Know My Dad Hasn't Killed Me" for this trip!
Along the same lines I have a special note for my dad:
"Thank You For Everything Always"
"I Love You" and
"Gosh, Dad, I can't believe you said that!"
those of you doing the math it has been a bit less than 3-months-on but in today's internet instant gratification world it's to be expected. This time around my father and I are headed to France!Originally, the plan was to attend a wedding of a distant 2nd-3rd-cousin-once-removed-by-marriage or whatever the correct Family Tree terminology is. Unfortunately, there was some confusion with the RSVP (or lack there of) so the excuse for my dad and I to take a trip together has changed to simply an excuse to spend some time together. No excuse needed.
As luck would have it my father read my Thailand blog and realized that planning isn't my strong point (or perhaps he has picked up on a thing or two over the past 30 years) and has taken the reigns. So the result is that I have little idea as to where we are going and what we are doing. This time, however, it is not because a plan doesn't exist but rather I have not been involved. Thank goodness.
My only jobs have been to learn French (which I will try to fit in tomorrow), pack (which I will certianly do after I write this blog), and show up for my flight on Sunday (the only obstacle being an 80's prom party on Saturday). I am confident that I will accomplish 2 out of the 3. Assuming that making the flight is one of the two I should be A-OK!
My final goal is one on a personal level. As with most people (I think) my behavior when around my dad stopped developing between the ages of 14 and 18. Unfortunately this was not a high point in my evolution and often results in me acting in ways that I would never deem appropriate towards anyone else in the entire world. Luckily, almost 2 decades later, I can now recognize that it is happening and always apologize immediately (or almost immediately) after the fact. Unfortunately I have not yet mastered how to prevent the ridiculous teenage behavior from happening. So, perhaps I should replace the "So My Dad Knows I'm Still Alive" tag line with "So You Know My Dad Hasn't Killed Me" for this trip!
Along the same lines I have a special note for my dad:
"Thank You For Everything Always"
"I Love You" and
"Gosh, Dad, I can't believe you said that!"
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