One may think that its a little out of character for the Baroness to be a WWII movie buff, but I am… I grabbed the first opportunity presented to me in the form of a ferry/bus trip and began my One Woman Reenactment of the D-Day landings in Normandy, though admittedly I was more or less distracted by the culinary delights the French had to offer instead.Ferry Crossing
Believe it or not I handled the floor quite well on the overnight crossing, and
psyched myself up at 6am in the morning watching the distant continent and my fate drawing closer and closer over a piping hot croissant and a less than average ferry café au lait. Honfleur
As I leaped off the boat in heavy armour (my 2 pound jacket from Edinburgh), I found myself very little action in the small fishing village of Honfleur. Not a Jerry in sight, so I eased into the relaxed and untamed atmosphere of this quiet Saturday morning. It would be perfect for a reenactment for the Casino scene from The Longest Day, what with a few beat up abandoned buildings with the missing windows and a lady dusting her carpet from a second floor window. To stock up for the long journey along the Normandy coast, I headed towards the farmers market after a brief walk along the cute windy cobbled streets. The market is unbelievably well stocked for a small place – particularly the stall which sells a 50-plus range of wild boar sausages, though after having a few sample slices, I can’t be totally convinced that I want to bring body odour home on the ferry with me. Further along the market something pungent is simmering away. Apples are of course a major produce in the area re the famous cider, and here they are being cooked with - wait for it, wild boar sausages!!
BayeauxI rolled along in the Tank towards Bayeaux, one of the first major towns to be liberated from the D-Day landings, marked by the statue of General Montgomery The grand towering cathedral is one marvelous piece of architecture, and equally interesting was the ancient Bayeaux Tapestry, which was once revered by Napoleon as a major inspiration to plan out an invasion of England which he never got round to (yes, short men are relentless like that). I was however more interested in cleaning out the deli. Here is the cheese I had for lunch and I will be bringing home some crepes marinated in Grand Mariner… And I am pleased my negotiation skills in my meager broken French has not totally escaped me.
British Cemetery (Bayeaux) & the American Cemetery (Omaha Beach)
Time to pay some respects to the service men and women of WWII who gave their lives in this ruthless and unforgiving time in history. It puts things into perspective when you see the sheer number of graves row after row and how young most of the casualties of the D-Day invasions were. These are the graves of two men who died for their country at the same age as me this year, and the crosses and stars-of David at the American cemetery at Omaha Beach.
Omaha Beach
Ayyyyyyy Yaaaaaa! BANG BANG BANG BANG BOOOOOOM! This is me storming Omaha Beach – attacking the enemy with the absolutely deadly element of SURPRISE! ready to save Private Ryan. And a thorough map of how I could have invaded Normandy if I could commanded 150,000 men.
ArromanchesI rolled along in a Zundapp motorcycle sidecar onto Arramanges, where I carried out an reenactment of pulling the mulberry harbours together. These are makeshift floating ‘bridges’ (to save every ship to havae to dock) built by the Allies to transport hundreds and thousands of tonnes of military equipment and supplied to support the liberation of Europe from England for the several months following D-Day.
Big Party in Caen
I headed to Caen in the evening for some well-deserved dancing and cigar puffing, as there is a huge rock music festival going on, perfect for a village liberation scene where I would give the locals chocolates and cigarettes and in return they all kiss me, feed me, give me cider, throw a big party and make offers of marriage to me. (as shown in the Carentan episode of A Band of Brothers). But instead they just ignored me and went on with enjoying themselves. Oh well. The Rock Music Festival is organised in a way where every 10 meters or so along the main streets you could see a different rockband
performing. The streets are swarming with partying people young and old, eating bloody frits and boozing away, obviously showing off in contrast of how meager my One-Woman mission looks. Given that most of the bands were quite bad, I had to force myself into having a Red bull flavoured ice cream just so I could keep up with the head banging with those teenage French goths. Interesting flavour but a bit over powering, and almost dissolved my teeth with the overt sugeryness and acidity. But for a cheap high, yeah I’d do it again for 2 Euros.
RuenI arrived in Ruen on Sunday morning on horse back. The cross on the left commemorates the place where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. Speaking of ‘stake’, I had lunch with two Australian compatriots (if you haven’t worked out that the Aussies have taken over the world then you’re very out of touch) who pretty much did an reenactment of the Mr Bean episode where Mr Bean ordered Steak Tartare. It really was literally a eeny meeny minee mo type menu situation because our French was so poor and the Waiter couldn’t speak ‘Strayaan’. No words could describe how hard it was to prevent me from laughing out loud when the bleeding lumps of meat was brought onto the table and presented to the two of them with their jaws dropped. For my part I had eeny meeny minee mo’ed myself into a Croque Madame, which I expected to get a female crocodile covered in some sort of alcoholic sauce, but it turned out to be a boring old fried egg on toasted cheese sandwich. Boooo!
And homeward bound via the scenic hills towards Calais, and sailing in from the white cliffs of Dover, with the thoughts of war behind me and a belly full of stinking cheese - a comfortable trip every intrepid soldier deserves.
