Omaha Beach, Normandy. I was here several years ago over a Thanksgiving week. It was cold and no one was on the beach. It was eerie. In July, everyone was out to enjoy the wonderfully warm July sun and the cooling breezes off of the English Channel. Some were even bathing in the extremely cold water. We took our shoes off and walked in. The cold was shocking, but it felt wonderful on my tired feet. We are walking, on average, 8-10 miles per day. And for as much as I think that I am bringing comfortable shoes, they always fall short of comfort.
After lunch, we moved to Point Du Hic, the point where US Army Rangers scaled the cliffs to get at the Germans. After the war, the French left it as is, which is phenomenal. Nature has reclaimed its land, but it is mowed so that sightseers can navigate the giant craters that the bombs carved into the landscape and the bunkers. I can't express how beautiful it was as we meandered, climbed, and remembered. My young niece said to me, 'it is so sad that all of the soldiers died here, but I'm happy that they rest in such a beautiful place.'
As it is ligt here until 10 p.m., we were able to move further along the coast to the battlements. There, we found bunkers and guns in the middle of hay fields as the sun was just beginning to set. In the truest sense of sublime, we remember the horror while exsisting in beauty.
We didn't roll back into Paris until 1 a.m. The restaurants were all closed in the area of our hotel. We called the front desk to ask for suggestions. He thought that we were crazy to be looking for dinner so late. He did think to call the good van. The van pulled up, and sild bugers out if his trunk. They were delicious.