A View From Pointe du Hoc...

Pointe du Hoc, Normandy, France

December 15, 2007
N49°23.762
W000°59.182

Operation Overlord was more than just full scale attack on the beaches of Normandy. At Pointe du Hoc 225 US Army Rangers made an assault on a 30 meter cliff that overlooked both Utah and Omaha beach. It was believed the Germans had large guns mounted at Pointe de Hoc that would cause massive causalities if not destroyed prior to D-Day. The plan was simple… just hours before the assault on Utah and Omaha, the Rangers would land on the beach below the cliffs at low-tide, use rope ladders to scale the huge sea wall (while avoiding enemy fire), capture and destroy the large guns from the Germans, and radio back to command when the job was complete. No problem.

The night before D-Day, the Allied Forces dropped tons of bombs on the areas where the forces would be landing the next day; hopefully forcing some of the Germans out of the area and essentially “softening-up” the beaches prior to the landing. The area around Pointe du Hoc was severely damaged by the bombs the night before; however, the Germans still remained as the Rangers attempted to scale the walls.

As the Rangers tossed their rope ladders up the cliff, the Germans would cut then down and riddle them with small arms fire, a soldier would fall to his death, and another man would take his place, throwing-up his ladder and begin scaling the wall. Their job was to capture the guns and there was no turning back.

After several hours of ferocious combat the US Rangers were able to proudly report that their mission was accomplished, and their brothers, preparing for the attacks on Utah and Omaha beaches, wouldn’t have to worry about the guns at Pointe du Hoc. The Rangers started the day with 225 men and finished with 96.

Today, we had the opportunity to see where the proud Rangers did their work on D-Day. Approximately 30 acres of land surrounding Pointe du Hoc was given to the US Government by France in 1979 and the area remains pretty much the same as it did in 1944. The bomb craters are clearly visible. German bunkers are a bit of a wreck, but they still remain, barbed wire still winds through weeds and mounds of earth, and the massive gun turrets still overlook Omaha to the right and Utah to the left.

We slowly walked through the site, taking our time, looking down the cliff to the sea below, amazed at the bravery and paying respect to the Rangers of Pointe du Hoc. When we were sufficiently frozen, with our scarves wrapped up to our ears, we headed back to the car for a little warmth. We were very happy we took the time to see Pointe du Hoc, another important piece of D-Day history for Americans.

A History Lesson...

Omaha Beach, Normandy, France

December 14, 2007
N49°21.551
W000°51.197

It was another cold winter morning; our breath made large clouds of smoke in front of our faces and frost covered everything in site. Inside the car we were nice and warm, but the temperature outside oscillated between -2 and 1 Celsius. We knew it would be really cold at our destination, Omaha Beach, since the winds would be ripping off of the channel.

We pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, bundled up in tights under our pants, gloves, scarves, hats and several layers of clothing. We got out slowly, bracing ourselves for the cold and, at the same time, knowing what we were about to see changed the history of the world as we know it today. The soldiers who rest in peace in the cemetery fought for freedom and paid the ultimate price in one of the most infamous battles in history.

As we walked out toward the cemetery, I looked down upon Omaha Beach. There was a steady breeze coming up the bluff making my eyes water, but the waves were calm and the surrounding area beautiful. I tried to imagine the scene in the water on 6 June, 1944, D-Day, and the largest amphibious attack in history of war. The water was full of ships, and Higgins Boats, designed by Andrew Higgins of New Orleans, for this exact moment in history—the day the Allied forces would bring wave after wave of men, in mass force onto the French Coast, reclaiming France from the Germans and, ultimately, defeating Germany.

The boats were designed to unload equipment quickly by dropping a large ramp in the front of the boat. The plan was to get close enough to shore to unload hundreds of thousands of men, tanks and equipment, circle back, and get more of everything to quickly unload. However, the tide was rough that day; the captains of the Higgins Boats couldn’t get close enough as Germans were shooting at them from above, from the exact area where I am standing today. From my vantage point it was clear that anyone on the beach that day would have been an easy target.

For Operation Overlord (code name for D-Day) to be successful, there had to be an element of surprise. The Germans felt the beaches of Normandy were an unlikely location for the Allied forces to attack. The Allied Commanders did their best to confuse the Germans by building false air strips, military bases and leaking false-intelligence to support the German’s belief that the attack would surely happen to the north, in the channel closer to London.

As the men (really young boys, most 18-23 years) were in the waters, headed to their designated beaches, a speech was simultaneously read to all men. In the words of Dwight D. Eisenhower:

“You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.”

In the morning of 6 June, 1944, when the Germans looked down onto the water, they were surprised. Literally thousands of ships were off the shore of Utah, Omaha, Gold, Sword and Juno beaches and steady streams of boats were coming ashore. It must have looked overwhelming. The Americans were responsible for Utah and Omaha, unarguably the two toughest beaches.

The rough waters prevented several of the boats from getting close enough to shore for the ramps to work properly. The ramps were lowered, men jumped out, only to find themselves underwater with 90 pounds of equipment on their backs. They had two choices at this point—cut off the pack or drown. Unfortunately, for some, they couldn’t think fast enough and they simply perished before they reached the beach.

The boats that did make it closer had to avoid booby traps created by the Germans. Most of the traps were underwater mines; exploding and killing entire ships of men. The greatly important Sherman tanks drove off the end of the ramp and simply sank into the water. Only two of the tanks actually made it onto the beach that first day. The men who did make it to the beach had very few supplies; some had no guns, no ammunition, no first aid supplies and no food. However, those brave men found a way to survive and persevere.

At Omaha, the Americans lost thousands of men, and as Marc and I turned away from the water and looked at the Crosses in the perfectly manicured lawn. There are over 9,000 American soldiers buried in the cemetery; Crosses and Jewish stars, in perfectly lined rows stretched as far as we could see.

We walked across the lawn, reading several of the names, ranks, home states; many perishing in June and July of 1944. I read the names aloud, no one else around to hear, I wondered when the last time anyone uttered their names. Robert Scott, Ruel Sanford, Jimmie Monteith. When was the last time someone thought about these men? Who were their families, who were their friends, what did they imagine they would grow up to be? Most importantly… will they be remembered in another 60 years?

With our faces frozen, our noses running and hands numb, we headed back to the Visitor’s Center. The center shows short movies commemorating some of the men who fought that infamous day. One of the men turned down a promotion to stay in the front line with his comrades; another, a surgeon, asked for a transfer from a safe hospital to care for the injured on the front line, never telling his wife who was home with two kids; and one more, a pilot from Ceres, CA who thought he was invincible after fighting in North Africa and Sicily.

As we walked through the cemetery, we saw a group of French students on a field trip. The teenagers, acting like teenagers, ran through the cemetery, snapped pictures and somewhat listened to their teacher. We wondered if these kids really understand the significance of what the Americans and Allied Forces did for their country 63 years ago, or do they only know the America of today—the one in Iraq under false pretenses. We can only hope future generations continue to understand the importance of 6 June, 1944, D-Day.

“To those we owe the high resolve that the cause for which they died shall live.”

A Nice Surprise in France...

Dinan, France

December 13, 2007
N48°27.018
W002°02.657

Our journey north through France continued a little before 11:00 AM. We only wanted to make it to a little town named Dinan. According to the map, the drive should be 150 KM; a little less than 100 miles. No problem, after being on the road for several hours yesterday, a two hour drive would be a breeze.

The view across the countryside was much more enjoyable today, especially since all of the fields were covered with frost. It was nice to look out of the car window, but I didn’t want to venture outside since the outside temperature registered at -1C; it definitely sounds warmer when you think of it as 31 degrees Fahrenheit.

Luckily, the drive was very easy (especially since I was the passenger) and we arrived in Dinan a little before 1:00 PM. We found a recommended guest house inside the old castle walls and set out to explore the town. The Old Town, or area within the castle walls, was built in the 14^th century; again reminding us how young our country is.

Dinan ended up being a quaint, picturesque, village we thoroughly enjoyed; taking us back to our visit of Cesky Krumlov. At night, the streets inside the castle walls were decorated for Christmas, thousands of lights and trees illuminated our way. We finished our night in at a local pub that has been in business for over 20 years and enjoyed a pint of a French stout and the company of the bartender and a couple locals.

We enjoyed our time in Dinan, even if was only for one night, it was one of those little surprises we’ll look back upon fondly.

Passing Through Bordeaux...

Bordeaux, France

December 11, 2007
N44°49.597
W000°33.404

As we passed through Irun, Spain into Hendaye, France, we were instantly thrust into another language and culture. Our quick “si, si” became “we, we,” and our “gracias” became “merci”. After spending the majority of the past two months in Spain and Portugal it was a challenge to just switch gears and turn on our grade school French, if you want to give us that much credit.

Today’s relatively short journey finished in Bordeaux, France where we grabbed a room close to the train station, since we are only staying for one night. Plus, the train station is only a short walk from a restaurant I scouted out and have been looking forward to visiting over the past 2-3 weeks, Cassoulette Café. After tapas and pintxos for nearly every meal over the past two weeks, I was really looking forward to a piping hot cassoulette, the perfect cold weather dish.

I fondly remember my first cassoulette. It was at Angel’s of Russian Hill, a very exclusive, invitation only restaurant in San Francisco. One winter night, when we were invited to the restaurant, the set menu included a savory cassoulette complete with duck confit, chicken, small chunks of pork and haricot beans. The entire dish was baked to perfection in a small casserole dish, with the right amount of bread crumbs on top. As we ate with the chef, we complemented her on the tasty dish; perfect for the cold, foggy San Francisco evening.

It was this exact dish, complete with duck confit and cannelini beans, I envisioned and craved, on this chilly winter evening in Bordeaux, France. I was positive Cassoulette Café, where you pick your ingredients, would provide us, well me, with what I desired. As we walked through the city of Bordeaux, cold winds making our noses and eyes water; I couldn’t stop talking and thinking about the warmth of the dish. We even made sure to walk by the restaurant to ensure it still existed—Marc suspected, with all its build-up, it would be closed-down, like so many other over-hyped restaurants on our trip.

When dinner time rolled around, we bundled up and set out for Cassoulette Café. After we were seated our waiter explained the menu and I quickly realized I wasn’t going to find the savory fare I was looking for. Instead, in France, a cassoulette, or casserole, is anything cooked in a terra cotta casserole dish. The taste of beans, duck and chicken evaporated and I quickly had to male a choice between zucchini or potatoes au gratin.

I have to admit, the dishes were good, but I am still in search of the perfect cassoulette. I hope I don’t have to wait for another invitation from Angel’s of Russian Hill, because as everyone who has been invited knows… the menu is never the same twice!

The Angry Bay of Biscay...

San Sebastian, Spain

December 10, 2007
N43°19.542
W001°59.064

The calm, serene sound from the waves crashing outside our window quickly turned loud and angry, booming and reverberating off of the buildings. The blue waters of the Bay turned frothy and milky white as the waves crashed over the seawall. So large at times they reached the building we’re staying in across the street.

Our room is on the third floor of the building, but it was not spared from the repeated crashes throughout the night. On at least two occasions the waves were so large that they actually reached our balcony, knocking over a chair, a plant, and blasting open the inner door to our bedroom. There were literally gallons of water on the balcony, 3-4 inches deep. On previous nights we slept with our door to the balcony partially open and the storm shutter half way down to let the sweet ocean air into our room. Luckily, maybe it was a premonition; we battened down all the hatches last night.

This morning, after lying awake most of the night due to the merciless sounds of the waves, we opened the wooden door to assess the damage. The balcony floor was covered with dirt from the uprooted plant, the chair on its side, and an inch of saltwater slowly drained into the street. The glass railings protecting the balcony were hazy and covered with sea salt. We could hear the sounds of an electric drill and hammer working feverishly. Where, we do not know. The waves, obviously tired from last night’s performance, were bouncing off of the sea wall, as the sun shone down upon them—at least for a brief moment.

We’ll head out today, our last day in San Sebastian, and continue to explore the city. It will be the first days the stores are open since arriving. Hopefully, as we head out the winds and rains will have died down, and tonight the unforgiving Bay of Biscay will remain calm and allow us to sleep—to enjoy the peaceful, serene sounds of the waves crashing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

When we finally headed out into the streets this morning, we turned towards the sea and witnessed the destruction from last night’s performance. The railing along the sidewalk promenade was gnarled and tossed aside, a parking meter, uprooted from somewhere, was in the middle of the street still on its concrete base, boulders the size of very large beach balls littered the street. The windows of our building were knocked out on the first and second floors, as was all of the glass to the balconies, the worst damage in the unit just below us.

Each time the wave crashed throughout the night, I could hear the “Whoomp” before it crashed down; however, I had no idea of the damage and destruction the sea was causing only a few feet below us, even tearing the paint off of the exterior wall.

As we stood on the street, taking pictures and making videos, the sea once again splashed over the sea wall, drenching us. I have a feeling the large crashes will relentlessly continue tonight. Maybe we should stay a little further from the water during our trek up the Atlantic Coast.

An Immaculate Day in Spain...

San Sebastian, Spain

December 9, 2007
N43°19.542
W001°59.064

The waterfront along Playa de la Concha is packed with both tourists, mostly Spanish, and locals alike. Even though people are out walking for exercise, they’re immaculately dressed in furs, jewels and stylish boots. The woman are out strutting their new winter fashions, it’s almost like a catwalk in the middle of December, I bet it’s even crazier in the summertime when the beach is packed with sun worshipers.

We enjoyed the walk along the waterfront. Not only did it allow us to enjoy the views of the Bay of Biscay and dogs and people playing on the beach, but it gave us our daily exercise. When we reached the western end of the walk, we realized we were with the same group of people throughout the walk, we smiled and acknowledged them. Literally, hundreds of people were out walking, enjoying the day, yet another holiday in Spain, Immaculate Conception Day.

The children that were able to reach the end of the promenade were circled around several eight inch holes in the granite walkway. When the surf came in a burst of air would shoot up through the holes, blasting them with a gust of mist and wind. One young girl, who couldn’t have been more than seven, bent over looking directly into the hole as the wind shot-up, it shook all the skin on her face and sent her hair straight up into the air. Other children stood near the rail overlooking the bay, providing warnings of giant waves that were advancing. You knew a big blast of air was just seconds away when the children would scream and run away from the rail; of course, always too slow to avoid the splash of a giant wave, soaking them to the bone.

As we made our way back to the center of town, people were exiting churches and pouring into the streets. Dressed in their Sunday best, many made their way to the closest pintxo’s bar, while others grabbed fresh baguettes and headed home for their holiday meal. Marc pointed out what a strange phenomenon it was that all of the baguettes the women were holding were missing the ends… hmm?

One thing that struck us as being incredibly odd on this day, a weekend, just a mere sixteen days before Christmas, is how all the stores were closed? Not just mercados, but clothing stores, electronic stores, toy stores… pretty much everything except pintxo bars! A holiday weekend, with tons of tourists in town, a great time to make some money as a business owner; it would be unheard of to close-up-shop in the States. But this is one of the best things about being Spanish; it’s all about quality of life. There’s plenty of time to shop before Christmas rolls around. How much time do you really need to by a few gifts? No one seemed to be stressed about the stores all being closed; they were simply enjoying the time with their families and the holiday weekend.

Think about it… maybe the stress Americans feel is self-induced. Maybe we should worry less about the number of presents and constant shopping and worry more about quality time with family, friends, and of course, wine and pintxos!