After driving out from Paris, my first stop was the famous tapestry of Bayeax (1,000 years old and tells the story of William the Conqueror). It’s sort of interesting but 100s of British school children underfoot make it sort of hard to take. The tapestry itself is 250 feet long, with little embroidered cartoons telling the tale, embroidered Latin footnotes help those who cannot understand the pictures (French and English signs outside the display case help those who cannot read Latin nor understand the pictures). But honestly, it’s a big rug. Hard to get too excited.
After, I drove up to Arromanches-les-Bains (to see the British prefab harbor of Mulberry Harbors – or what is left of it – quite amazing project – the Allies dragged these giant pontoons across the English Channel to create the man-made harbor) and Longues-sur-Mer (to see 152mm German guns that were part of the Atlantic Wall – they are still there – fascinating). But I found Omaha and Utah Beaches a bit anti-climactic, as I have found all famous battle sites I have ever visited. Most battles, apparently, take place on rather random ground which holds no inherent interest and thus years after the battle that ground reverts to its boring origins. Omaha Beach just looks like a sort of normal holiday resort (Waterloo is just a field, as is Austerlitz, etc.)
The next day, I visited the north coast of Bretagne. In a word: Fabulous. Le Mont St. Michel is an amazing little island and St. Malo is a really cool walled city.
But the highlight of the day: a real traditional crepe. It was all it was cracked up to be. I had been told by a native Breton I met in Paris that he hated the Parisian crepes because they were always too thick. I thought he was a bit daft, as crepes are pretty damned thin (they are crepes afterall). But having just had a real crepe, I can understand what he meant. The thing was paper thin, if even that. So thin that there is no way one could eat it in your hand. It was folded delicately on a plate. I had a traditional one of just butter and sugar, and it tasted not unlike ambrosia. Really splendid. If you ever get to St. Malo, you must stop at Ti Nevez Creperie at 12, rue Broussais .
On the drive out to Normandy I bought a few CDs from a Auto Route rest stop: Dalida (the chanteuse and comedienne) and Johnny Halliday. And I must say I just don’t get it. Either of them … pretty awful stuff. I might have to donate them to the Rental Car gods as a sacrifice. I can think of no reason for Dalida's fame, except for her great lungs (on display in the CD jacket photo). I guess she might have been quite funny, and it occurs to me that her singing could be a big joke too (perhaps one that no one really understood -- they thought she was being serious). Johnny Halliday is awful. No other word to describe it.
For the drive back to Paris, I have bought another CD, a "Summer 2006" mix of what is hot this summer ... I am sure I will hate it (although it did have one promising song by a frog on it).
No comments:
Post a Comment