Live from Carentan

Here we are, in our grungy hotel room located, appropriately enough, right next door to a Citroen dealership. Carentan, France.

First: why did I think that it was a five hour drive out here? I don't know what I was thinking, except that I was awfully wrong. On Thursday afternoon, I discovered that it was more like eight or nine hours worth of driving. Oops. So we were left to decide whether we'd leave on Thursday, after work, drive to the general Paris area and find a hotel by the roadside to overnight in, OR get up at 3:00 a.m. for an early start. We went with option B, and I'm glad that we did, because I have learned now that I should always choose my own bed over a French hotel bed.

Our Normandy adventure began at 3:00 a.m., when we woke, showered and dressed as quietly as possible, then carried two sleeping children downstairs and loaded them into the car. Instead of going right back to sleep, which was part of my grand scheme, they woke right up and started horsing around. So, right away, my grand scheme was flawed.

We had just crossed over the border into France when Josiah hollered at Hans to pull over. Luckily, we happened to be on a side road and were able to park quickly and pull him out before he threw up everywhere. Unfortunately Annika isn't quite able to tell us when she feels sick, and so when she threw up a few minutes later, it was all over herself in a moving vehicle.

Stopped, put fresh clothes on them. Proceeded to keep driving. Since they said that they felt better, I foolishly gave them each a bowl of cereal. Fruity, colorful cereal. Well, you know where this is headed. They ended up both throwing up all of their Trix a half hour later. Stopped and wisely changed them back into their pajamas so that no further clothes would be ruined.

Then I started driving, and wonder of all wonders, the kids ceased with their throwing up. I'm not saying there is a direct link between Hans driving and the kids throwing up, but the fact of the matter is that they seem to throw up more whenever he is driving.

With all the stops and clothes changing and cleaning up of barf, our drive to Normandy ended up taking almost ten hours. Even though we were absolutely pooped when we got to this beauteous hotel (which Hans insists is not that bad), we headed out to see Omaha Beach and had supper at ze McDonald's.

So, what's wrong with the hotel? Let's just put it this way: the French are not as clean as the Germans. They are not even a quarter as clean as the Germans. This hotel is not that bad, it's just so amazingly ugly. Words fail to describe, so I'll be sure to shoot some pictures. Everything is slightly grubby and worn out. There are holes in the curtains and spots on the blankets, though the sheets are blindingly clean. The pillows feel like flabby sacks of hard cotton balls. What is it with Europeans and their pillows? It's like there's a EU law banning soft, fluffy pillows. The towels are absolutely threadbare. And we're paying the same price to stay in this grubby, suspect hotel room that we spent to stay in a room at The Grand Hotel in downtown Minneapolis, you know--the one with the TV and Aveda products in the bathroom, thick and fluffy towels and pillows and 500 thread-count sheets?

But see, I knew it would be this way based on our experience at Disneyland Paris, so I got smart: I packed my own pillowcases and towels.

Ha! Take that France!

More on Omaha Beach later. I had to bitch about the hotel room first. Today we're going to the American cemetery here, to St. Marie Eglise and Point Du Hoc. I will say this: the French people are very nice--not nearly as rude as everyone says they are.

I just wish they were a bit more uptight about the cleaning, like we Germans are!