D-Disaster in Normandy

Well It finally happened-travel disaster. We had a hectic rental car pick up in Caen when I couldn’t find the Hertz office. I sucked it up and turned on my battery-consuming Googlemaps and the route looked like a big z with a couple of u-turns. WTF? Was that the most direct route? I tried to follow it, then realized it was on the car setting, not the walking setting! I don’t have the best sense of direction and that did not help.

As we loaded our bags, the prep guy tells me— “oh the radio doesn't work in that one.” I was tired and my kids were about to blow, so I took the key and the car with no radio. After the initial anxiety of getting on the correct highway was over, I wanted some music! I was pissed at myself for the next ten minutes for not insisting on another car. For those of you who think I am a total bitch (it’s a lot, I know), there you go.

Then we checked into our mediocre hotel. I‘ve splurged on our room for Mt. St. Michel, so I picked a budget hotel for Bayeux. It was rated good on booking.com and also listed by my buddy Rick Steves. I’ve stayed in hostels, B&Bs and budget hotels in Europe before, so I know what I’m in for. I’m not going to be one of “those” Americans and barge in requesting a big room and an elevator.

Can you see the hangers on the TV mount?
I guess that's where I was supposed to hang
our clothes?

First, no towel bar in the bathroom, so I moved a chair. But then there was no place to hang our clothes— and we were going to be there for two nights, I can lay some stuff out on the back of another chair. The advertised TV was a 12” mounted high up in a corner. And- the wi-fi didn’t work in our room, no big deal— I’ll go to the cafe (which also served as the reception desk) and use my computer down there while enjoying a perrier. I went up one floor to check on the kids and it was almost 10— time for a bath. The cafe was closing, so I packed up my perrier and headed upstairs. Wrestled the kids out of their clothes— no small task at 10pm — and out of the faucet came trickle of water. Then I tried the shower attachment, and it didn’t work. Now I was SEETHING. 

I might not have been so pissed if I hadn’t already caved on the radio, but I was served a shitty hotel room and I was not going to take it! 

I went back downstairs and the cafe was closed; I called the hotel’s phone number and got voice mail. Now I am SUPER pissed. I can’t even get on line to find another hotel! RAGING!! I remembered seeing another hotel two doors down, so I called them and they had a room for tonight, but not for tomorrow night— and it was twice what I was paying at the shithole. “Kids,” I said through gritted teeth, “we’re moving!” 

They were totally confused because heretofore I kept saying, “oh kids, it’s not that bad.” Then they got excited because it meant they got to walk down the street in pajamas. We packed up— which wasn’t that hard considering we didn’t have hangars- and marched down to the new hotel. 

The kids immediately charmed the staff when we barged in at 11pm with poorly packed, bulging suitcases and Cooper announces in French- I’m in my pajamas! They couldn’t believe he said it in French and we all laughed. Our room was a little annexed house that had an upstairs loft with two twin beds and a huge WORKING shower. 

The next morning I went to the old hotel to turn in my key and cancel the reservation for the next night. I was half regretting bailing because I had no place to stay and I could tell I was up for a fight to get my money back. Sure enough they wouldn’t even honor my cancellation for the next night, much less refund me for the previous night. I walked back to the lovely hotel with no rooms and choked back the tears. What had I done? I had just been preaching to the kids about the old “bird in hand” and here I was with three kids and no place to sleep, one hotel room beyond my budget and 150 euros spent on one that I never even slept in. 

I have learned that the slightest sense that something is wrong can send my kids into an anxiety meltdown. So I pulled up my big girl britches and packed up our stuff. 

Since we had to leave Bayeux to find a hotel, we quickly visited the tapestry and then hit the road for the D-Day beaches. I say quickly not because we were in a hurry, but the tour was quick. I had been warned that the tapestry’s audio guide moved fast- and there’s no pause or rewind button. We got totally lost after the 8th scene (there are 32), and we were surrounded by old people— I don’t think anyone under age 70 goes to see this thing— unless they’re homeschooled—- the pace required a near sprint— how are they keeping up? Well, none of them were, and we were all left to look around at each other like, WTF? Only they were over 70 and probably wouldn’t think “WTF”… but anyway.  I went back and got a new device so I could start over, Samuel and Cooper totally gave up and and went to sit outside. Of course, we had covered it in homeschool, so Samuel was able to follow along, Cooper was pissed the guy was talking so fast and Bennett and I shared my device after I restarted it. I got a terrible crick in my neck from sharing the earpiece with someone a foot shorter than me while we both walked sideways quickly trying to keep up with the recording. Think sideways sack race, only we were connected at the head. I think it was worth it, I can’t tell. Sadly, the film in the museum was better than the actual tapestry, which is sort of sad.

I like driving. It’s so American. I don’t feel like I am at the mercy of anyone, so far I haven’t encountered any handwritten signage, and I can just go when I want. 

We visited a couple of the D-Day beaches before heading to the American Cemetery. Not much to report, as it’s kind of somber. Cooper said-“mom, I’m kinda sad,” after we passed through the museum there. He was intent on digging for artifacts though and I could not deter him. Since we got there in the afternoon, it was near closing time when we got to the beach below the cemetery. He still wanted to dig though. He thought maybe there should be a metal detector app. 

I found a great hotel just off Omaha Beach. It was the kind of place Taylor and I fantasize about having some day— is it a great hotel with an awesome restaurant, or is it a fabulous restaurant with a wonderful hotel? It was beachy, but totally Northern France, modern but authentically regional, great art with unpretentious beach chairs set around fire pits in the large back garden with boules pits and ping pong tables. The buildings were linked together with little boardwalks and the whole place was walled in by giant groomed boxwoods. Cooper said “I feel like I’m at a giant beach house!” 

The boys were sad to spend only one night there and I was just happy to be there. It wasn’t the most direct route, and it wasn’t the one I planned, but I got where I needed to be and we were more than alright.

PS: As I post this, I jet received an email from our hostess in London; there’s a problem with the hot water in the building and she’s trying to find a place for us. Here we go again!