Spring Break, Part C: Normandy, France

The capital c and semicolon look like a big smiley face.

The final, and most wonderful, part of my spring break was flying to Paris. This city was one of my first ever abroad destinations, and I have since returned to have my love for the city, country, food, and its people increase tenfold. I would be meeting my mom and dad here, as well as seeing my host sister, Capucine, and her family for the first time in four years! As I boarded the plane in Athens, I knew that what was to come would be the most influential experience of my semester.

I arrived late and frazzled to the Paris airport, and without an internet connection, I wasn't sure how to find my family. I figured standing under the "Unaccompanied Minor Pickup" sign was equal amounts ironic and true, so I waited there. Before I knew what was happening, my mother's wild hair and Guerlain perfume wrapped me into a big hug, complete with tinkling jewelry (and French manicure, as I predicted). My father's canvas field jacket followed suit. They had found me.

Bounding soon after them was Capucine and her father, Yann. Capucine was twice as beautiful as I remember her; her big brown eyes at eye level with mine sparkled when I yelled, "Dude, we're old!" They widened when I bear hugged her, something that I forgot the French don't really do. Luckily I remembered before I hugged her dad, too. I was so happy to see everyone and I couldn't get the words out of my mouth fast enough. Capucine grinned, braces free, and laughed at all my stories of Purdue, Florida, and Milano; my three homes.

Capucine is a business student, like me, but since the French school system involves a three-year pre-uni program, she is not quite "in college" yet. Right now she is studying like crazy for the entrance exams. (Bon chance, ma chere!) Last year she did move out though, and now lives in a teeny-tiny flat in central Paris. The view of the Tour Eiffel makes up for the fact that there is no hot water.

Her home was also twice as beautiful as I remembered. It is pink house on the outside, and adorably antique on the inside. Oriental rugs cover the creaky wooden floorboards. The kitchen is centered around a hundred year-old copper, gas stove, and a huge, windowed nook holds the dining room table. Stairs snake all the way up to the attic, where the kid's playroom and Capucine's room is held. And, if you find the right staircase, you are led into the basement wine cellar that goes on for what seems like miles, with cases of wine older than anyone I know.

But what really makes the house a home, of course, is the family. Capucine is the oldest of three, with a 16 year-old not-so-little sister, and a 10 year-old brother. Maëlys is sharp as a tack, a brilliant baker, and sweet and sassy to the core. She does ballet, rock climbing, and theatre, and wants to go to engineering school after her bac. To describe her little brother, Tanguy, as a ball of energy and muscle packed into a heart-melting pair of big blue eyes is a massive understatement. The kid does not move from point A to point B without jumping or tumbling over something, can do ten upside-down wall pushups, and is known for opening the dining room nook windows and leaping out of them, rather than just going out the door five meters to the left. The kids are all sugar-sweet and crazy smart. I have never seen a ten-year-old hold a fork and knife as well as Tanguy does. As I get older, I realize more and more that great kids truly do come from great parents.

Capucine and her Papa, Yann

Tanguy being naughty!

After an amazing meal and a good night's sleep, my parents and I, as well as Capucine, Maëlys, and their dad, set off for our weekend trip to Normandy. Four hours away by car, the entire area of Normandy is perfectly preserved in memory of the WWII beach landings that took place on June 6, 1944. We first stopped in the extensive, and impressive museum called Le Mémorial de Caen. Once inside, you began at the top of a spiral, and went down, until you reached the exhibit on total war. From there, the hallways got darker and smaller, including a harrowingly long hallway of black, where names of the victims of the Holocaust were read off, until it burst forth in a room dedicated to the armistice. Following this was extensive information about the Occupation and Liberation of France by the English, Canadian, and American soldiers.

Omaha Beach

We had dinner at our fancy and picturesque hotel, and I realized how much better traveling with your parents is than traveling with your friends. No more hostels for me. In the morning, we were met with wind, cold, and rain. But these conditions only fueled our determination to see Utah and Omaha beach. We stopped first at Omaha Beach, where our family friend, Robin's, father landed with "Big Red One," the First Infantry Division, on D-Day. After that, we headed further north to Utah beach, where great-granddad, who passed away in January, landed with the Fourth Infantry Division.

Utah Beach and Big Daddy

The museums full of artifacts, video interviews, and photographs certainly gave perspective to the astounding immensity of D-Day, and the importance of the American, British, and Canadian mission. But what gave standing on those sands the most gravity for me, was that I was twenty years old, going on twenty-one. I have two whole years on the majority of the men, boys, really, who were crammed into ramshackle amphibious vehicles, tossed into the water, and told to run straight into fire. Their objective was more than to secure the beach: they were to save what remained of free world.

Full of emotions, we collected ziploc bags of sand from each beach. We stood on the shores for a few still moments, with the wind whipping hard across our faces. Then we turned back to the car, an American family and a French family, and drove back home to a free France.