We’ll get to the penis in a second.
On the northern coast of France lies the war-battered coast of Normandy. Logistically, the best way to get to the coast is to take the train from Paris to Rouen and then rent a car in the city, stay in nearby Bayeux and drive the car to the coast. Public transportation buses are harder to come by. Tour buses are also another way to get there. We, however, save money and do the rental-car-and-self-guided-GPS route for our travels.
Longues-Sur-Mer Battery
The shoreline of Normandy Beach
Battleground in Normandy
Remnants of former Nazi-entrenched forts, cannons and dugout holes still fragment the shores of Normandy, leaving shallow valleys and irregular pathways along the cliff. There were probably hundreds of people on the coast that day exploring what was the scene of the D-Day invasion. Strangely, all of us were respectfully quiet. I can’t explain the phenomena for the solitude; why even little kids weren’t rambunctious or loud. It just was.
Now back to the penis. Normandy is somber; incredibly somber. Remember, even little kids dare not try to exercise their vocal skills in the area.
Pointe du Hoc Rangers’ Memorial
But we couldn’t help but notice the penis statue. Known as the Pointe du Hoc Rangers’ Memorial, it stands erect overlooking the very point that D-Day soldiers climbed up the shore cliffs to take back Europe. This is a big deal, a very significant portion of history, a game-changing day in the history of Freedom.
But, it’s also a penis. A cement penis.
Along the very same coast is the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial. Silence is kind of a given in cemeteries. After all, why be loud when you run the potential of pissing off ghosts. It’s called “eternal SLEEP” for a reason and I do not want to be on the receiving of an angry ghost.
American cemetery headstones in Normandy
But, I couldn’t help but notice the signs posted around the ceremony urging for silence. The reason, it seems, is that French and American cultures honor their dead differently. We carve out large amounts of land to be used as eternal burial spots, while the French cremate their dead or place them in underground catacombs. So, the concept of silence in a large, park-like area is foreign.
Touring Normandy was one of the more somber visits while we in France. It was a sober reminder of the effects of war…and very phallic-y.
You know what isn’t phallic-y? Our next adventure. Join us via email! Go nuts!
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