Jane in Spain

We thought our first evening beneath the Eiffel Tower was hot. It was. But we had no idea we had arrived at the beginning of a historic heat wave. Each day the mercury climbed higher. Sunday morning welcomed us with 95 degrees.

The four of us hopped on the Metro and made our way to Île de la Cité — the historic heart of Paris. Tucked into one of the island’s oldest corners, we discovered a delightful French Cafe — La Dame de Paris. It was the perfect place to escape the crowds surrounding Notre-Dame and experience a quieter, more intimate side of the City of Light.

With temperatures soaring, we gladly claimed a table beneath the green awning of this neighborhood cafe. The shade of the trees, a cool drink and the unhurried rhythm of Paris offered the perfect respite — simply sitting at a sidewalk cafe, watching the city go by.

We sampled a few classic French appetizers, beginning with a wheel of baked Camembert, followed by escargot swimming in fragrant garlic-herb butter — both perfect excuses to tear into slices of a warm, crusty French baguette. And, of course, you can never go wrong with a beautifully arranged charcuterie platter.

Even though we lingered over a long, leisurely breakfast, soaking in the relaxed pace of a French Sunday morning, the clock was still ticking. Arne and Susan needed to return to Le Méridien for choir rehearsal, leaving Richard and me free to experience one of Paris’s most beloved traditions — Fête de la Musique.

Today was all about wandering from neighborhood to neighborhood, discovering the unique character of each while immersing ourselves in the sights, sounds and energy of Fête de la Musique. Held each year on the summer solstice, June 21, this citywide celebration transforms Paris into one enormous open-air concert. Professional musicians, neighborhood bands, choirs, students and street performers fill parks, plazas, cafés, churches and sidewalks with every style of music imaginable — all free for anyone to enjoy.

We began our ramble on Paris’s oldest bridge, the historic Pont Neuf, home to a remarkable art installation called La Caverne du Pont Neuf (“The Cave of the Pont Neuf”) by French artist JR.

At first glance, it looked like a snow-covered mountain range rising out of the Seine and in the heat, that was a very welcome site. In reality, it was a giant inflatable structure covered with photographic images of limestone cliffs and rock faces. From certain angles, especially across the river, it created the illusion that a rugged mountain had suddenly appeared in the middle of Paris.

There was a short line to “enter the cave,” where dramatic illuminated rock walls transformed the bridge into an immersive experience. It engaged every sense: an atmospheric soundscape by former Daft Punk musician Thomas Bangalter echoed through the cavern, while an earthy scent evoked the smell of ancient stone and hidden caves. Best of all, it provided a welcome escape from the relentless sun, offering a cool, shaded refuge from the sweltering heat.

The photo below is Richard in alien form. A QR code station turned an ordinary cell phone photo into a playful adventure. Scan the code, and augmented reality transformed your subject into whimsical characters and surreal images. That’s how Richard became an alien. Fortunately, the transformation was only temporary and he eventually returned to being Richard.

Crossing the Seine, we hugged the shaded side of the streets as we made our way toward the Petit Palais and the Irish Cultural Center. Progress was slow in the oppressive heat. Staying cool became part of the day’s adventure. We’d duck into cafés for a cold drink and a chance to escape the blazing sun, only to discover that most weren’t air conditioned. Instead, a few well-placed fans stirred the warm air — better than nothing, but a far cry from the icy interiors we’re used to back home.

The locals were out in force today, not just because it was Sunday, but because much of France still doesn’t rely on air conditioning the way we do. There are good reasons for that. Paris is an ancient city, and retrofitting centuries-old buildings with modern cooling systems is often difficult, expensive and restricted to preserve their historic character. Until fairly recently, France enjoyed mostly mild summers with only occasional heat waves, so air conditioning simply wasn’t considered a necessity. On days like this, however, the city’s parks, cafés and shaded streets become everyone’s living room.

Another welcome surprise on this sweltering day was discovering Paris’s iconic Wallace Fountains. These elegant cast-iron fountains are among the city’s most beloved pieces of street furniture, blending public art with a practical purpose. They provide fresh drinking water, a spigot for refilling water bottles, and, at some locations, a refreshing mist that automatically turns on during hot weather. To conserve water, the mist cycles on and off at random intervals — just long enough to cool you down before disappearing again.

The fountains have contemporary features fixed into an elegant old structure of beauty. They were donated to Paris in 1872 by the British philanthropist Sir Richard Wallace, who wanted everyone — rich or poor — to have access to clean drinking water after the hardships of the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune. Today, they remain a symbol of generosity and one of the city’s most recognizable landmarks.

Around every corner we discovered someone eager to share their musical talent, creating a soundtrack that followed us wherever we wandered.

The only thing competing with the music was the heat. As temperatures climbed, some performances were forced to start later in the day. Officials tried restricting public alcohol consumption in parts of the city to help keep festival goers safe during the extreme heat. Even so, the festive spirit never seemed to miss a beat.

On the hottest day of the summer, when the temperature soared past 100 degrees, the must-have accessory wasn’t sandals — it was boots. Everywhere I looked there were bare midriffs, short shorts…and boots! Apparently, Parisian fashion doesn’t take orders from the weather.

We couldn’t resist one more detour into Bastille-Oberkampf neighborhood known for its lively nightlife. We wandered into Le Timbaud, a neighborhood bistro and bar at the gateway to the Oberkampf district. A techno DJ was spinning music for crowds dancing in the street.

The café’s windows were thrown open to the street where the intersection turned into an open-air dance floor.

As France danced outside, we settled in for one more round of charcuterie and escargot, savoring not only the food but the wonderfully festive atmosphere. It was the perfect reminder that in Paris, sometimes the best entertainment isn’t something you plan — it’s simply what you stumble upon while wandering the city.

We had a front-row seat for people-watching. Oberkampf was packed shoulder to shoulder with young Parisians celebrating Fête de la Musique.

The entire neighborhood felt like one giant outdoor dance party. Between the music, the fashion and the infectious energy of the crowd, it was impossible not to get caught up in the celebration

By now, the heat, the travel, and the sheer effort of absorbing so much French culture were beginning to catch up with us. The streets were packed shoulder to shoulder, and staying together in the surging crowds became a challenge of its own. It was after 8:00 pm, yet the heat had barely eased — and sunset was still hours away.

Reluctantly, we admitted that we had reached our limit. As much as we hated to leave the music and excitement behind, all good things must eventually come to an end — even Fête de la Musique.

After an exhilarating day wandering through Paris and soaking up the sights, sounds, and energy, we hopped on the Metro back to Le Méridien to reconnect with Arne and Susan. There, Richard gathered his bags and headed for an airport hotel before his flight home the next morning.

We said our goodbyes, grateful for the memories we’d made together over the past two weeks. Despite battling a painful back injury, Richard never lost his sense of adventure or humor. His French journey had come to an end, and it was time to return to reality. I was sad to see him go, but excited for what still lay ahead — two more days in Paris and the unforgettable choir concert that had brought us here in the first place.

As the day came to a close, I was reminded that Paris’s true charm lies not just in its famous landmarks, but in its neighborhoods, cafés, music and the joy of wandering without a plan.

At last, we rolled into Paris and pulled up to our home for the next few days — the Le Méridien Paris Arc de Triomphe. This was where the choir group was staying, and in many ways, the reason this entire trip had come together. The highlight ahead would be hearing our Minnetonka Choral Society perform in one of Paris’s magnificent churches.

As seems to happen whenever a busload of travelers arrives, many of the rooms were not ready. We unloaded our mountain of luggage and joined what felt like a small city of singers in the lobby. Nearly 450 choir members (plus a full orchestra) from around the US were all being processed and checked-in through our travel arranger, Perform International, creating a lively chorus of conversations before anyone had even sung a note.

While Arne and Susan headed off to return the Bigster, our rental car, Richard and I decided we’d earned a relaxing gin and tonic. We settled in, took that first refreshing sip and life was good … until the bill arrived. About $25 per drink. Welcome to Paris!

Since Arne was singing with the group, he and Susan were off to attend the welcome dinner with the other performers. That left Richard and me with the perfect excuse to slip away and enjoy the City of Light. We headed into the Latin Quarter to make the most of this first evening in Paris. At the top of our list was one iconic destination — the Eiffel Tower.

Saturday evening at the Eiffel Tower is not for anyone looking for peace and quiet. The place was absolutely packed — thousands of people soaking up a warm Paris evening, picnicking on the lawns, strolling along the Seine and waiting for the tower to sparkle.

Richard’s back and leg were still giving him trouble, so once we reached the sprawling lawn beneath the Eiffel Tower, I parked him on a patch of grass to rest while I set off on what I thought would be a quick mission: find a restroom.

Little did I know.

I wandered around the Eiffel Tower, along the Seine, and through wave after wave of people … and never found one. I’d always heard that public restrooms in Paris can be hard to come by, and this evening certainly wasn’t proving that rumor wrong. It was so hot that I finally decided my body must have simply evaporated every drop of fluid I’d been carrying.

When I gave up and headed back, I discovered a new challenge — finding Richard again. The crowds had only grown larger. Families, couples, tourists, musicians and countless roaming vendors selling everything from wine to miniature Eiffel Towers filled every pathway and lawn. Every direction looked exactly the same.

Thankfully, Richard was exactly where I’d left him — and just in time, because the Eiffel Tower was about to begin its nightly performance.

The show starts long before the lights come on. As the sun slowly slips below the Paris skyline, the tower becomes a striking silhouette against the golden and pink hues of the evening sky. Then, as dusk settles in, the tower is bathed in its warm golden lights.

But the real magic happens on the hour.

For five dazzling minutes, thousands of sparkling lights dance across the Eiffel Tower, transforming one of the world’s most recognizable landmarks into something even more enchanting. The crowd pauses, conversations quiet and nearly every phone points skyward to capture the moment.

It was the perfect ending to a lovely evening in Paris — a warm summer night, the Seine nearby, the Eiffel Tower sparkling overhead and a reminder that some sights really do live up to the hype.

Sometimes the best travel days aren’t the ones packed with attractions — they’re the ones where you slow down, soak it all in and realize just how lucky you are to be exactly where you are. This was one of those days.

Before we could leave Bayeux, there was one final challenge: packing the Bigster. Somehow, four adults, all of our luggage and a growing collection of French treasures had to fit. With a little strategic stacking, some creative rearranging everything found its place. Once the hatch finally closed, we pointed the Bigster toward Rouen, ready for the next chapter of our French adventure.

The drive is an easy one — about two hours (125 miles) with most of the journey on modern divided highways, including the N13 and the A13 autoroute, France’s oldest motorway.

As the miles rolled by, the landscape gradually shifted from peaceful farmland and apple orchards to the bustling Seine River valley. It was the perfect transition from Normandy’s wartime history to Rouen, a city famous for medieval streets, towering cathedrals, and the story of Joan of Arc.

One of the little surprises in Rouen was the city’s brightly painted intersections. Instead of ordinary crosswalks, splashes of colorful geometric designs transformed several streets into works of art. They’re beautiful, they slow traffic and they perfectly reflect Rouen itself — a city where medieval history and modern creativity comfortably share the same streets.

The Palais de Justice is one of Rouen’s most recognizable landmarks. The countless pockmarks covering its stone façade are scars from World War II. Allied bombing targeted the nearby rail yards in preparation for the D-Day invasion. Some bombs struck the courthouse, damaging part of the building and peppering its Gothic limestone exterior with shrapnel. Rather than erase every trace of the damage during restoration, many of the scars were intentionally left visible as a reminder of the destruction of war.

During restoration, local artist Jan Vormann installed tiny, brightly colored LEGO bricks into a few of the holes as part of his worldwide Dispatchwork project. The playful patches symbolize healing and resilience — using something associated with childhood to “repair” the wounds left by war. It’s not hard to spot the little LEGO repairs tucked among the centuries-old stone.

We wandered beneath Rouen’s famous Gros-Horloge, a magnificent golden clock that has been keeping time for the city since the 1300s. Suspended above the bustling pedestrian street, its single hand, moon-phase display and gilded sun remind visitors that people measured time very differently in the Middle Ages. Standing beneath it, surrounded by centuries-old half-timbered buildings, it felt like walking through the pages of history.

Rouen’s Rue du Gros-Horloge is more than a shopping street — it’s a walk through history. Stretching from the cathedral to the square where Joan of Arc met her fate, the cobblestone lane is lined with colorful half-timbered buildings, inviting cafés and charming boutiques. It’s hard to believe this bustling promenade has served as one of Rouen’s main streets for centuries.

We stumbled upon a building where giant white teddy bears seemed to be escaping through the windows. The playful display at Bistro Marcel has become one of the city’s most photographed oddities. No one seems to know exactly why the bears are there — and perhaps that’s part of the charm.

Rouen Cathedral is one of France’s greatest Gothic masterpieces and has stood at the heart of the city for nearly a thousand years.

The cathedral became world-famous through the work of Claude Monet, who painted it more than 30 times in the 1890s. Rather than depicting the architecture itself, Monet captured how the façade changed with the shifting light throughout the day — at sunrise, midday, dusk and in different weather. Those paintings are now scattered among museums around the world and helped make the cathedral an icon of Impressionism.

Inside, the soaring vaulted ceilings and slender columns draw your eyes upward, creating the sense of height and light that Gothic architects sought to achieve. The cathedral is also the burial place of Richard the Lionheart — or at least his heart. After his death in 1199, his heart was placed in Rouen as a tribute to the duchy of Normandy, while the rest of his body was buried elsewhere.

One of the biggest surprises inside Rouen Cathedral was discovering the giant stone statues standing in the choir. They weren’t originally meant to be there. For centuries these medieval figures watched over the city from high on the cathedral’s façade, but pollution and weather slowly eroded the stone. To preserve them, the originals were brought inside and replaced with exact replicas outdoors. Seeing them at eye level was amazing — you could finally appreciate the intricate carving and the immense scale of sculptures that had once seemed so small from the street below.

One of the most moving works inside Rouen Cathedral was the statue of Joan of Arc. Her hands are bound, chains wrap around her body, and flames rise at her feet, yet she clutches a cross and gazes downward with remarkable peace. Rather than showing the violence of her execution, the sculpture captures her unwavering faith. Standing in the very city where she was condemned, it serves as a powerful reminder that history can change. The place that once judged Joan now reveres her as one of France’s most beloved saints and symbols of courage.

The modern Church of Saint Joan of Arc is one of the most striking buildings in Rouen because it deliberately contrasts with the city’s medieval architecture. Completed in 1979, it stands beside the exact location in the Place du Vieux-Marché where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. Rather than trying to recreate a Gothic church, architect Louis Arretche designed something entirely modern that would symbolize both remembrance and hope.

The dramatic roof is the first thing you’ll notice. People describe it in different ways. Flames rising into the sky, representing Joan’s martyrdom; the hull of an overturned Viking ship, a nod to Rouen’s Norman heritage and an ancient Christian symbol of the Church as a vessel of refuge. Some also see billowing sails catching the wind.

Standing in Place du Vieux-Marché is an emotional experience. The modern Church of Saint Joan of Arc rises like flames — or perhaps the sails of a great ship — while just outside, a simple cross marks the place where a 19-year-old Joan met her fate in 1431.

There are also the remains of the old Saint-Sauveur Church which was uncovered during redevelopment of the square and preserved as archaeological ruins within the plaza.

Today the square is filled with cafés, flowers, and laughter. It’s a beautiful reminder that history isn’t erased by time — it simply becomes part of the life that grows around it.

With Rouen in the rearview mirror, we pointed the Bigster toward Paris. The change in weather was impossible to miss. Normandy had spoiled us with cool breezes and comfortable temperatures, but as we headed south, the mercury climbed steadily. Paris was in the midst of a full-blown heatwave and we knew our sightseeing would come with an extra side of sweat.

Before tackling the final leg of the drive, we lingered over lunch at a café on one of Rouen’s lively squares, soaking up one last taste of Normandy. Then it was time to hit the road. Our medieval adventure was behind us, and the City of Light was waiting.

We eased into the morning the French way — settling into a sidewalk café with flaky, buttery croissants and rich coffee while the town slowly came to life around us. There was no rush, just the simple pleasure of lingering over breakfast, watching locals greet one another.

Over breakfast, we all came to the same conclusion — we couldn’t leave Normandy without visiting Pointe du Hoc. After standing on the sands of Utah and Omaha Beaches, it felt like an essential way to complete our D-Day journey.

We climbed back into the Bigster and set off for the windswept cliffs, winding through the beautiful Norman countryside. Rolling green fields, quiet villages and centuries-old farms lined the route.

Pointe du Hoc was one of the most daring objectives of the Normandy landings. The Germans had heavily fortified the 100-foot cliffs with bunkers and artillery that threatened both Utah and Omaha Beaches.

Before dawn, US Army Rangers climbed the sheer cliffs using ropes, ladders and grappling hooks while under enemy fire. When they reached the top, they discovered the large guns had been moved inland. A small group of Rangers found the artillery hidden in an orchard and destroyed it with grenades before it could be used against the Allied landings.

Today, the bomb craters, shattered bunkers, and dramatic cliffs remain much as they were in 1944, making Pointe du Hoc one of the most powerful and moving D-Day sites in Normandy.

Even more than 80 years later, the landscape at Pointe du Hoc still bears the scars of war. The ground is pockmarked with enormous bomb craters, created during weeks of relentless Allied bombing before D-Day in an effort to destroy the German gun emplacements. Walking among those massive holes brings home the incredible scale of the bombardment — and just how fiercely this strategic position was defended.

Standing atop the windswept cliffs where US Army Rangers scaled 100-foot rock faces under enemy fire on D-Day provides one last powerful reminder of the courage, sacrifice and determination that helped change the course of history.

Trips like this need a little balance. After a morning immersed in the sobering history of D-Day, it was time for something a bit sweeter. We stopped at the Isigny Caramel factory, where Normandy’s famous butter, cream and sea salt are transformed into delicious caramels. It was the perfect palate cleanser — and a reminder that Normandy is known not only for its history, but also for its incredible food traditions.

We expected to find caramel. We didn’t expect to find an entire gourmet marketplace. The store was packed with shelves of Normandy specialties — dozens of varieties of soft caramels, creamy caramel spreads, chocolates, cookies, cheeses, ciders, Calvados, jams, butters, and local souvenirs.

Next stop was Saint-Lô a historic city, about 35 miles south of Bayeux. Before World War II, it was a charming market town known for its medieval ramparts, horse breeding and position at the crossroads of several major roads.

Its location also made it strategically vital after the Normandy landings. As Allied forces pushed inland, capturing Saint-Lô became essential because whoever controlled the town controlled the road network leading deeper into France and toward Paris.

The fighting for Saint-Lô was among the fiercest of the Normandy campaign. Weeks of bombing and brutal combat reduced nearly the entire city to rubble — about 95% was destroyed.

Today, Saint-Lô has been rebuilt, but you can still walk along portions of its medieval ramparts overlooking the Vire River. The city also features memorials and museums dedicated to the Battle of Normandy.

One of the biggest surprises in Saint-Lô was the giant white unicorn standing proudly in the city center. At first it seemed like an odd choice, but the unicorn has been the symbol of Saint-Lô for centuries, representing strength, purity and freedom. After World War II, when nearly 95% of the city lay in ruins, it also became a fitting symbol of resilience — a reminder that even after unimaginable destruction, Saint-Lô found a way to rebuild and thrive.

Our week in Bayeux was coming to a close and so we did a little more wandering. Near the edge of the city, a collection of restored tanks, military vehicles and memorials serves as a reminder of the town’s remarkable place in history. Unlike many Norman cities, Bayeux escaped widespread destruction. Because it was largely undamaged, Bayeux quickly became a vital headquarters, hospital center and supply hub for the Allied advance across France.

There was one more place we wanted to visit — the Bayeux Cathedral. After days spent exploring battlefields, beaches, and memorials, it felt fitting to end our time in Normandy at a place that has stood watch over the city for nearly a thousand years. The cathedral survived World War II largely unscathed, just as Bayeux itself did, becoming a symbol of hope and continuity in a region forever changed by war.

Standing beneath the soaring arches of Bayeux Cathedral, it’s hard to believe its history. Dedicated in 1077 in the presence of William the Conqueror, it was once home to the Bayeux Tapestry before the famous embroidery was moved to its own museum.

One of the biggest disappointments of our visit was that we couldn’t see the famous Bayeux Tapestry. This remarkable 230-foot embroidered masterpiece tells the story of William the Conqueror’s invasion of England in 1066 and has called Bayeux home for centuries.

We just happened to arrive during a once-in-a-generation renovation. The museum closed in 2025 so the nearly 1,000-year-old embroidery could be carefully preserved while a new, state-of-the-art museum is built. Although we missed seeing the original, it gives us one more reason to return to Normandy when the museum reopens in 2027.

With its blend of Romanesque strength and Gothic elegance, the cathedral has survived fires, revolutions, and even World War II, emerging as one of Normandy’s greatest treasures.

For anyone planning to explore Normandy, I recommend making Bayeux your home base. Its central location makes it easy to reach the D-Day beaches, historic villages, and countless attractions throughout the region.

Our stay at the Reine Mathilde Hotel was an excellent choice. Nestled in the heart of this charming medieval town, it put restaurants, cafés, shops, the cathedral and many of Bayeux’s most popular sights just a short walk from our door. It was the perfect place to begin and end each day’s adventures.

Bayeux is a place where history is ever-present, yet life is celebrated every day through its food, its traditions and its welcoming spirit.

But our French adventure wasn’t over yet. Ahead lay Rouen — the city of Joan of Arc and Monet’s cathedral — and then Paris, where a completely different chapter awaited.

Wednesday morning is market day in Bayeux, and the pedestrian Rue Saint-Jean comes alive with the sights, sounds and aromas of Normandy. Locals browse stalls piled high with cheeses, fresh produce, breads, flowers and regional specialties while visitors mingle among them.

It’s more than a market — it’s a glimpse into everyday life in Normandy and one of the best ways to experience the town like a local.

At the Wednesday market, I met Père Maurice — or at least his legacy. His family has been turning Normandy apples into Calvados for generations. It’s the local stuff … not one of the big export brands but something much closer to what a Norman family might keep in the cupboard and bring out after dinner.

Aged for a decade in oak barrels, it carries the flavors of Normandy itself: apples, caramel, spice, and a little bit of countryside magic.

After the market, we loaded into the Bigster and headed for Utah beach. The drive was every bit as memorable as the destination itself. It was hard to imagine that this peaceful landscape was once at the center of one of the most important military operations in history.

Today, the beach is wide, windswept, and remarkably serene. Standing on the sand, listening to the waves roll in, it is difficult to reconcile the tranquility of the scene with the courage and sacrifice it witnessed more than eighty years ago. It is a place that invites reflection — and gratitude.

Utah Beach was one of five landing beaches on D-Day, June 6, 1944, when Allied forces began the liberation of France from Nazi occupation. Of all the American landing beaches, Utah Beach experienced the fewest casualties, thanks in part to a navigational error that brought troops ashore in a less heavily defended area. What could have been a disaster became a fortunate break for the invading forces.

From Utah Beach, we set our sights on Pointe du Hoc, one of the most dramatic and significant sites of the Normandy invasion.

But travel doesn’t always go according to plan. When we arrived, the road into Pointe du Hoc was closed due to construction. Disappointed but undeterred, we adjusted our itinerary and continued west along the coast. In Normandy, history is never far away. Our next stop was Omaha Beach.

As we approached Omaha Beach, the first thing that caught my eye wasn’t its history — it was its beauty. The color palette of golden sand and blue water is one of my favorites. The contrast between the beach’s natural beauty and its tragic history is what makes Omaha Beach so unforgettable.

The plan called for troops to land at dawn, push inland and secure exits from the beach. But almost everything went wrong. Strong currents and rough seas scattered landing craft. As the first waves of American soldiers stepped off their landing craft, they faced machine-gun fire, artillery, and mortars.

Many soldiers never made it off the sand. Small groups of soldiers and officers eventually began climbing the bluffs, finding gaps in the defenses and attacking German positions from the rear. Their initiative and determination gradually broke the stalemate.

By the end of D-Day, the Americans had secured a foothold, but at a terrible cost. Approximately 2,400 American casualties — occurred at Omaha Beach alone, making it the most costly landing beach of the invasion.

The Normandy American Cemetery sits on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach. The cemetery contains the graves of over 9,000 American service members, most of whom died during the D-Day landings and the subsequent Battle of Normandy in the summer of 1944.

The cemetery was built on land granted to the United States by France in perpetuity. The land remains French territory, but France has given the US the right to administer and maintain the site forever as a memorial to those who fell in the liberation of Europe.

We returned to Bayeux tired but grateful, carrying with us not only images and memories, but a renewed sense of respect for those whose courage helped shape the world today.

While much of France was sweltering under an early summer heat wave, we enjoyed cool breezes and comfortable temperatures along the Normandy coast.

Bayeux even has its own little tourist train that rattles through medieval streets, past the cathedral, historic landmarks and reminders of the city’s wartime past. We took a 45-minute spin through town and learned that Bayeux was the first French city liberated after D-Day. Unlike many Norman towns, it escaped major bombing and destruction, leaving much of its medieval character intact.

Along the route, we passed monuments honoring the Allied forces and the civilians whose lives were forever changed by the war. The train also travels by the Bayeux War Cemetery, the largest Commonwealth (British) cemetery in France, where more than 4,000 soldiers are buried. These memorials serve as a powerful reminder that the peace and charm visitors enjoy in Bayeux today came at a tremendous cost.

Our ride on Bayeux’s little tourist train was the perfect introduction to the city. As we rolled past historic landmarks, war memorials, and the Commonwealth (British) Cemetery, we gained a greater appreciation for Bayeux’s important role in World War II and the liberation of France.

After a two-week ramble through Scotland, Arne and Susan arrived in Bayeux ready for the next leg of the adventure. They flew from Glasgow to Paris the night before and made the drive to Normandy this morning. Once reunited, we spent some time doing what Bayeux does best — wandering.

We meandered through the cobblestone streets, admired the half-timbered buildings, and introduced them to the charm of this historic town. It was the perfect way to help them get their bearings before diving into the history, beaches and stories that await us in Normandy.

Our Normandy adventures are being powered by a rental car called the Bigster, a roomy SUV built in Romania by Dacia. With plenty of space for four travelers, it’s proving to be a comfortable companion for exploring the French countryside.

With Susan behind the wheel and Arne serving as chief navigator, we loaded up and pointed the Bigster toward the picturesque harbor village of Honfleur. As the Norman countryside rolled by outside the windows, we were off on another day of discovery.

Our first stop on the way to Honfleur was Père Magloire, one of Normandy’s best-known producers of Calvados, the region’s famous apple brandy. Normandy’s cool climate and abundant apple orchards make it the perfect place for producing cider and Calvados.

This was a surprisingly impressive tour. It was just the four of us, and the experience felt almost magical from the start. We were guided into a room with four chairs facing a giant screen where the story of Normandy’s apples began. When the short film ended, a door silently slid open, inviting us into the next chapter of the experience.

Each room featured a new setting and a different part of the story — from apple orchards and harvesting to fermentation and distillation. As each segment concluded, another set of doors seemed to magically open, leading us onward. The seamless transitions made it feel less like a tour and more like being carried through a living story.

The immersive effects made the experience come alive. During a segment about the mechanical shakers used to harvest apples, a gentle breeze swept through the room and our chairs subtly vibrated as if we were right there in the orchard. Later, as the apples were being processed, the faint aroma of fresh apples filled the air. Each room seamlessly led to the next, combining video, sound, movement and scent to tell the story of Calvados production.

It was one of the most creative distillery tours we’ve experienced and, in many ways, reminded me of the immersive technology used at the Sphere in Las Vegas — on a much smaller scale, but every bit as memorable.

During our visit, we learned how apples are pressed, fermented into cider, distilled and then aged in oak barrels to develop the rich flavors that have made this spirit a symbol of Normandy for generations. Of course, the tour ended the way any good Calvados tour should — with a tasting.

After being immersed in Normandy’s apple orchards, Calvados history, and a surprisingly high-tech distillery experience, it was time to trade apples for salt air. We climbed back into the Bigster and continued toward Honfleur, one of Normandy’s most picturesque harbor towns.

As we cruised through the Norman countryside, past rolling fields and grazing cattle, a larger-than-life crucifix suddenly appeared at the corner of a rural intersection. At first it seemed out of place, but these roadside crosses — known as calvaires — are a familiar part of the French landscape. Many have stood watch over villages, crossroads, and farm roads for generations, serving as symbols of faith, places for prayer, and landmarks for travelers. Seeing one standing quietly among the fields was a reminder that in France, history, faith, and daily life are often woven together in the most unexpected places.

Today, Honfleur is known for its postcard-perfect harbor, colorful buildings, seafood restaurants, and thriving arts scene. During World War II, however, this charming Norman port found itself caught in the shadow of much larger events unfolding along the nearby coast. The town was occupied by German forces for four years and served as a strategic port at the mouth of the Seine Estuary.

Unlike many towns in Normandy, Honfleur escaped the widespread destruction that followed the D-Day landings. As a result, its historic harbor, narrow streets, and centuries-old buildings remain remarkably well preserved. Walking through Honfleur today, it is easy to admire its beauty, but the memorials and plaques scattered throughout town serve as reminders of the occupation, liberation, and sacrifices that shaped this region. Like much of Normandy, Honfleur balances its rich maritime heritage with a deep respect for the events of World War II and the generations who lived through them.

For lunch, we took our chances and randomly picked a restaurant near the harbor. Sometimes travel rewards spontaneity, and this was one of those times. The seafood pasta was outstanding, packed with fresh flavors from the nearby coast, but the real star of the meal was dessert.

We shared an order of a Tarte Tatin, a classic French upside-down apple tart that originated in the late 1800s. According to legend, one of the Tatin sisters accidentally overcooked apples in butter and sugar, then placed the pastry on top and baked it anyway. The result was so delicious that it became one of France’s most beloved desserts. Served warm, with caramelized apples and a flaky crust, it was rich, buttery, and absolutely worth saving room for. In a region famous for apples, cider, and Calvados, enjoying a Tarte Tatin felt like the perfect Normandy dessert.

One of Honfleur’s most remarkable landmarks is Saint Catherine’s Church, and the moment you step inside, it’s easy to see why. Built entirely of wood by local shipbuilders in the 15th century, the church feels more like the inside of a ship than a place of worship. Looking up, the vaulted ceiling resembles the hull of an upside-down boat — a fitting design for a town whose history and livelihood were tied to the sea.

Near one of the side altars stood a striking black-and-white portrait of a young woman. It was Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, affectionately known as “The Little Flower,” one of France’s most cherished saints. Beneath the portrait was an encased relic, a tangible connection to her life and legacy.

A shout-out to my Camino-walking travel partner, Theresa of St. Louis Park. I know how much you love church history, and if you had been standing next to me, we would have spent at least twenty minutes assigning some deep spiritual meaning to this relic. The inscription translates to “Reliquary of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face,” While I can’t tell you exactly what the relic contains, I can tell you it inspired a moment of curiosity, reflection, and a reminder that every church seems to hold a story waiting to be discovered.

The church is considered the largest wooden church in France, and its separate bell tower was built apart from the main structure to reduce the risk of fire from lightning strikes. Standing beneath those massive timber beams, you can almost imagine the craftsmen using the same skills they employed to build the ships that once sailed from Honfleur’s harbor.

We had no particular agenda — just the simple pleasure of strolling, exploring, and seeing what we might discover around the next corner. In a town as beautiful as Honfleur, that turned out to be more than enough.

After a wonderful day exploring Honfleur’s harbor, historic streets, churches, and cafés, it was time to point the Bigster back toward Bayeux. The drive is about an hour through the heart of Normandy, passing rolling green fields, grazing cattle, apple orchards, and storybook villages.

Back in Bayeux, we took a little time to rest and recharge before heading out for dinner. Fortunately, our evening destination required almost no travel at all. The restaurant was located just across the street from our hotel and in the shadow of Bayeux’s magnificent cathedral.

Most of the group wisely embraced the restaurant’s specialty and ordered pizza. But every travel group seems to have one oddball, and this time it was me.

Instead of pizza, I ordered a Croque Madame, a classic French café favorite. Think of it as a dressed-up grilled ham and cheese sandwich made with crusty bread, ham, melted cheese, and a rich béchamel sauce, then topped with a fried egg. The egg is what transforms a Croque Monsieur into a Croque Madame. Warm, cheesy and wonderfully indulgent, it was comfort food at its finest — and a delicious reminder that in France, even a sandwich can be elevated to an art form.

Even though the sun doesn’t set in Normandy until after 10 pm, we were more than ready to call it a day. From our immersive Calvados tour and strolls through the picturesque streets of Honfleur to good food, great company and another beautiful drive through the French countryside, it had been a full day of discoveries. As we headed back to our rooms in Bayeux, we reflected on how fortunate we were to be sharing these experiences together.

Tomorrow promises more history, more adventures, and undoubtedly a few surprises, but for now, a good night’s sleep sounded perfect.

Bonsoir from Normandy!

The train ride from Pontorson to Bayeux was a relaxing change of pace after the crowds and steep streets of Mont-Saint-Michel. The route wound through the Norman countryside, passing rolling green fields, grazing cattle, and picturesque villages that seemed untouched by time.

Arriving in Bayeux felt like stepping into a postcard. With its half-timbered buildings, flower-lined streets, and the gentle flow of the Aure River through the heart of town, Bayeux immediately charmed us. Despite its fame as the home of the Bayeux Tapestry and its proximity to the D-Day beaches, the town has retained the feel of a small, welcoming community.

I like to discover everything about a new town I visit, but touring the local emergency room is not usually on my itinerary.

The curse of travel — and perhaps Mont-Saint-Michel — was beginning to catch up with us. Simply getting to Mont-Saint-Michel was rigorous enough, but then came the hundreds of steps, steep climbs, winding walkways, ramparts, and the long ascent to the abbey. We thoroughly enjoyed every square inch of it, but eventually reality set in.

Richard had been dealing with some pinched-nerve back pain before we left for France. After two days of exploring Mont-Saint-Michel, that discomfort had escalated into full-blown distress. We decided to slow the pace and take a day off from sightseeing, which fortunately gave us time to stroll around the corner to the emergency room at the local hospital in Bayeux.

Between mission trips, Caminos, and other adventures, I’m becoming surprisingly experienced with international emergency rooms. A few hours and a scan later, the diagnosis was clear: a herniated disk.

It wasn’t exactly the Normandy experience we had planned, but it turned out to be one of those unexpected travel memories that will probably stick with us long after the pain subsides.

Armed with medication and instructions from the doctor, we settled into a slower rhythm. It was actually perfect timing, since Arne and Susan weren’t arriving until the next day. That evening, we relaxed on the hotel patio playing cribbage. We were surrounded by English-speaking travelers who were fascinated by our game and eager to share their expertise with us which was good — we couldn’t remember half the rules anyway. Richard won but just by a few points.

By the end of our first day in Bayeux, we were happy to trade packed itineraries for a slower pace. This charming Norman town, with its half-timbered buildings, flower-filled streets, and relaxed atmosphere, feels like the perfect place to pause and catch our breath. With Richard on the mend and a few unscheduled hours to simply wander, we’re settling into the rhythm of Normandy.

Tomorrow when Arne and Susan arrive, we’re looking forward to sharing the next chapter of this adventure together — exploring D-Day history, discovering seaside villages, and seeing where the roads of Normandy lead us. For now, it’s time to raise a glass, enjoy the evening, and savor being exactly where we are.

Santé! À la prochaine ! 🇫🇷🍷

From Saint-Malo, our bus dropped us in a sprawling parking area, where Mont-Saint-Michel rose dramatically in the distance, looking every bit like a medieval fairy tale. It was a Thursday morning, and hundreds of visitors were already queued for Le Passeur, the shuttle that carries travelers across the causeway to the mount itself.

Getting to Mont-Saint-Michel, perched on the border of Brittany and Normandy, took some effort: three planes, a ferry and a bus. And yet, even after all that, reaching the famous island abbey requires one final maneuver.

Depending on the tides, Mont-Saint-Michel can appear either as an island surrounded by fast-moving water or as a rocky outcrop rising from vast tidal flats known for their deceptively dangerous quicksand. As we joined the long line for the shuttle, the abbey seemed tantalizingly close, yet still just out of reach — a fitting introduction to one of France’s most iconic destinations.

The shuttle drops passengers about 100 yards from the entrance to Mont-Saint-Michel, close enough to appreciate the scale of the island but far enough away to capture that perfect postcard photo. As visitors step off and make their way toward the medieval gates, the abbey towers dramatically above the stone buildings below.

One of the more entertaining sights comes after everyone has disembarked. Rather than turning the shuttle around, the driver simply hops out of the seat, jogs to the opposite end of the bus — where there is a second steering wheel — and drives away in the other direction. Moments later, the shuttle is headed back to collect another load of visitors leaving the mount. It’s a clever and efficient solution, perfectly suited to the narrow causeway connecting one of France’s most iconic landmarks to the mainland.

The causeway ends at the foot of Mont-Saint-Michel, and from there everyone continues on foot across a broad expanse of packed sand. A handful of essential service vehicles are parked nearby, but otherwise the approach belongs to pedestrians. Ahead, the King’s Gate rises from the stone walls, looking every bit like a medieval drawbridge guarding a fortress from another era.

Stepping through the gate feels like entering a different century. Around every corner there is something new to discover — a narrow alley, an ancient stone staircase, a hidden courtyard, or a glimpse of the abbey soaring above. The sense of anticipation is part of the magic.

It wasn’t even noon when we arrived, yet the main street was already packed with visitors. Pilgrims, tour groups, photographers, and travelers from around the world flowed through the narrow passageways, all drawn to one of France’s most iconic destinations.

Once through the King’s Gate, there is really only one main street to follow. The narrow cobblestone lane winds steadily uphill from the entrance to the abbey perched at the summit.

And, just as every guidebook, blog, and YouTube video warned, the route is lined from end to end with tourist shops. Souvenir stores, cafés, crêperies, ice cream stands and gift shops compete for attention at every turn. On a busy day, the crowds can make the street feel more like a slow-moving parade than a medieval village.

Still, beneath the commercial bustle, it’s easy to imagine the generations of pilgrims who made this same climb centuries ago, following the same path toward the abbey at the top of the mount.

After a travel day that included planes, a ferry, and a bus, we were in no mood to fight the crowds. Our accommodations wouldn’t be ready until 3:00 pm, so we set out in search of a quieter corner of the mount.

Our solution was simple: a bottle of Calvados, a couple of paper cups, and a spot atop the ramparts. From there, the crowds melted away and the views stretched for miles across the bay. The vast tidal flats looked almost otherworldly, a patchwork of sand, mud and distant grasslands.

The grassy areas surrounding the bay are too salty for traditional crops, so local farmers raise sheep and lambs instead. These animals graze on salt-tolerant plants, giving the meat a distinctive flavor that has become a celebrated part of the region’s cuisine. As we sipped Normandy’s famous apple brandy and gazed across the landscape, it felt like we had found the perfect escape from the bustle below.

Something magical happens around 3:00 pm at Mont-Saint-Michel. The crowds that packed the narrow streets all morning begin to disappear. Tour buses depart, day-trippers head for the shuttles and suddenly the mount starts to breathe again.

The once-crowded lanes become surprisingly quiet. Tables open up at restaurants, finding a seat at a bar becomes easy, and it is finally possible to wander without being swept along by a river of people. The atmosphere shifts from tourist attraction to living village.

It reminded me of the tides that define Mont-Saint-Michel itself. The visitors arrive in waves, flooding the mount with energy and activity. Then, just as quickly, they recede, leaving behind a calmer, more peaceful place. For those lucky enough to stay overnight, that’s when the real magic begins.

The ebb and flow of visitors seemed fitting, because everything at Mont-Saint-Michel revolves around the tides. For more than a thousand years, the sea has shaped life here, transforming the mount from an island to a peninsula and back again.

The tides in the Bay of Mont-Saint-Michel are among the highest in Europe. During the largest tidal events, the difference between low and high tide can exceed 46 feet — roughly the height of a four-story building. At low tide, vast expanses of sand and mudflats stretch to the horizon. A few hours later, the sea rushes back in, surrounding the mount and dramatically changing the landscape.

The phenomenon is driven by the gravitational pull of the moon, aided by the sun. When the sun, moon and Earth align during new and full moons, the resulting “spring tides” produce the greatest tidal ranges. The unique shape of the bay acts like a funnel, amplifying the effect and creating some of the strongest tidal currents in France.

For centuries, these tides served as a natural defense for the abbey. Invaders who misjudged the incoming water or ventured onto the mudflats without a guide risked being trapped by fast-moving currents or patches of quicksand. Even today, visitors are warned not to cross the bay alone.

Standing on the ramparts, it is easy to understand why generations of pilgrims viewed Mont-Saint-Michel as something almost mystical. The sea comes and goes, the landscape transforms before your eyes, and the rhythms of the moon continue to govern life on the mount just as they have for centuries.

Towering above the village, the Abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel has watched over the bay for more than a thousand years. According to tradition, construction began in 708 when the Archangel Michael appeared to Bishop Aubert of Avranches and instructed him to build a sanctuary on the rocky island. What began as a small chapel gradually evolved into one of the most remarkable abbeys in Europe.

Over the centuries, the abbey was expanded, rebuilt, and reinforced. Romanesque churches gave way to soaring Gothic additions, including the magnificent cloister and the structure known as “La Merveille” (“The Marvel”), a masterpiece of medieval engineering built into the side of the rock. Each generation left its mark, creating the layered architectural treasure visitors see today.

The abbey survived wars, sieges, fires and political upheaval. During the Hundred Years’ War, Mont-Saint-Michel became a symbol of French resistance. Despite repeated English attacks, the mount was never captured, thanks in large part to its formidable fortifications and the protection offered by the tides.

The French Revolution brought dramatic change. The monks were expelled, and the abbey was converted into a prison. For decades, prisoners occupied spaces once used for prayer and contemplation. By the 19th century, concerns about preserving this historic landmark led to its restoration, and the prison was eventually closed.

Today, the abbey serves as both a monument and a place of worship. Millions of visitors climb the steep streets each year to marvel at its architecture, history and breathtaking views. Standing at the summit, it is hard not to be amazed by how this extraordinary place has adapted and endured through more than thirteen centuries of change.

One of the most fascinating features of the abbey dates from its years as a prison after the French Revolution. Because the mount rises so steeply from the bay, getting supplies to the upper levels was no easy task. The solution was a giant wooden wheel, often compared to a human-powered hamster wheel.

Prisoners were required to walk inside the enormous wheel, using their weight and effort to turn it. The wheel powered a system of pulleys that hauled food, firewood, and other supplies up the steep side of the abbey. It was grueling work, but far more efficient than carrying heavy loads up countless stairs.

While the abbey dominates Mont-Saint-Michel, the village also has its own parish church, Saint-Pierre, which serves the small year-round population of about 20 to 30 residents. Nearby is a modest cemetery overlooking the bay, where generations of local families are buried. It’s a quiet reminder that beyond the crowds and tourism, Mont-Saint-Michel remains a living community as well as a historic landmark.

No visit to Mont-Saint-Michel is complete without hearing about Mère Poulard and her famous omelets. In 1888, Annette Poulard began serving travelers and pilgrims at her inn on the mount. Her signature creation was a light, fluffy omelet, vigorously whisked by hand in copper bowls and cooked over an open wood fire.

The $50 omelet lived up to its reputation for excess. Made with a generous amount of butter and eggs whipped into a frothy cloud, it arrived impossibly light and airy. The plate was rounded out with several varieties of cured bacon, creamy mashed potatoes, caramelized onions and tender leeks. It was rich, indulgent, and unmistakably French — a meal as memorable for its history and presentation as for its flavor.

Mont-Saint-Michel was everything we hoped it would be — dramatic, historic, and unlike anywhere else we’ve visited. Between the soaring abbey, the ever-changing tides, the medieval streets, and the spectacular views from the ramparts, it was easy to see why this remarkable place has attracted pilgrims and travelers for centuries.

The journey to get here was long, but well worth it. As we headed off to our next destination, we left with great memories and a deeper appreciation for one of France’s most iconic landmarks.

With one final look at Mont-Saint-Michel rising above the bay, we boarded a train bound for Normandy. We were leaving behind medieval abbeys, pilgrims and tidal legends and heading toward a very different chapter of history.

Our destination was Bayeux, the first major French town liberated after the D-Day landings on June 7, 1944, and our base for exploring the beaches, cemeteries, cliffs, and villages that played such a pivotal role in World War II.

The next few days would be a journey into the stories of courage, sacrifice, and liberation that unfolded along Normandy’s northern coast more than eighty years ago.

Au revoir et à bientôt!

One of the main reasons I wanted to visit France was to see Normandy. I had missed it on previous trips, but D-Day has always been one of the most important events in modern history, and I wanted to experience the place where it happened.

My interest grew even stronger after watching the recent film Pressure. The movie tells the story of the meteorologists whose weather forecasts played a critical role in the timing of the Allied invasion. It was fascinating to learn how something as unpredictable as the weather could influence one of the most significant military operations in history. Standing in Normandy, I hope to gain a deeper appreciation for the courage, planning and sacrifice that shaped the events of June 6, 1944.

Our journey to France was anything but direct — and that’s exactly what made it memorable.

We flew overnight from JFK to Edinburgh, then boarded a small plane to Guernsey. As we approached, the views of the English Channel and the island’s rugged coastline reminded us that sometimes the journey is the destination.

Guernsey was the only British territory occupied by Nazi Germany during World War II. Today, Guernsey is a peaceful island known for its beautiful coastline, seaside villages and relaxed pace of life. Although it is closely tied to Britain, it has its own government, currency, and distinct identity.

Our stop in Guernsey was short, but memorable. We enjoyed a delightful lunch overlooking the harbor before taking a scenic walk along the waterfront to the ferry terminal, where we caught our ferry to Saint-Malo and continued our journey.

Watching the walled city of Saint Malo emerge from the sea was exciting. By the time we rolled our suitcases through the cobblestone streets of the old town, we had crossed an ocean, visited an island and arrived in medieval France — all in a single day.

Intra-Muros is the historic walled heart of Saint-Malo, a beautifully preserved medieval port city. Surrounded by massive granite ramparts overlooking the sea, its narrow cobblestone streets are lined with cafés, shops, and centuries-old buildings. The city was heavily damaged during World War II but meticulously rebuilt to reflect its historic character.

Once again, another short but sweet stay. Saint-Malo has plenty of charm, and I especially enjoyed wandering through its historic walled city and along the ramparts overlooking the sea. It’s easy to see why this old port continues to captivate visitors. Now it’s time for the next adventure — onward to Mont-Saint-Michel.

Travel Note: Incidentally, many Schengen countries, including France, have begun implementing the new Entry/Exit System (EES), which records biometric data such as facial images and fingerprints from non-resident travelers entering the Schengen Area. We were expecting to be fingerprinted and photographed when we arrived at the port in Saint-Malo, but neither happened. Perhaps our information was already available through the biometric chip embedded in our passports, or the new procedures had not yet been fully implemented at this port.

Another Travel Note: The United Kingdom recently introduced the UK Electronic Travel Authorization (ETA), which is required for many visitors entering Great Britain. Since we had a stopover in Edinburgh, Scotland, we were required to obtain one before our trip. The authorization is completed online and is electronically linked to your passport. The application process is quick and straightforward, taking only a few minutes, but there is a fee. It’s just one more item to add to the pre-travel checklist when visiting the UK.