Josh and Rachel Take a Trip

And that’s it. We arrived safe and sound back in Pittsburgh last Monday, our bodies dragging at something like 2:30am London time. We went back to work the next day and have been slowly recovering from jetlag since.

The whole trip was a fantastic adventure. Josh has already proclaimed that we must go back, and we’re thinking it might be something we try and do every five to ten years.

Our entire outlook on life has changed. Josh eats granloa now. We want wine with every meal. We’re upset at how manufactured everything tastes. We have a great distaste for anything wasteful. I am more excited than ever to replant my garden in the spring. We’re looking for a good bakery, even though we know they can’t recreate a beautiful french baguette. We are both creatures that are eternally trying to streamline — now we’ve got better ideas of how to do so after seeing how the Europeans do it.

…and we are delighted to discover that Giant Eagle sells Orangina!

Traveling so far away has also made us realize some of the wonderful resources that the U.S. has to offer, too. I’d like to see DC, Seattle, San Francisco, New York. Maybe Las Vegas, and some less popluar cities. I want to return to Chicago, Portland, Charleston, SC. I’d like to check out some of our National Parks…

I can’t wait to take more adventures!

We’re back in our homebase in Pittsburgh, but we intend to roam more in the future. It’s hard to top Paris, but we can try. If you’re interested in following one of us while we’re not traveling, you’re free to check out our other blogs: The Sum of David and Josh Sager Media.

When we were still in Normandy, getting our fix of the internet we’d been missing over the previous week, Josh was catching up on his sports news. Interestingly enough, the Chargers and Saints were playing in London… on what would be our last day.

I’d wanted to check out a football game — soccer, I mean — but that wasn’t possible. Instead, we thought we’d experience an American Football game instead, but in London. It might sound silly since we can see an NFL game at home, and for the team we love, but our real interest was in experiencing the NFL experience in London — the stadium for one (some of the Olympic trials will take place there in 2012) and, more specifically, how the locals supported it, if at all.

The crown of England’s national game will always be passionately held by soccer, but we were surprised to find there was support for American Football, too. We were in Madame Toussad’s later than we meant to be, so we rolled up on the stadium at the start of the second quarter. Emerging out into the open dome was pretty impressive.

65 degrees with a very light wind, snuggled in to watch some pigskin with our 83,226 closest English and American friends? Sigh. It doesn’t get much better than that. It was a high scoring game, and the crowd reacted accordingly. Josh and I are Steelers fans through and through, but when in Rome (or London)… We let our fantasy football teams be our guides: Josh and the boys on his left wanted the Chargers to win, me and the boys on my right wanted the Saints to win.

The Saints won 37-32, which was fun even if it wasn’t enough to secure my FF victory. The crowd was more polite (and less drunk) than the games I’ve been to in the States, but they were also faster to boo. And, after a couple failed attempts, the whole stadium did “the wave”, which I don’t think I’ve ever seen at Heinz Field. It was so much fun to watch that I couldn’t stop laughing.

Imagine 84,000 people filtering out of a giant stadium… and into a single metro station. It sounds like a mess, but the London mounted police allowed us into the station in waves, and we were on a train headed back to our hotel in under an hour. It was a tight squeeze for the 12 mile ride back into London, but it was efficient, and an easier process than, say, getting the two miles from Heinz Field back to our house at home.

Josh was giddy that our honeymoon involved any kind of football. I think that means my football education is now officially complete. I had wanted to end the trip on some kind of event, since it might otherwise feel like we were just waiting for the time to leave. This was a perfect adventure… the perfect end to the perfect trip.

(Thanks mom and dad!)

Since our time in London was so limited, we were forced to pair down our visits, especially in light of our fantastic evening activities. We braved the rain to find Abbey Road, of Beatles fame. The crossing that the Beatles walked across in the famous picture is actually a busy roadway. The drivers patiently wait for fans to cross. We watched one girl go back and forth several times, obviously embarrassed, but not humiliated enough to stop doing it. She just kept laughing, and it was fun to watch.

We went in search of lunch next, in the area of our next destination. We walked into a bar right outside Paddington Station and oh my it was like the United Nations of American Football: a huge bar, filled with jerseys from every team in the NFL. We searched in vain for a table, but alas, nothing was open and we were forced to leave our glorious brethren for alternative sustenance. We were sad — we would have loved to make friends.

A short note about where we ate. First, the smell — it was beautiful, because I spell heaven G-A-R-L-I-C. Yum. Second, they had a Dyson AirBlade in the bathroom. Not familiar with the AirBlade? The guy that designs the fantabulous Dyson vacuums designed a hand dryer the uses an intense line of air to wipe your hands dry. You stick your wet hands in, pull them out the top and holy smokes, the machine has wiped them dry. With air. It would blow your mind too if you tried it.

Our next stop was Madame Toussad’s Wax Museum. Rick Steves said it was silly but lots of fun, and I thought it would be a good addition to our last day. What it was, was ridiculous. Usually I am a pretty solid introvert, but for some reason I jumped into this experience with fervor, assertively nudging girls out of the way so I could get my picture with fake (sometimes really fake) celebrities.

Aw.

Cameron thinks I’m hilarious.

Hawkings and I discuss the secrets of the universe.

Bush and I discussing his presidency. I used small words.

Tom Cruise. Crazy short. Or crazy and short.

Ensigns Sager reporting for duty, Cap’n. Ha!

It ended up being super fun, even if I had to beg to get Josh to pose. When we finally emerged, we were late for our final engagement…

TO BE CONTINUED!

The Church Street Hotel is located in Southeast London, below the Thames river. Taking advantage of its location meant learning the bus routes, which ended up being much easier than anticipated. The snazzy double deckers got us nearly everywhere we needed to go, and you could buy a day pass right at a machine at the bus stop.

We saw The London Eye, which is a 900 feet tall ferris wheel that gives a great view of the city.

Then we walked across the river to Big Ben.

…and showed a little support for our Big Ben back home!

A few blocks later was Buckingham palace, which is underwhelming (especially after the magnificence of France’s monuments).

Josh’s cold from Normandy hit me hard today, so I was happy to sit in the hotel’s lounge and chill for the rest of the evening.

The hotel is really very nice. You get a lot of room for London, even if there’s a catacomb of stairs to get to your room. It’s clean, it’s got great flavor and interior design, their lounge and breakfast were supreme and oh, what’s that? Honor bar? Awesome! An early bedtime for me and my clogged head, and Josh caught up on his drawing.

We went from Normandy to Paris to London today. I fully expected today to be pretty nasty because of all the traveling and boy, was it ever. We left the B&B later than anticipated, and rain on the highway slowed our return to Caen to drop off our rental and catch our train. We got lost in Caen (where the train station lives) and, with time running short, I had the return the car with very little gas. I apologized profusely and kept indicating “le train” — the rental woman kindly understood and sent us off in a hurry.

Our trip to Paris was uneventful, if loud…. the car full of old ladies were all best friends once the train started moving, and they clucked on and on for a couple hours. We got to St. Lazare in Paris and took the metro to Paris’s Gare du Nord. We had time to spare so I spent the last of my French at a cafe in the train station where a little boy at the next table poured coffee on me.

The train ride to London was nice and relaxing — no sighting of Chalk Horse this time, but nice just the same. Then my biggest planning downfall: I had no map for the location of our final hotel. It took a couple hours and at least 20 blocks of pulling our heavy luggage around. Once there, we were exhausted and starving so off to find food… and wouldn’t you know it, the place we found had a closed kitchen. Defeated, we each had a beer and then went to bed, thankful to be in one spot.

Josh was feeling better today, but we still wanted to take it easy. The B&B was wonderfully relaxing… it was hard to get up and move around. Around noon, we hopped back into our little car and took off for the Mont St. Michel. I didn’t think it was far, and after some minor map malfunction, we figured out it was about 1/5 hours away. It was a pretty day, so we were on our way again.

Josh was doubtful, but I knew Mont St. Michel would be worth it. The story goes that several centuries ago (think the 900’s) a priest had a dream telling him to build a honking huge cathedral on a big rock off the shore of Normandy. The main problem? There wasn’t room for a 70 meter cathedral on the rock — the architectural feats to get the church on the mount is one heck of an accomplishment. There were multiple changes throughout the centuries: entire wings collapsed under their own weight and were rebuilt, the continuous construction projects were adjusted midway throughout completion as the needs of the community changed, the rock’s inhabitants alternated between monks or prisoners.

For much of its existence, however, Mont St. Michel served as a site for Christian pilgrimages. When it comes into view, it’s easy to see why. The mountain is an impossible geographical element in the landscape, a giant rock of an island that juts up out of the water, seemingly miles from shore. In fact, there was once a great stretch of beach between the rock and the mainland. In the Middle Ages, much of the land was aerated for planting crops, but an epic tide still varies 15 meters twice during the year — a variation matched in only one other place in the world. Walking across a mile of more of sand during low tide to reach the mount would have been an enlightening experience, but the trek could be perilous — not only can high tide sweep in dangerously quick, but there is a real danger of quicksand pools pulling people under. You can walk the beach these days if you dare, but you do so at your own risk.

There is a causeway out to the mount, and you really respect the tides when you read this:

The surrounding town is touristy, but the cathedral retains its ancient master craftsmanship and beauty.

It was funny to hear people complaining about the stairs. I don’t know how you could drive toward this place, pay to get in and then not expect to climb. The whole thing is vertical.

We drove back to town around sunset, a pretty thing during autumn in Normandy.

A note about driving: one can’t help but feel rad when the speedometer reads 130. Yes, it’s kilometers per hour; and yes, our little tin can of a car whirred its little heart out making the speed. But it makes you feel reckless and adventurous.

Once back in Carentan, we changed clothes and had a nice dinner out. I had duck for the first time and it was tasty and elegant. It was a nice farewell to Normandy.

Josh was feeling pretty yucky, despite medicine, so we stayed at the B&B until about 2 pm while he slept off his illness. Then we popped into the car and took off for another hair raising adventure.

When the idea of France was becoming a reality as our honeymoon, I decided I’d very much like to see the beaches at Normandy. There are actually 5 miles of them - you can start at one end and work along the coast to all of them. Since we only had two days in Normandy and we only had a few more hours before most of them closed, we went to Omaha Beach.

France is grateful to the contributions of Americans during WWII, and has given this land to the US to use in memorial of those who died to bring about their liberation. The US flag flies here, and the 9,387 buried here face West, toward their homeland. Per Rick Steves: the dead of D-Day were buried temporarily until the 1950s, when they were exhumed and their families decided whether they should stay in Normandy or return home. There is a disproportionate number of officers, since their families believed they would rather be buried alongside those they served and commanded.

There are several beaches, and all have retained their code names from that military landing. Omaha Beach looks calm and peaceful now.

The mosaic ceiling in a chapel at one of the lots in the cemetery that looks out over the beach. After seeing lots of amazing (but ancient) artwork in France, seeing modern elements in such an old medium added gravity to what it represented.

Nothing drove the point home more than all the boys, though.

The bronze statue Spirit of American Youth.

The Garden of the Missing. The names of those men never found are listed here. Inscribed above the 1,557 names reads:

Comrades in arms whose resting place is known only to God. Here are recorded the names of Americans who gave their lives in the service of their country and who sleep in unknown graves. This is their memorial, the whole Earth their sepulcher.

I wish my photos did the place justice. It was immense and so sadly serene. Having seen the exhibit on it at the War Museum in France and the pictures throughout so many history classes; then physically being there… it was a moving experience. What a price to pay.

In retrospect, two bottles of wine the night before you’re supposed to do any extensive traveling is probably not the greatest idea. Ugh.

We were up early, but definitely not bright-eyed or bushy-tailed. We were sleep-deprived, hungry, hung-over and abhorring the idea of taking our heavy luggage on the metro again. We grumbled through it, making our train at St. Lazare Station with plenty of time.

I took Rick Steve’s guide on this trip and it has been the best. I can’t recomment his books enough. I’ve got one for London, too. In the case of traveling by French rail, he very wisely suggested checking to make sure that you are in the right car by simply asking “Cette voiture a Caen?“, meaning “This car is going to Caen?” Sometimes the train splits, and different cars go in different directions. So, I asked the kind old woman in our car if it is indeed going to Caen, and she gasps and says “Oh non, non, ce n’est pas!” So I go into a stealth panic-on-the-inside-chill-on-the-outside mode and we all bust out our tickets to compare. The numbers all line up, and we check the info outside the door — the train does indeed stop at Caen. Whew!

It stops very quickly, in fact. You have maybe three minutes to grab your bags and hop off before it gets going again.

A hangover and riding (nauseatingly) backwards in a train did wonders for distracting my mind from the fear that’s been haunting me for days: DRIVING A CAR.

A month ago, when I was sitting in my comfy computer chair and booking the rental online before work: no problem. We wanted to go to Normandy, and that was how we could get there. Book’em Danno. Done. NEXT. In reality, it’s a smidge more complicated, most obviously because I don’t know what the signs mean.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I did google “Driving in France” before coming over, but there were limits to its aid. Thank God they drove on the right side of the road.

So thanks, National Car Rental, for being irresponsible enough to allow me to drive a car in your country. I know I have a international driver’s license, but AAA gave it to me through the rigid qualification procedure of… $15. Stepping out of the rental office and climbing into our little lunchbox of a car, I was pretty sure we were either going to die or go to jail. Our future coffin/vessel for lawbreaking was one of these:

So cute! The renter and myself were both looking insecure at my taking the wheel, but I paid for the insurance — my life was in our hands now, woo! There were some… I will say “tense” moments — but we did get out of the town of Caen successfully and onto the highway. We checked into our B&B, La Mare Palu, an hour later.

Damien and Steve run La Mare Palu, and we were their last guests of the season. I can’t say enough about the place. It is beautifully decorated (they refinished the farmhouse themselves, if I’m not mistaken), very clean, the hosts are friendly… and I think Josh and I both cried a little at the stand-up shower. Breakfast was amazing and the whole experience was super relaxing. They allowed us to come and go as we pleased and it was within 1.5 hours of where we wanted to go in the next couple days. Win!

The first night, however, we ventured into the nearby Carentan for two things: food and medicine. First off, we found a Pharmacie since Josh wasn’t feeling well. In France, if you’re not feeling well, you first talk to a pharmacist. They diagnose you and give you medicine - or send you to a doc if you’re out of their league. I can’t describe how entertaining it must have been to watch me mentally fishing for the French I really haven’t accessed since 10th grade: nose, cold, chest… there were alot of hand motions and faces. She got it, however, and gave us a box of what Josh has called his “Lemony Goodness” since - after three days, it did the trick nicely. The second goal was food: because we hadn’t had lunch we were starving and it was only 6 pm so none of the restaurants were open… we ended up getting pizzas and our Orangina*.

We were a little ashamed of getting a cheese pizza in Normandy, but not ashamed enough not to buy and subsequently devour it. Plus, the place had just apparently opened and the little pizza dude was so darn eager to help and adorable, it was really our pleasure. We took our feast back to the B&B and sat on the floor and watched the Sarah Palin stuff we’ve missed. It really was the best, no-frills way to end a very busy day.

*This European vacation brought to you by Orangina, now with pulp!

Our adventures in Normandy actually started the night before. I chose the apartment we stayed in because it had wi-fi and a washing machine. Our trip was two weeks, but we only packed for one, with the intention of washing and reusing. Washing and reusing is a great plan if you can: A) read how to operate the machinery in a foreign language, and B) use context clues and deductive reasoning to execute what you’re able to decipher.

First things first: we had to figure out which machine was the washer and which was the dryer. We had a tense moment where soap almost went into the dryer, but we got ourselves straight just in time. We got our clothes in the right machine, put soap in what we thought was the appropriate drawer and turned the foreign dial on. I know we were doing something wrong because the digital timer read 192. Was that minutes?

It was. Thankfully, it did the job, but with two loads of washing and drying and then packing to do… yoy. The dryer also 2.5 hours to dry each load, so we didn’t sleep much with all the gonk-gonk-gonk of the machine. The night was long.

I can’t complain much about the apartment set-up, though. It gave us little in the way of the support that a concierge at a hotel might offer, but it gave much more in other ways. We were able to dine in a couple times, which was nice. We were able to do our laundry at no cost, even if it was difficult. The bathtub with sprayer, or “shath” as Josh lovingly referred to it, was a challenge but also got the job done. The apartment also allowed us more room than a hotel (in my price range anyway) would. Above all, it was a little home away from home:

We’ll miss it.

Not just the apartment, of course. After getting over our initial terror of the hustle-bustle of the city, Paris really began feeling comfortable. What appears as chaos is actually a smooth running machine. The whole city operates on a system, and once you understand the system, you can flow along with the locals.

I had heard that Parisians are rude - it’s untrue. Things move fast, and as a foreigner you are not a part of the city’s smooth-moving routine. Your lack of knowledge of the system creates an inconvenience and delay. They are rarely rude about it, even if they aren’t overly friendly. We met several people that offered smiles and directions.

Many people did speak English, which was comforting, but there were a couple people that didn’t at all. In a food/retail setting, you can get your point across with basic French. Even fumbling with the language is appreciated, and a polite “Parden me, but do you speak English, I only speak a little French,” went a long way.

I wish I’d had more time to shop, to sight-see, to wander and explore. I wish I’d had more time to eat, to drink, and learn/practice more of my abysmal French. I wish I’d bought shoes.

We’ve already discussed returning to Paris, and we miss the city. Josh said it was beginning to feel like home… but this thang ain’t over yet, kids. Now we’re off to Normandy…

But first, here’s one for you mom:

Yep, she’s a teapot. We found her in our apartment. Ain’t she a beaut?

And wouldn’t you know I’d forget a day…

Today was a wonderful and relaxing day, what a vacation should be. Josh and I got up early(ish) and went in search of a bakery — he’s been dying for a baguette. Unfortunately, many places were closed or opening later since it was Sunday, so we found ourselves in a cafe rocking grand cafes and croissants. Then we went to McD’s — or as Josh calls it, the eMbassy — because Josh had work to do and I had to set my roster for fantasy football. Sorry Joe, but you’re going down. Loser means the same across the world, buckaroo.

Then we went in search of lunch, because croissants are delicious, but not great at the filling of tummies. We found a restaurant called Cafe Meres, just blocks away from our place, and it was tres tasty. Josh got a cheeseburger and I got entrecote without knowing what that was (it’s rib steak). We also got some yummy wine and, wait for it… cappuccinos. The bonus this time? Josh was intoxicated enough to try creme brulee, which he found to be amazing (”It tastes like melted marshmallows!”)… but not as amazing as his chocolate cake.

We grabbed our sketching stuff and headed out to Place des Vosge, a beautiful square a few blocks from our apartment. The light faded before we could really do much in the way of art, but it was wonderful walk. The temperature was perfect, and the locals were out roaming, window shopping and playing with their kids. French kids are the CUTEST EVER. Their fashionable parents dress them like something out of a magazine, and then when they spout there adorable blobby french words… It doesn’t hurt that I can understand some of it, and when I can’t translate it my heart just melts. So it’s a win either way.

The French take their cafe culture seriously here: there are heating lamps above the tables for the chilly evenings. And this morning, when our buddy waited on us, he brought our order and left us alone — they are here to serve asap, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. People-watching at breakfast was informative and fun. We also saw a Mustang, which was grossly out of place amongst the vespas, cycles, smartcars and tiny cars.

Speaking of cars, we’ve passed this situation I don’t know how many times:

I’m interested in seeing someone get out of such a parking job. I suspect it involves a lot of negotiation. Strolling, sketching and chillaxin’… today was a good day.