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!