Woman on Her Way

August 28: Luxembourg

We arrived in Carentan at 9 A.M. and went straight to the post office to mail the camping gear home. Too bad there wasn’t a UPS or FedEx in town; it would have been cheaper.

We took a local train to Paris. As we approached the interior, the architecture changed from stone buildings to fairytale-like structures. We went through long stretches of agriculture, mostly plowed fields. Around the small station of Mantes de Jolie, there was a mixture of old and new, and lots of graffito. The Paris St. Lazare station was similar, only with taller blocked-stone buildings contrasting with tall glass ones. In Paris, the sky was cloudy and the massive building hid what sunlight there was. Not very welcoming. Nor were the French officials.

Disembarking the train, I went to the information office to find out how to the to the Gare Est (the east station). It was as if I were asking the most stupid question—you could feel the disdain—but I walked away with a metro map. Getting around the metro was not easy…the map and the signage did not correspond. I went to a different info center. This time the attendant just pointed to a sign in French, not even bothering to reply to my question. I could not be sure what the sign said, so I asked which direction I should take the lines stated on the sign. Whichever I wanted was his reply. That was helpful.

In frustration, I asked a fellow passenger to help us. Though she was uncertain, she did take the time to try to help us out. Her attitude was much more accommodating than that of the paid officials whose job it was to inform and help. Luckily, Dennis is good at reading maps, and we found our way to Gare Est with time to spare.

They patrol the station with men carrying automatic weapons and other arms. You can see them behind me in the photo above. I was glad when our express train to Luxembourg left. Paris is not a welcoming town.

Luxembourg, on the other hand, was very friendly. People speak many languages and seem to pride themselves in greeting foreigners. After dinner, we walked over the Adolphe Bridge (left) which joins to hills; the valley is a park. Entering the old city we saw a church with three steeples.

The city is having a fund-raiser for the Asian Elephants and there are brightly painted fiberglass elephants for sale all over the city.

August 27: Carentan

We went to the Dead Man’s Corner Museum in Carentan, because Dennis found a photo of his dad’s helmet in a book which stated the helmet was in this museum. The museum had many artifacts about the 82^nd and 101 Airborne, but not his helmet. We purchased a book depicting Pvt. Ernest R. Blanchard in England where he trained for the invasion. The author of both books was historian Michel de Trez,

Dennis asked the proprietor about the whereabouts of the helmet. He told us that his partner was the historian Michel de Trez and that he had the helmet in Belgium; he then called his friend to introduce us and to see if he was willing to speak with Dennis. We will go to Belgium after Luxemburg for that very purpose. Imagine the odds of finding that helmet!

Carentan is a small village with a train station. There, we bought our tickets for Luxembourg and will arrive in Luxembourg City tomorrow evening. At first we thought of catching the train to Bastogne, but decide to stay and explore the city, since I have not been there.

When I was studying French so many years ago, I read about the flying buttresses, an architectural technique that made it possible for churches to have light and height. Notre Dame in Carentan, (picture above left) I believe, is such an example.

The town hall is massive with a frontal rose and flower garden and huge window boxes full of petunias. These flowers seem to be a favored flowered in the district; they decorate many buildings. I wonder if Dennis’ father’s love for this flower developed while he was in France.–it was his favorite. Another popular flower is the hollyhock. These seem to attract the largest bumblebees I have ever seen.

Carentan has a canal to the harbor; consequently if has a marina (below, left). It was very relaxing siting under an cafe umbrella, sipping a Perrier, and watching the boats.

We returned to Sainte-Mere-Eglise, about 15 km (10 miles) away, to prepare for a day of travel. We boxed up our camping gear—no use hauling that 7 kg (almost 16 lbs) around if we are not using it. Dennis’ back pack is much lighter, and mine is smaller; both now fit in the overhead racks on trains and buses. Life is getting easier and we wind down our trip.

August 25: Sainte-Mère-Église

Except for the church bells tolling most of the day, there isn’t much going on in Sainte-Mère-Église on Sundays. Of course, there are the walking tour, restaurants, and trinket and bead shops, but no places of interest within walking distance that we had not already seen, and no buses to get to the sites that are further away.

At the tourist shop, we were surprised to find books not sold at the bookstore. More amazingly, we found photos of Dennis’ father and leads to more information. Dennis was as thrilled as a kid at Christmas and bubbled with excitement.

We visited the church where there are two stain-glass windows honoring the parachutists of the 82nd Airborne. The picture on the right depicts Saint Michael and the insignia of various Allied military units that fought in or near the village.

It is remarkable how the people of Sainte-Mère-Église continue to commemorate those that liberated them that night of June 5, 1944 and the days following. It also honors the civilians who died at that time. Next year will be the 70th anniversary.

Below is the tree where Dennis’ father’s parachute was hung up. As bullets whizzed by, he cut the ropes to the chute–and part of his thumb in haste–fell about 30 feet, and then ran off to join other members of his team. Once gathered together, some came back to liberate the town and others went to capture a Bridge at La Fiere, a marsh three kilometers away.

August 24: Sainte-Mère-Église

We went to the Sainte-Mère-Église town hall and were lucky enough to have an interview with the mayor, Marc LeFevre. Dennis thanked him for what his predecessor did to honor Ernest R. Blanchard’s 70 birthday–sending a letter thanking him for his heroic actions on June 5, 1944, a medallion of the city, and telephoning him on the actual birth date. Unfortunately, his dad never saw the accolades or received the phone call: he died three days too soon.

The mayor was very receptive and promised to contact an acquaintance of his who might be able to help Dennis with more information about his father’s “longest day.”

His office gave Dennis six commemorative photos, though not of his father.

As we were heading to the Parachutists Memorial, we passed the house pictured above. It commemorates a parachutist, but one not on the walking tour list. As were we trying to determine who it might represent, a gentleman stopped to give us information. It turns out that Philipe R. Nekrassoff (right with Dennis left) is an historian, writer, and owner of the house we were admiring. He immediately knew Dennis’ dad’s story and might have a photo of him, though from 1960. He will search his records and forward the info to Dennis. What a coincidence. As we were departing, he gifted us with a signed copy of his book: Magneville: Ce Jour Là …6 Juin 1944.

We walked five miles round trip to the memorial. On the way, I noticed that the architecture here is not very different from England’s–stone buildings, tile ceilings, similar chimneys. If it were not for the different crops in the fields, corn rather than oats, I would think I were still in England.

Unlike England, the French drive on the right, have a smaller breakfast, and seem a little more relaxed, not so much in a hurry, except when they are driving.

August 23: Sainte-Mère-Église

Cherbourg is a seaside resort town, replete with eateries, cafes, shops, and high prices. I am learning French names for shops (bakery, pastry, meat store, etc) as well a menu items. Too bad we are not staying longer in France; I would to love sample all the deliciously presented food. Or perhaps its a good idea we are not here too long–I’ve already put on too much weight. I went to the pharmacy to weigh myself, but it did not have a scale; I guess I don’t have to worry about it this way.

On our one-hour bus trip from Cherboug to Sainte-Mère-Église, we had a discussion with Nisar Mohmand. He is 24-year-old gentleman from Afghanistan who has has been living in France for three years, working as a welder. He was very interesting and kind, offering us lodging if we should need it. Many thanks, Nisar.

The tourist office in Sainte-Mère-Église helped us locate a B & B, and gave us a walking-tour map of the city. We visited the Airborne Museum (where I learned that Sainte-Mère-Église was the first liberated village in France), looked at the monuments and memorials around the city, and found Dennis’ father ‘s name on one, though the name is incorrect. Pvt. Ernest R. Blanchard is commemorated as Pvt. R. Blanchard.

Dennis is moved by being here, so close to the events faced by his dad on June 5, 1944. He regrets not having come here with his father, who would have had comments on everything.

Tomorrow we will visit more sites, select a guided tour of all the D-Day beaches for Sunday, and try to see the mayor who can perhaps direct us to more information about his dad and the tree he landed in.

August 22: Cherbourg

We had the morning to explore Portsmouth before taking the ferry to Cherbourg, France. I love the varied colors of the row houses, the open space by the sea, and the relatively warmer and sunnier weather. For the first time in about six weeks, I am comfortable, at least when not in the wind.

Portsmouth is an island city with a population density greater than London. Even though there are more than a million inhabitants, Portsmouth does not appear as crowded as London.

We visited the Portsmouth D-Day Museum, which features large embroidered panels of Operation Overlord, the code name for the Battle of Normandy. These were extremely well done, with recognizable faces and realistic scenes depicting battles and injuries. There are more 50 different materials used in the making of the panels, including materials taken from uniforms of the armed forces involved in the battles.

We had a light lunch on a restaurant’s veranda next to the ocean, and then we scrambled to meet the Ferry. It is a three-hour crossing on the “fast ferry” and we arrived there around 8 P.M. French time (GMT +1). Left, first sighting of French soil. We had no trouble finding the B & B, had a late supper, tasted French beer, and went to bed. Traveling can be very tiring.

August 21: Portsmouth

We took the train to London from Newcastle, and then another to Plymouth. Since we missed today’s ferry to Cherbourg, France, we had to find lodging for the evening. All the hotels near the ferry port were filled. We took a bus to Portsmouth South Sea, an old district of the city. On the bus, several women discussed where we should go to find the best rated B and B. Everyone was so friendly and willing to help! Upon their advice, we stopped at Kings Road Circle. As I was putting on my backpack, someone recognized the Camino patch on the pack, and we started talking. David Johnson completed the Camino by bicycle in 2011. After a lively chat, he informed us that he owned the Victoria Court B & B, and, yes, he had an available room. Once again, the Camino provides.

We ate Moroccan cuisine at Tourareg; something different for both of us. Of course, we had previously eaten Couscous, but not as deliciously prepared as the meal we had this evening. I will have to learn how to cook this traditional food.

Tomorrow morning we will visit Portsmouth, and then take the 4 P.M. ferry to France; at last.

August 20: Newcastle and Wallsend

Yesterday we waited at the B & B for FedEx to deliver our credit cards. They arrived around 3 PM and we almost ran a mile with our backpacks to the bus stop to catch a ride to Hexham. We got there with just a minute to spare. From Hexham, we took the train to Newcastle. The Visitor’s Bureau helped us find lodging–a hotel chain called Jury’s…at last, I was warm in a building and had reliable, but slow, WiFi.

This morning, we took a city bus to Heddon-on-the-Wall to complete our hike to Wallsend. According to the guidebook, it should have been an easy eight-mile walk; it turned out to be twice that.

We stopped for lunch, and I tried two things that I have seen since I arrived England: Coronation Chicken (a cold chicken and curry sauce sandwich), and Ginger Beer. I don’t usually drink soda, but I liked this strong fermented ginger ale.

The walk today was mostly on a rail trail, like the Legacy Trail in Sarasota, Fl. It followed the Tyne and was quite lovely through Newcastle with all its bridges. The weather was agreeable, high 60’s, and I even rolled up my sleeves.

From Newcastle to Wallsend, the trip was unbearable long. I don’t know if it was because I was anticipating the end, but that last five miles felt much longer. At last, at 4:50 P.M., we arrived at Segedunum fort and museum, which was closing. Glad to get off our feet, Dennis and I and two walking companions we met when we stopped for lunch took the train back to Newcastle for a celebratory beer.

Tomorrow we head for France.

August 18: Heddon-on-the-Wall

Sandra, the B & B proprietor expressed a local axiom, “Rain by seven, clear by eleven.” Since it poured this morning, I was hoping the adage was accurate. Though we had a cloud burst at 11:30, when we ducked into a tea shop, the rest of the day was sunny, though windy. Since the predominant winds come from the West, we were happy with our decision to walk to the East. For a change, the winds are to our backs, helping us climb steep hills.

We met several unprepared east-to-west hikers who were limping along or looking distraught. Apparently they started hiking Hadrian’s Wall Path yesterday, and their bodies had not yet adjusted. One person had so much gear, I doubt he was able to meet his destination today without taking a cab.

We walked 18 miles from Greencarts to Heddon-on-the-Wall in about seven hours. We started at 9:30 A.M. at Blackcarts with what turned out to be the last visible section of consolidated wall (First picture). The Blackcarts turret (above right) is one of the better preserved, and most likely predates the wall.

From here forwards, there are only traces of the wall, sometimes lumps under the grass. Off course, the ditch on the north side of the wall and the vellum on the south side are visible. Several times throughout the day, we walked in the ditch on stones placed to prevent soil erosion and to keep our feet out of the mud.

The remainder of the day’s journey was through fields that were often muddy, single tracks through forests, on pavement or stone paths–even on busy streets. Often times, the only trail indicator was the green, mowed grassy corridor, and we wondered what winter hikers use to follow the path when the ground is covered in snow. Though the scenery was beautiful, nothing was breath-taking.

This section was riddled with stiles—53 of them—almost three per mile. These ladders used to climb over stonewalls were, at times, no more than a few feet apart. See me poking my head out through the second stile in photo on left.

Unlike the middle section which is mostly distant from the road, today we walked through several villages with many opportunities for food and drink. We stopped for tea to wait out the rain, had a carrot and coriander soup for lunch, and a “carvery” (buffet) at the Swan in Heddon. With all the exercise, I had no trouble eating a plateful of food.

From there, the taxi back to the B & B recorded 17 road miles and cost us £25 ($38)… a price we were only too willing to pay, since we had no other way home.

We have only eight miles left (from Heddon-on-the-Wall to Wallsend), and we should finish our hike tomorrow. Then off to France.

August 17: Greencarts

Dennis felt well enough today to walk, so we took the bus to Housesteads to resume walking where we had last stopped. Because this section of Hadrian’s Wall Path does not have sufficient and convenient hiker accommodations, trekkers tend to stay in one place several nights and leapfrog to various trailheads: walking forwards, and then returning by bus; or busing ahead, and then walking back to where they are staying.

Today was overcast, making for dark photos. It was very windy, with light scattered showers. As I walked, I commented that I have not been warm since leaving London a month ago. It is cold in the buildings; even with the thick down comforters, I shiver in bed half the night, especially when Dennis and I are in bunk or twin beds. Today, even Dennis was cold in our room at the B & B. We should be leaving northern England in a few days, after finishing walking Hadrian’s Wall, or when FedEx delivers the credit cards, which are now sitting in a local FedEx building. Tomorrow is Sunday and Monday is a bank holiday. Not knowing when they will be delivered makes planning our itinerary difficult.

Today’s highlight involves a standoff with a young bull who did not want me entering his pasture. I kept talking to him and he finally let me pass. He eyed Dennis in a menacing way, but let him pass also, then turned around to butt him. Dennis heard him grunt and jumped facing the bovine while making a loud angry sound; the bull relented and backed off.

From here to Wallsend 30 miles away, the terrain levels off and the Wall becomes more scattered and buried. We are going to attempt the distance in two days; we are both ready for France.

We had Indian food delivered to our room. I had the best Chicken Tikka Masala. We ordered what we thought would be enough food for two nights, then Dennis’ appetite clicked in. Since he has been ill, he’s eaten very little. Glad to see him back to himself. Since the start of our journey, he has lost considerable weight; I, on they other hand, have not.

Below, left picture is of Roman Alter; right one is of the milecastle ‘planter.’