The countryside. Even the word sounds relaxed. A day on the side of the country away from mass transit, mass consumerism, and mass noise pollution. We decided to go to Normandy.

Our means of transportation was a Renault Laguna, 4-door diesel—fully equipped with a full tank of gas. Our only hesitation all day long was the morning traffic that kept us in the city for two more hours, and then we were free! For a moment I remembered a similar feeling when crossing the border to Florida on the way to a spring break in Sarasota. The green trees and small cottages surrounded us for a short time, and then the villages could only be seen on distant hills. Each village that we passed through possessed a church, a market, a boulangerie, and an old broken down car. I loved it.

Our destinations were Arromanches-Les-Bains and Omaha Beach, where the Allied forces invaded occupied France quite a while back. The entire area encapsulated a peace that can only come after war, like new pine trees after a forest fire—regrowth knows nothing of the past. Arromanches itself was a small summer town. Immediately, my impression of the French was improved as we passed smiling locals on the sidewalks and took pictures of run-down cottages from the beach.

A street vendor sold us butter and ham baguettes, which was a pleasantly surprising treat. We walked to a local Creperie shop for lunch, and I fell in love with the delicatessen. The owner is this darling woman in her thirties with short hair and wearing an apron. We each had coffee and a dessert crepe, pour moi un banane au chocolat. Tres bon! After my emotional crux yesterday, you can imagine how I fell in love with this shop and its owner. I would highly recommend her graciousness and the atmosphere of La Creperie.

The remainder of our day was mostly spent in reverence of Allied forces and their efforts on this coast. Churchill’s outpost on the bay, the abandoned bunkers at Omaha beach and a military cemetery for American soldiers that overlooks the Atlantic Ocean gave me a renewed pride in the country which I tried to hide in myself this week.

We left the sea with quiet spirits—excited to retreat back into mass civilization, but reminiscent of a relaxation or nostalgia that we weren’t expecting to experience. Who lives in these places with thatched roofs and broken door frames…? Only the most blessed of us.

Relationships between my traveling companions and I were enriched by the road trip. When there is no where to go and nothing to do—people end up talking about things that really matter without meaning to do so. My favorite question of the journey was about the idiosyncrasies and quirks that we see in each other. For example, I have a Dixie cup that I’ve used for vitamins at night for just under two years… its all cracked and not a bit efficient… but it works. Drew’s shirts are organized by color and style. Jena has a phobia of discarded hair lying about anywhere outside of the trashcan. John, of course, uses three different face moisturizers because he fears that each will only work if used in weekly allotments. How can people be so strange and so normal?

Discussion was perfect on the way back to Paris. Even though we unintentionally avoided the relationship discourse for this long, it seemed like the appropriate time to break out all truths… well, the general truths anyway. And so we arrive back in the city, feeling rejuvenated after laughing over Drew’s fork-flipping skills in the creperie and a brief peak into a closed Monet’s garden. I love the countryside.