England
England is fantastic. I recognize the foliage. I understand the language. However , the land possesses something most of America lacks. The U.S. has existed 232 years approximately. This is but a droplet in the pool of time, and one does not realize just how small it is until standing in a vast magnificent cathedral that has stood in the same place for 800 years. England is a country of vast and deep memory. The very trees seem older, and some are. Whether they are or not is of no matter, its’ the aura of the and. Everything simply seems more alive; greener, wiser, and greater in experience. Deeply rooted drawing the energy of the land more fully then the lately established New World. The rolling lands around me, covered in good, dense, woolly foliage, the homes burrowed into the hollows and protected places of the earth, the homes themselves, brick, yet somehow as much a part of the landscape as anything else. Harmony is somehow stronger simply because the people that have sprung from the earth, descended from long generations that have marched into the past, leaving their memories behind throughout the land, are more connected to the lands they inhabit.
I love trees, and western European forests. I fell strongly Tolkien’s inspirations for the "love of things that grow" that he wrote into the minds of his hobbits. It is easy to obtain this love if you are the kind of person willing to take the time to simply soak in the surroundings, breathe the air, close your eyes, and grow. The best description for the feeling received from this pastime is serenity. Others have described it. Emerson called it Over Soul. But was grotesque because he attempted to live in it, which, though understandable, and perhaps admirable, is also impossible.
The rumors are true of course. It rains quite a bit here, though not heavily. But a simple jacket suffices to keep you dry, and it never really lasts. And as an added benefit, it always has that indescribable post-rain smell of clean air.
The War Department in a preparatory missive to its soldiers in World War II described the English people as friendly but reserved. Also true. It can make starting a conversation imposing, but really not difficult when you get to it. They generally will not strike up one with you though. As in all generalities it’s true of many but not all. Their relationship with Americans is interesting. They still prefer us to the French. At Saltsburg lady who explains history behind the Magna Carta they have there made the interesting remark that American’s seem more interested in the document then the British, and furthermore "some rich American" purchased one of the few remaining original copies for 15 million (pounds or dollars she did not specify). The interesting part was that she ended it with "thank goodness". She would rather have it in America as opposed to anywhere else. Other than England of course.
London is easy to navigate for the young. The Tube system is easy to use and understand as long as you know where the entrances are. They charge for the use of bathrooms, but I suppose if you live here among other things you have your own, and know where most free ones are anyway.
I would live here. Easily. Find a house, a decent income, and write. Enjoy the nature. Have a dog, and visit the history that surrounds me.
There are more horses here. Police ride them even. Royalty and all it’s traditions have a very real fascination in my mind, and many Americans. It’s strange because it is something we are accustomed to learning about as it were a past event. This is a living, working constitutional monarchy, and as such is an oddity to us. Royal household, Royal Roads, even store patronized by the royal household with special seals of approval. Very strange, and very cool.
The Tower of London really conveys the negative emotions that must have soaked its walls. The ravens are eerie. The entire place has the sad aura of a funeral. Crown Jewels are just as beautiful as legend would have it, but more impressive toe me were all the gold vessels used in the coronation ; absolutely enormous bowls etc. made of gold, with gold at almost $1000 and ounce in today’s Market. Simply amazing.
Memories of ancestors somehow carry on through our blood I think, and awake with the proper stimulation. I pick up the English, Irish and Scotch accents within days, indeed hours of being surrounded by them, and yet I do not pick up the French accent at all, but then if I even say one word accented I slip into a weird Scotch/Irish accent that comes naturally to me
Normandy/Normandie
Normandy is very much different from England. Memory is does not lie as thickly upon its rolling hills. I’m not sure the reason of this. Perhaps it’s the local people. They have simply continued on with their lives for the most part; their crops grow from year to year, and their concerns are similarly oriented. The war had a lot to do with it too. The idea that almost all towns in the path of the 5th and 7th Corps were all 60-80% destroyed left a strong impression on me. How can the past remains strong when all it’s physical manifestations are lost? People have fickle memories. Without the physical reminders, the actually presence of a structure within which to picture ancient people, the whispers of the ascended souls are not as strong in the ears of the living. Such is France; the past is remember but not living. Few exceptions remain. St-Mere-Eglise still has the ancient 12th century chapel which caught 3 paratroopers on its bell tower. It’s eerie, because you can see the exact location that German officers stood and had pictures, the exact spot where a paratrooper was gunned down, the exact point behind which airborne infantry set up a strong point. Then the shade come to life.
Upon Utah beach, a German Bunker, a gun, the obstacles, and LCT, the wind upon the waves washing to shore that is now quiet, activities of destruction having ceased their frenzy leaving echoes behind. Pont-du-Hoc is fascinating. It is a testament to the fury of war. The moon hath not rougher landscape than that which graces the rocky promontory. The entirety of the surface is filled with craters, anywhere from 10-30ft deep from the Naval bombardment that suffered by the fortifications there. The remains of the defensive bunkers are impressive, all the more because any of it is still intact. Most of it is, though badly cracked and broken in many places. Only one bunker is entirely destroyed, and it is in the center of what is easily the largest crater. I’m told that a grenade tossed by one of the Rangers into the magazine for all the artillery cause a large subsidiary explosion which blew pieces of the bunker up and outwards. Many bunkers I would have explored further had I a flashlight. Here however the echoes are terrible Many men died here in little dark holes on such a small spit of land. The feeling in the bunkers is VERY bad. You run in, look around, and get out again as fast as possible, because you expect a skeletal hand to grab you, or to hear the grinding of rusty hinges as the ghosts slam the hatch shut sealing you in. "the dead made it, and the dead keep it"
If ever you’ve seen an actual haunted house, the feeling of resentment on the part of the memory of those that died in these little concrete holes is similar and strong yet somehow as an American, you stand upon the broken bunkers and are proudly reminded that Americans broke them, and saddened that young men on either side, who were the same age were forced to fight and kill. I cannot comprehend it. I don’t feel old. Always as a younger child reading about the war you feel that something in older people prepares them for this eventuality. That at 18 you are different and ready. The revelations is that you are not, and neither were they. They went into combat green, and were forever marked and changed by it. A solider is smelly, scared, tired, so very young, and yet perseveres somehow through the end. Were I in combat, I’d be terrified. Yet patriotism, sense of duty, and love for my comrades would force me on.
The question consumes my awareness:
Is anyone ever ready?
Answer
No.
But they are anyway.
And then there’s Omaha.
There are not words.
Physically, the first thing that you notice is how incredibly, horribly long the stretch of beach reaching out to sea is. Landing here against a dug in enemy looks just as terrible as it really was. The fortifications are all gone, except for a few. The Allies cleared them away to make room for their harbor. A town is there now, bordered by the cliffs that originally were the end of the beach (this means that the beach was twice as long as it is now) The famous sea wall behind which the U.S. troops regrouped and saved the beach head is there still. But most recognizable features are gone. All that remains are the waves, the clouds and the gulls of the Norman coast. You look out to see there, and the waves speak of the great tragedy that took place there. Deep sadness lingers. The waves roll in, yet they can never wash away what happened there for it is in the ground. It’s a very solemn place, a silent place. Nothing but the sound of the sea disturbs it. There weren’t any locals even though it was not that bad a day out. I don’t think they go there much. I have soil from both beaches, and something else from each. Omaha is covered with beautiful dark shells, black outside, blue inside. Tears for the dead young men, lying in mute mourning. Fitting that they adorn this beach, they do not exist at Utah.
There are a lot of white crosses above this beach. 3 medals of honor won there. But all honored and honorable.
Paris
What a way of life! French folk are more open than the British. Paris is easy to navigate and easy to have fun in. Yet it is such a relaxed way of life. Fun in Paris can consist of something so simple as a café. All you need is a friend, a cup or glass and eyes. SO much color in the city; you watch the kaleidoscope go by. Every city has that to a certain extent, and you realize that the way of life is an entity so amazingly complex, dark and light, good, bad, and altogether beautiful. There is no one who can fathom its depths. Art. The Louvre is indeed so unimaginably extensive; to truly have looked at and appreciated each artwork displayed in those halls, which are themselves artful would take more than a lifetime, and this great testament to human creativity is but a fraction of that part of the Great Tapestry. Any subject in existence has a museum dedicated to it in some measure in that great old city. While it is true that the land and it’s people are in the present, for those who study the past it is Mecca.
If there is one thing I regret about the Reformation it is the effect if had upon the building of cathedrals’ that is the cessations of their creation entirely. The Protestant’s were right. It shouldn’t matter what sort of building you worship the Creator in, but it does have it’s effect. Both Notre Dames, the one in Paris, and the other in Rheims were absolutely astounding. In those cavernous halls , many thought flicker in the mind of those that pause there in that quiet place in the mind. Mortality, beauty, gratitude to He that hath provided such ability to man. The church's builders, creators, and original congregations have long since passed on, as have many generations after them, and the churches in their very permanence have the ability to open your mind and remind you of the finality that ends every physical journey. The truth is, all these factors add up to produce and absolute separation from the everyday mind allowing the voice which speak to the deepest truths and desires of the soul. That voice is in all people, but can be weak in the face of the clamor of modern existence. To return to the spiritual quiet, return to a church that existed in a time that possessed it.
Rheims honestly was better than "de Paris" because it wasn’t just a tourist stop. It was a cathedral of similar beauty and almost identical construction, only you were allowed to enjoy it, the way it used to be enjoyed. You will never understand Gregorian chant until you hear it in the venue for which it was written. It possesses an unearthly and very powerful effect in cathedrals that cannot be communicated or shared except by the actual experience. It has to be seen and heard for real. The best part about all the monumental old cathedrals is that they are still active churches, still worshipped in. They served their present purpose 600 years before the Declaration of Independence, and will continue to do so for as long as Western Civilization persists, and communicated the permanence of God himself.
Belleau Wood is another disturbing place to visit. It has been left as it was at the end of the war, trenches, foxholes, revetments, shell craters and all. Somewhere out there under the cold earth rest the remains of soldiers marked MIA as well. And the threat of unexploded ordnance is real, and encourages us to stay on the path. It is hold ground for the marines, and we are fortunate to have a marine accompany us about the battleground. He was Marine Recon in Iraq, so he’s officially in the elite category, and as such is very cool. Still disturbing though, the whole site. You can go see the entry point the Marines used, and the nice stone embankments that the German’s were able to kill thousands from. Very weird.
Eiffel was horrible weather, (frigid, raining, hailing and high winds,) but worth it anyway.
Versailles was amazing in its opulence. There wasn’t a room there that you could not possible play a full scale football game in, and the hall of mirrors was a beautiful as legend would suggest. Really shows you why the Revolution happened though.
So there you have it. The poetical lyrical description of the various thoughts that were inspired by those foreign lands through which I am fortunate to have journeyed. They say people watching in Paris is the thing to do, and it was. But actually talking to the people of foreign lands is the best thing to do, because they are different in perspective, any yet so similar in key ways. It was an excellent trip, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
England is fantastic. I recognize the foliage. I understand the language. However , the land possesses something most of America lacks. The U.S. has existed 232 years approximately. This is but a droplet in the pool of time, and one does not realize just how small it is until standing in a vast magnificent cathedral that has stood in the same place for 800 years. England is a country of vast and deep memory. The very trees seem older, and some are. Whether they are or not is of no matter, its’ the aura of the and. Everything simply seems more alive; greener, wiser, and greater in experience. Deeply rooted drawing the energy of the land more fully then the lately established New World. The rolling lands around me, covered in good, dense, woolly foliage, the homes burrowed into the hollows and protected places of the earth, the homes themselves, brick, yet somehow as much a part of the landscape as anything else. Harmony is somehow stronger simply because the people that have sprung from the earth, descended from long generations that have marched into the past, leaving their memories behind throughout the land, are more connected to the lands they inhabit.
I love trees, and western European forests. I fell strongly Tolkien’s inspirations for the "love of things that grow" that he wrote into the minds of his hobbits. It is easy to obtain this love if you are the kind of person willing to take the time to simply soak in the surroundings, breathe the air, close your eyes, and grow. The best description for the feeling received from this pastime is serenity. Others have described it. Emerson called it Over Soul. But was grotesque because he attempted to live in it, which, though understandable, and perhaps admirable, is also impossible.
The rumors are true of course. It rains quite a bit here, though not heavily. But a simple jacket suffices to keep you dry, and it never really lasts. And as an added benefit, it always has that indescribable post-rain smell of clean air.
The War Department in a preparatory missive to its soldiers in World War II described the English people as friendly but reserved. Also true. It can make starting a conversation imposing, but really not difficult when you get to it. They generally will not strike up one with you though. As in all generalities it’s true of many but not all. Their relationship with Americans is interesting. They still prefer us to the French. At Saltsburg lady who explains history behind the Magna Carta they have there made the interesting remark that American’s seem more interested in the document then the British, and furthermore "some rich American" purchased one of the few remaining original copies for 15 million (pounds or dollars she did not specify). The interesting part was that she ended it with "thank goodness". She would rather have it in America as opposed to anywhere else. Other than England of course.
London is easy to navigate for the young. The Tube system is easy to use and understand as long as you know where the entrances are. They charge for the use of bathrooms, but I suppose if you live here among other things you have your own, and know where most free ones are anyway.
I would live here. Easily. Find a house, a decent income, and write. Enjoy the nature. Have a dog, and visit the history that surrounds me.
There are more horses here. Police ride them even. Royalty and all it’s traditions have a very real fascination in my mind, and many Americans. It’s strange because it is something we are accustomed to learning about as it were a past event. This is a living, working constitutional monarchy, and as such is an oddity to us. Royal household, Royal Roads, even store patronized by the royal household with special seals of approval. Very strange, and very cool.
The Tower of London really conveys the negative emotions that must have soaked its walls. The ravens are eerie. The entire place has the sad aura of a funeral. Crown Jewels are just as beautiful as legend would have it, but more impressive toe me were all the gold vessels used in the coronation ; absolutely enormous bowls etc. made of gold, with gold at almost $1000 and ounce in today’s Market. Simply amazing.
Memories of ancestors somehow carry on through our blood I think, and awake with the proper stimulation. I pick up the English, Irish and Scotch accents within days, indeed hours of being surrounded by them, and yet I do not pick up the French accent at all, but then if I even say one word accented I slip into a weird Scotch/Irish accent that comes naturally to me
Normandy/Normandie
Normandy is very much different from England. Memory is does not lie as thickly upon its rolling hills. I’m not sure the reason of this. Perhaps it’s the local people. They have simply continued on with their lives for the most part; their crops grow from year to year, and their concerns are similarly oriented. The war had a lot to do with it too. The idea that almost all towns in the path of the 5th and 7th Corps were all 60-80% destroyed left a strong impression on me. How can the past remains strong when all it’s physical manifestations are lost? People have fickle memories. Without the physical reminders, the actually presence of a structure within which to picture ancient people, the whispers of the ascended souls are not as strong in the ears of the living. Such is France; the past is remember but not living. Few exceptions remain. St-Mere-Eglise still has the ancient 12th century chapel which caught 3 paratroopers on its bell tower. It’s eerie, because you can see the exact location that German officers stood and had pictures, the exact spot where a paratrooper was gunned down, the exact point behind which airborne infantry set up a strong point. Then the shade come to life.
Upon Utah beach, a German Bunker, a gun, the obstacles, and LCT, the wind upon the waves washing to shore that is now quiet, activities of destruction having ceased their frenzy leaving echoes behind. Pont-du-Hoc is fascinating. It is a testament to the fury of war. The moon hath not rougher landscape than that which graces the rocky promontory. The entirety of the surface is filled with craters, anywhere from 10-30ft deep from the Naval bombardment that suffered by the fortifications there. The remains of the defensive bunkers are impressive, all the more because any of it is still intact. Most of it is, though badly cracked and broken in many places. Only one bunker is entirely destroyed, and it is in the center of what is easily the largest crater. I’m told that a grenade tossed by one of the Rangers into the magazine for all the artillery cause a large subsidiary explosion which blew pieces of the bunker up and outwards. Many bunkers I would have explored further had I a flashlight. Here however the echoes are terrible Many men died here in little dark holes on such a small spit of land. The feeling in the bunkers is VERY bad. You run in, look around, and get out again as fast as possible, because you expect a skeletal hand to grab you, or to hear the grinding of rusty hinges as the ghosts slam the hatch shut sealing you in. "the dead made it, and the dead keep it"
If ever you’ve seen an actual haunted house, the feeling of resentment on the part of the memory of those that died in these little concrete holes is similar and strong yet somehow as an American, you stand upon the broken bunkers and are proudly reminded that Americans broke them, and saddened that young men on either side, who were the same age were forced to fight and kill. I cannot comprehend it. I don’t feel old. Always as a younger child reading about the war you feel that something in older people prepares them for this eventuality. That at 18 you are different and ready. The revelations is that you are not, and neither were they. They went into combat green, and were forever marked and changed by it. A solider is smelly, scared, tired, so very young, and yet perseveres somehow through the end. Were I in combat, I’d be terrified. Yet patriotism, sense of duty, and love for my comrades would force me on.
The question consumes my awareness:
Is anyone ever ready?
Answer
No.
But they are anyway.
And then there’s Omaha.
There are not words.
Physically, the first thing that you notice is how incredibly, horribly long the stretch of beach reaching out to sea is. Landing here against a dug in enemy looks just as terrible as it really was. The fortifications are all gone, except for a few. The Allies cleared them away to make room for their harbor. A town is there now, bordered by the cliffs that originally were the end of the beach (this means that the beach was twice as long as it is now) The famous sea wall behind which the U.S. troops regrouped and saved the beach head is there still. But most recognizable features are gone. All that remains are the waves, the clouds and the gulls of the Norman coast. You look out to see there, and the waves speak of the great tragedy that took place there. Deep sadness lingers. The waves roll in, yet they can never wash away what happened there for it is in the ground. It’s a very solemn place, a silent place. Nothing but the sound of the sea disturbs it. There weren’t any locals even though it was not that bad a day out. I don’t think they go there much. I have soil from both beaches, and something else from each. Omaha is covered with beautiful dark shells, black outside, blue inside. Tears for the dead young men, lying in mute mourning. Fitting that they adorn this beach, they do not exist at Utah.
There are a lot of white crosses above this beach. 3 medals of honor won there. But all honored and honorable.
Paris
What a way of life! French folk are more open than the British. Paris is easy to navigate and easy to have fun in. Yet it is such a relaxed way of life. Fun in Paris can consist of something so simple as a café. All you need is a friend, a cup or glass and eyes. SO much color in the city; you watch the kaleidoscope go by. Every city has that to a certain extent, and you realize that the way of life is an entity so amazingly complex, dark and light, good, bad, and altogether beautiful. There is no one who can fathom its depths. Art. The Louvre is indeed so unimaginably extensive; to truly have looked at and appreciated each artwork displayed in those halls, which are themselves artful would take more than a lifetime, and this great testament to human creativity is but a fraction of that part of the Great Tapestry. Any subject in existence has a museum dedicated to it in some measure in that great old city. While it is true that the land and it’s people are in the present, for those who study the past it is Mecca.
If there is one thing I regret about the Reformation it is the effect if had upon the building of cathedrals’ that is the cessations of their creation entirely. The Protestant’s were right. It shouldn’t matter what sort of building you worship the Creator in, but it does have it’s effect. Both Notre Dames, the one in Paris, and the other in Rheims were absolutely astounding. In those cavernous halls , many thought flicker in the mind of those that pause there in that quiet place in the mind. Mortality, beauty, gratitude to He that hath provided such ability to man. The church's builders, creators, and original congregations have long since passed on, as have many generations after them, and the churches in their very permanence have the ability to open your mind and remind you of the finality that ends every physical journey. The truth is, all these factors add up to produce and absolute separation from the everyday mind allowing the voice which speak to the deepest truths and desires of the soul. That voice is in all people, but can be weak in the face of the clamor of modern existence. To return to the spiritual quiet, return to a church that existed in a time that possessed it.
Rheims honestly was better than "de Paris" because it wasn’t just a tourist stop. It was a cathedral of similar beauty and almost identical construction, only you were allowed to enjoy it, the way it used to be enjoyed. You will never understand Gregorian chant until you hear it in the venue for which it was written. It possesses an unearthly and very powerful effect in cathedrals that cannot be communicated or shared except by the actual experience. It has to be seen and heard for real. The best part about all the monumental old cathedrals is that they are still active churches, still worshipped in. They served their present purpose 600 years before the Declaration of Independence, and will continue to do so for as long as Western Civilization persists, and communicated the permanence of God himself.
Belleau Wood is another disturbing place to visit. It has been left as it was at the end of the war, trenches, foxholes, revetments, shell craters and all. Somewhere out there under the cold earth rest the remains of soldiers marked MIA as well. And the threat of unexploded ordnance is real, and encourages us to stay on the path. It is hold ground for the marines, and we are fortunate to have a marine accompany us about the battleground. He was Marine Recon in Iraq, so he’s officially in the elite category, and as such is very cool. Still disturbing though, the whole site. You can go see the entry point the Marines used, and the nice stone embankments that the German’s were able to kill thousands from. Very weird.
Eiffel was horrible weather, (frigid, raining, hailing and high winds,) but worth it anyway.
Versailles was amazing in its opulence. There wasn’t a room there that you could not possible play a full scale football game in, and the hall of mirrors was a beautiful as legend would suggest. Really shows you why the Revolution happened though.
So there you have it. The poetical lyrical description of the various thoughts that were inspired by those foreign lands through which I am fortunate to have journeyed. They say people watching in Paris is the thing to do, and it was. But actually talking to the people of foreign lands is the best thing to do, because they are different in perspective, any yet so similar in key ways. It was an excellent trip, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
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