Running the D-Day Beaches to the American Cemetery--Normandy, France, Part III
The run is completed---Now I must find a way back home
I walk among several rows, quietly saying the names of men, taking some photos to share with others to help highlight the significance of this sacred space. It is startling to see the number of men who died here, and the markers arranged so deliberately in row upon row upon row upon row. Evening sun shines brightly within this serene atmosphere, 172.5 acres manicured and maintained expertly. It is a fitting final resting place directly within sight of Omaha Beach. Sea water shimmers just beyond the sand.
Planning to walk the outer perimeter encircling the entire quadrant, it is not to be. At around 17:40, a French security guard begins shouting for all visitors to begin making our way toward the front. Although the cemetery closes at 18:00, this space operates appropriately with military-like precision, ensuring everyone will be out before 18:00 and closing directly on time.
Slowly, I walk to the reflecting pool in front of the colonnaded memorial. An American flag flies high in a semi-circle key at the top front of the field.
Walking out, I find my previous entry point now closed-off. The next pedestrian gate is also locked-off. Most cars have already departed the lot. Suddenly, just before 18:00, two security guards are already in the lot, probably questioning why a sweaty guy with a small running pack is wandering back and forth suspiciously. I ask a middle-aged guard with a thin mustache how I can get out of this parking lot. I notice his uniform shirt has a silver “U.S. Embassy” patch.
“Oh, you work for the U.S. Embassy? Thank you for your work,” I say.
“Yes, I am very proud to work here,” he responds, with firmness of purpose.
Tears well a bit in his eyes as he tells me in a voice quivering with emotion:
I am from this area. “… our grandparents, our parents, they remember what happened
here…
I get chicken skin thinking about it,” he touches his arm.
The proud but mournful sadness in the man’s voice is distinct. I know right away the poignancy of this moment will not be forgotten.
********
Eventually, after learning the last Friday bus from here has quite literally just passed me by, I must make my way back up the winding country lane, beneath the shade trees and back into the sleepy town of Colleville-Sur-Mer. I’m walking now. I’d run if called upon, but 39.56km (24.6 miles) is enough for today. After all, it’s nearly a half-marathon further than I’d planned to run. I have not a clue how I’ll get “home.” Where in the heck are shared bikes when you need them?
A WWII Heroes banner is above: Elizabeth Richardson of the USA
American Red Cross
At least I can take more photos now. I have a bit of battery power left.
But I’m pretty darned thirsty. And there are no shops in sight. A young family of four walks along the roadside grass just ahead of me. Maybe they’re in the same boat I find myself within (did they run here, too?) Along this narrow two-lane road, a large hotel—perhaps a mansion in its past life—of no help since it’s locked up tightly, more flowers splashing colors across these old white stone walls, a cemetery in a cathedral’s yard, burial place of some British soldiers.
I think there’s a little hotel where I can ask for help in getting a taxi home. That should be easy, right? Instead, I think they are actually apartments and I’ve freaked out the lady who quizzically wonders what I’m doing on her doorstep. She says things in French and I can only imagine what she’s saying. Walking on. According to the sign, this building down the way is a hotel, indeed. And, its lobby door is locked. No lights are on inside. I ring a doorbell. Within a minute or less, a forty-something lady comes out from next door. She lets me in and proves to be of tremendous help. She speaks a bit of English and, most importantly, understands my dilemma. As she is calling a taxi company for me, I spot a large bottle of apple juice on the shelf. I buy it, and ask about purchasing bananas from a dining room table.
I’m not sure why it smells like rotting food in this hotel foyer-dining room, but no matter. This Normandy apple juice (warm and all) is unbelievable, perhaps the best ever. The whole liter is soon gone. And a couple of the bananas, too. After a second phone call, I realize I ain’t getting a taxi back home. It’s only about 21 miles back but costs, at least expensive, 130 Euros—which is $145 USD. Absolutely insane.
How in the heck else will I get home, if not by running? Hiking would take many hours. There are no more buses after 6pm. There are zero shared bikes. On principle alone, I am not paying for a taxi. Hotel lady then presents a new option: Hold up a sign and find a ride. She very kindly tears off a portion from a cardboard box and in black marker writes down two place names on it: PORT EN BES. (larger town mid-way) and COURSSEUILLE (final destination)
I will be hitchhiking home.
More than likely, I will need to travel first to Port En Besin, and then get a second ride to the smaller town where my current apartment is. With purpose, I head out, thanking this Guardian Angel. Not quite excited, not quite worried, I know this is something which just must be done if I want to get home anytime before 1am. If I want to buy dinner foods at the Carrefour before it closes at 9pm, I must hitchhike. Okay. Let’s go.
Alas, the fourth car to pass me in town stops and allows me in, smelly running gear and all. The kind gentleman speaks more English than I’ve heard anywhere in Normandy so far. He takes me to a busy rotary turn in Port En Besin. Thanks again, Sir!
Next, I wait for 15-20 minutes before a 30-something chap hauls me into his car. My new friend Erick drives us past his neighborhood in Anselles—wife and son awaiting his return—to “deposit” me at the Carrefour. He then must drive an extra six to seven miles back to his home. Before departing, we snap a pic and become Facebook friends. Thanks again, Erick, for the immense help and the invitation to revisit Normandy and to help me find accomodations.
It is a truly special place.
********
TOTAL DISTANCE RUN: 39.56 kilometers, 24.58 miles
AVERAGE PACE: 5:41 per km
MOVING TIME: 3:44:56
ELEVATION GAIN: 303 meters
CALORIES BURNED: 2,652+
SERIAL KILLERS ENCOUNTERED WHILE HITCHHIKING: 0
