Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, my 2010 Rowan Gillson calendar is now available for your ordering pleasure! The 2010 calendar features 13 religious and historical images from our 4 Bohemians trek across Europe. Each one has been hand picked for both its image quality and the historical significance it represents. The fabulous design is by Mandy Novotny. I think you'll agree that it's a step up from my previous calendars.
Order early, order often... they make great Christmas gifts! Feel free to spread the word too!
When we began planning our trip to Europe, Kennan asked each of us to name one place that we just could not miss. There was no question in my mind. Normandy. I'm not sure when I fell in love with World War II history. I don't even know that much about it, but somewhere along the line it happened. I'm sure it had something to do with hours and hours of World at War videos and "Axis and Allies." I knew that if I didn't get to see anything else in Europe, I needed to see those beaches. What I didn't know was what a huge impact it would have on me.
We were in Normandy almost two weeks ago, but it needs to be posted about. Better late than never. Our hostel was in the little town of Bayeux, France, just a few miles from the coast. As soon as we stepped off the train onto the platform in Bayeux, my eyes welled up with tears and it was all I could do to keep from crying aloud. The wave of emotion startled me. I could imagine American soldiers walking through this town. There was a small café near the station with its menu-board out on the sidewalk. On the bottom of the board, in big letters, it read "Welcome to our Liberators!"
The next day we visited the American Cemetery and Memorial overlooking Omaha Beach. It's too bad I hadn't thought to pack a pound of Kleenex in my alotted 22 lb. pack, because I could have used them all the minute I walked up to the visitor center.The inscriptions etched in stone at the doors of the center were enough to set me off for the rest of the day. Here's one of them:
"Our debt to the heroic men and valiant women in the service of our country can never be repaid. They have earned our undying gratitude. America will never forget their sacrifices." ~ Harry Truman.
Inside the visitor center were video depictions, plaques, historical information, and displays to help people understand the events preceding, during, and following the D-Day invasion, and why it was necessary. The part that was the most haunting about the whole thing was towards the end of the exhibit. There was a short hallway with cement on all sides. As you passed through it you could hear a voice reciting names. 1 every 5 seconds. The names of U.S. soldiers who died liberating France. Thousands of names. You could stand there for hours upon hours and not reach the end of the list. Tragic. But as I listened to the names, I was glad that someone is still reciting those names. They were real boys, real men. They all had so much to lose, but chose to give. Their names should be remembered. My heart wells with pride at another inscription I find in the visitor center. A quote from a French civilian from the little town near Omaha beachs reads: "The Americans are the only ones in the streets of the town. There are no more Germans. It is an indescribable joy."
There just aren't words to describe the emotions that overwhelmed me as I walked across that long, wide beach were thousands took their last step. No words as I looked out across the lawn to over 9,000 white crosses, and back over my shoulder to over 1000 more names inscribed in a memorial (men whose bodies were never located for burial). These were America's sons. In my mind I can picture the men standing there in perfected rows, instead of the crosses that mark their memory, and I wonder: if these men here had known, would they still have gone? I think maybe they did know. But if they had all survived, what would America be today? America needed men like these. Then my thoughts turn "summitesque" and I remember that ideas have consequences. These crosses. These are the consequences; the legacy of one man. And I know that this is the way the world goes, but as I stand in that sacred place, breathing in the freedom bought for me at great price, I resolve in my heart…NEVER AGAIN.
Kirsten wiping out, on her bike, on the sidewalk, in Bayeux, France, in the rain. I can't even believe I saw it, considering I did a half wipe-out behind her. I thought not for myself, it was so horrible.
A close second would be smelling wet and unwashed socks drying on the radiator all night long.
It was a relatively feeble connection we called upon in southern France: cousin's (brand new) husband's parents. People we had met once, at said cousin's wedding. Still, they responded eagerly to an email inquiry, so we decided to make Magagnosc a stop.
It would have been a tragedy to miss. Stepping unto the Johnson's patio was like stepping into a postcard, and spending time with Mr. and Mrs. Johnson and sons was like spending time with dear old friends. I thought originally that the view of Cannes and the coast from my bed must be unparalleled, but when Mrs. Johnson acted as our personal chauffer practically all day, we found out just how much beauty southern France has to offer. No wonder it's a celebrity hang out. Our brief trip to the nearby city-country of Monaco was just the icing on a really good cake.
Speaking of food, we left a really good Gouda cheese there from (guess where-) Gouda, Holland as a miniscule token of thanks. Still, we're indebted to so many people as a result of this trip it's almost scary.
Here in Barcelona (or Barthelona if you want to say it like a native) we're showing ourselves around, and enjoying a Starbucks for only the 2nd time this trip (wait...is that even healthy to fast that long?). But, it's stopped raining now, and I think we'll go see some Gaudí--the Seuss-i-cal architect Barcelona is famous for. We've seen so much this trip that truly unusual looking works are hard to find. The famous church La Sagrada Familia by Guadí just outside this Starbucks was truly different, and I enjoyed it. Row and I would have piad to get in if the line outside hadn't been half my life long.
Where I come from, the term 'going Dutch' means that everyone pays for themselves. This phrase most likely originated from the characteristic stinginess of the Dutch people. However, on our recent visit to the Netherlands, the Van den Heuvel family gave us a whole new perspective on what going Dutch really looks like.
The Van Dens, (as we have come to know them), are very much like my own family. Apart from having 7 children, they are also conservative, they enjoy sports, and they love the United States! In fact, it was just like being home for a couple days, except they wouldn't let us do the dishes.
The whole time we were together they gave us the royal treatment. Anna was our full-time tour guide. She led us to the Dutch windows and candy shop in Gouda, the cheese shop and the butchery in Bodegraven, as well as some delightful evening bike rides through the countryside. Mr. Van Den took time off work to transport us to the beautiful tulip gardens, and to a Dutch art museum in Den Haag. Alexander graciously let me beat him in a game of basketball, and kept us all on edge with his bicycle stunts! Mrs. Van Den bent over backwards to make us feel at home. She let us sleep in, fed us like kings, and even did our laundry for us! Elena, Isabella, and Lawrence also added to the enjoyment by joining us on our excursions and keeping the house bustling with activity. They also helped make sure we were well stocked with grillworst and gouda cheese when we left!
I think my favorite part of our holiday in Holland was the evenings we spent chatting over a cup of tea. The genuine conversation was a delight, and I don't think I'll ever be able to say the words 'nice,' or 'silence' without thinking of my friends in the Netherlands!
One thing I know for sure, if this is what going Dutch means, I'll be happy to 'Go Dutch' anytime.
k.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry in Europe.
