This week in France, everyone takes off Thursday for Ascension, which as I have figured out is the celebration of christ ascending into heaven. So what this means is everyone in France has a four day weekend. For this four day weekend I was planning a girls trip to Normandy, renting a car, a house, and a number of fun activities. Instead, due to planning stresses and changing factors, I went alone, for one day. I was planning on this trip being a relaxing get away from the crazy city life and a relaxing trip to the sea side. However, because I do not speak or understand perfect French, I was stranded on the Omaha Beach front/American Cemetary for three hours after I was finished waiting for the bus which never showed up and having to take a taxi back to Bayeux where I snuck onto the train because I couldn't pay another 45euro trip to the next town of Caen where my train was leaving from. Especially after I had been that morning for missing my train that morning because of reduced metro cars in the underground.
So besides the extremely expensive, emotional, and pathetic day I had waiting, planning and crying, it was very nice to finally dip my feet into the ocean once again. It was also very nice to visit the cemetery which, besides where my grandpa is, is the most beautiful cemetery I have ever been to. It was surprisingly very emotional although I felt very silly crying at no grave in particular.
 |
| The seaweed was very cool, purple, green and white just floating unattached to anything. |
 |
| Self Timer :) |
 |
| Jimmy Monteith who looks a lot like Cory Monteith |
I was also able to visit the Bayeux Tapestry which accounts for the history of the Duke of Normandy and King William the Conqueror We weren't allowed to take pictures so naturally my picture is not very good.
I typically hate blogs that try too hard and think they are super insightful and I know that this entry is going to be a bit cheesy. But today as I was walking around in the rain, lately it has been hot, humid and wet, I smelt in the air something that reminded me of my trip to Mexico with my grandparents and mother several years ago. I was walking to the gym into the 15th arrondissement (Paris is divided into 20 neighborhoods with different post codes that are number in a spiral with the first starting in the center forming a snail shape) which is different from typical Paris, the buildings are all from different decades and centuries and very poorly put together. Anyways, walking around with the smell of petricore mixed with wet buildings and people was reminiscent of the wet hills of Michoacan. It was an odd feeling of misplacement. It was not the usual cigarette/wine/fresh herbs smell that usually permeates throughout Paris. On the way back the feeling changed, it was like listening to your iPod without playing any music, like being trapped inside your own head but without thinking anything in particular.
