Spring Break: D-Day Part I

On the morning of Saturday, April 3, I arrived in Bayeux, Normandy, which is located in the north of France, several miles south of the English Channel. Although I had left behind a cold, rainy Paris, the train pulled into a warm and sunny Bayeux. Thank goodness. Making my way around all the cars in the parking lot, I headed towards the town center, my suitcase rolling jubilantly behind me. I made it to the center without a single issue, using the cathedral as a landmark. Unfortunately, I had some difficulty finding my hotel. Bayeux is not a big town--2.75 square miles--so I embarrassingly circled the same areas three or four times in search of the hotel before finally finding it tucked away on the quiet rue des Bouchers.

The real fun began when I decided to quickly check my e-mail before exploring Bayeux. My computer chose that exact moment to cease working; I was alone in a tiny town and I had very little credit left on my cell phone because all the stores in Spain had been closed the previous couple of days because of the Easter holidays and I had not been able to add money to my account. Panic took absolutely no time at all to instill its unfriendly self in me. Call me materialistic, but this was a bigger problem than going a few days without Facebook. I had quite a bit of work to do and it was all lost somewhere in hardware purgatory. I had also depended on the internet as my main mode of communication since calling from France was rather expensive. If there was ever a time when the word fuck was appropriate, this was it. Despite my calamity, I went to explore Bayeux, consoling myself with the fact that the following night I would be in Caen with my couch surfing hosts and I could use their internet.

Bayeux is a charming little town, medieval and historical. It played an important role in the days of William the Conqueror, almost a millennium ago, and it was the first town in France to be liberated after the June 6, 1944 invasion. The main street is lined with stone buildings--stores, ice cream shops, and restaurants. Due to its proximity to the five D-Day beaches, Bayeux receives quite a lot of tourists. The little town was abuzz with a variety of nationalities the weekend I was there, including some very obvious Americans ("Lisa! LISA! Do you want ketchup on your fries? Lisa!").


I began my sight seeing with the Bayeux cathedral, another Gothic church, yet impressive all the same. I admired the stained glass and the ornate chapels and descended to the catacombs, cool and dark stone lit up by the thin streams of light from upstairs.

After the cathedral, I took a quick lunch break of chicken kebab. Enjoying the warm sun and feeling considerably better about the laptop situation, I then headed towards the Battle of Normandy Museum. I had been waiting eagerly to go to this museum since finding out about its existence. The museum is meticulously filled with quotes, biographies, photos, videos, artifacts, and recreations. A novice World War II junky, I was satisfied. However, my newly found good mood did not last long because during the two hours I was in the museum, the weather had drastically changed. It was pouring rain and I, fooled by the midday sun, had left my umbrella in my hotel room.

The Most Spanish Weekend I've Ever Had

Watching the flamenco dancers stomp their way through Andalusian guitars and vocals, I thought about how strange it was that coming from a virtually unknown Midwest suburb, I was in Córdoba, a city--albeit small--known for its rich, Muslim history and important place in Spanish history. I smiled to myself as I sipped my vino blanco*; it was the first time that I actually felt like I was really in Spain.

Getting off the AVE train, Spain's high-speed rail service, I wondered if Córdoba would be similar to Granada, considering their location in Spain, proximity to each other, and joint place in history. The small narrow streets, of which I will never tire, seemed brighter, fresher, and less crowded than the brown-tinted streets of Granada. The old, Arab architecture also seemed more prominent; every house had an open, arched doorway, inviting glimpses into the darling patios adorned with tiles, plants, and fountains. The shop-lined streets had a labyrinthian quality, leading certain lost travelers from plaza to plaza.

Considering this was a group trip, the first stop after we dropped of our suitcases in the charming Hotel Selu was La Casa Sefardi, the Sephardic museum. There, sitting in a lovely, breezy patio, we listened to a very brief lecture on the history of the Sephardic Jews and their role in medieval Spain. Afterwards, we toured the rooms of the house, which were stone cellars with old artifacts on display, such as ceramics and musical instruments. It was interesting, but I was more intrigued by the tour guide's Andalusian accent, which very prominently omitted the /s/ and skimmed gracefully over the /d/. Yes. Linguistics.

Following La Casa Sefardi, we were allotted several hours of free time to eat lunch and explore. I ate my salmon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich and ciruela** on the steps of the mosque, which is as grandiose in Córdoba as the cathedral is in Granada. Eating lunch, I observed a familiar sight: the gypsies. Fortunately, none of them tried to force rosemary on me this time. Following lunch, I purchased ice cream in my two favorite Spanish flavors: turrón*** and green apple. An aimless walk around the mosque and its surrounding area lead me and my friends into the Museum of Torture, where the man who worked there offered me and Beth jobs because we were guapas**** and spoke English. Thank you, but I aspire to a more exciting career, whatever it may be. The Museum of Torture was eerie, disturbing, and had me thinking of Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition sketch the entire time, especially when I saw the rack.

Upon reuniting with the rest of the group, we went inside the old synagogue, which turned out to be one room. However, it had very impressive decorations: stucco etchings, carvings, arches, etc. I took several pictures and walked out, considering there was little to do in the empty, and relatively small, interior.

Walking through the streets of the judería,***** we made our way back to the mosque, which is amazing and a stunning example of the art human beings are capable of creating. The interior is filled with columns and brick arches with distinct white and maroon stripes. The sheer amount of the columns and arches is unbelievable and creates a gorgeous effect. However, the most impressive part of the mosque is the church built inside of it. The church is ornate and done in the dramatic Baroque style. It's a full on church. Inside a mosque. Why is there a church in the middle of a mosque, you ask? After the Christians defeated the Muslims in 1492, they converted all the Muslim structures for Christian use. The minaret of the mosque was turned into a bell tower, a typical example of how the Christians utilized Muslim works. I think I may have liked this mosque more than the Alhambra.

That evening, a group of us had dinner at 101 Tapas, which had a large selection of cheap, delicious tapas. Without realizing, I ordered the most stereotypical Spanish dishes: olives, patatas bravas,******croquettes with goat cheese, apple pastry, and, of course, sangría! ¡Olé!

Post-dinner, we attended tablao flamenco, which is flamenco performed in a bar-like atmosphere, drinks included. The white wine I consumed was good, but the flamenco performance was even better. The dancers exuded so much passion while dancing, it was difficult not to share in their emotions, even as an audience member. I was in awe at the precise--and super fast--footwork and graceful, exotic wrist movement and castanet clacking. The guitarists and vocalists themselves were very talented and jubilant, which made the performance even more enjoyable because it was evident that these musicians love what they do. Watching, with a stomach full of olives and sangría, I thought about how happy, and lucky, I was to be in Spain.

*white wine

**plum

***nougat

****good looking

*****historical Jewish district

******potatoes with spicy tomato sauce

P.S.-I realize that I described only one day, which doesn't really make up a weekend. Ok, fine. The following day we visited two more museums and I ate more tapas (mushroom croquettes, this time). Trust me, the first day was much more exciting.