Meagan & the story of coming home

Saturday, March 23 at 9:50pm, Meagan died in a car accident. Maybe she swerved right to miss something -- the police think it might have been a deer -- corrected the wheel to the left and crashed into a tree. It went right through the drivers' side door and crushed her so badly that they wouldn't be able to make her look like herself. Her friend, Brittany, lived long enough to tell the police officer their names and then she also passed away. I hope Meg died instantly. I hope the fear and confusion she felt while swerving were replaced by a flash of all the love she had ever given and received in her life before her essence split into a million particles of energy and found peace.

I was sleeping when it happened. I woke up early Sunday morning to Skype Hattie, but Andrea was on Facebook chat and told me I had to call home. I thought it was strange that both her and Mum were online at 5am Canadian time. The urgency of her messages concerned me. They wanted to know if I was alone. I was. My immediate worry, if it was something bad, was that something had happened to Dad or my grandparents. It didn't occur to me that anything could happen to Meagan. She was supposed to be invincible. Mum said later that maybe she had used up her nine lives already and we hadn't known it.

Mum told me about Meagan in the same tone of voice as she had used to tell me about Grandma Marie's death when I was 7. The violence with which I began to cry was overwhelming. I couldn't get words out of my throat, it hurt so badly. My door was wide open and my roommates had been asleep. Sissoko came in and I choked out what had happened. Maybe the universe was trying to send me some sort of "comic relief". Sissoko would definitely be the character used for laughs in the sitcom of my life, if it ever happened. He told me that this was "hard" (dur), like me, and that I would have to accept it. Morgane came in next and held my hand. Alex was last and was so horrified, he couldn't really say anything and had to leave after a few minutes. My friend Maddy came over, as she had planned to do in order to Skype Hattie, and I just fell into her arms.

Mum and Andrea had contacted Danielle, hoping she would make it to my apartment before I called home. When she arrived, it was such a relief not to have to tell her. I told Hattie over Skype why I couldn't call her. She passed the message on to a few people and became the source of information for everyone that I left behind, which was a blessing because it gave people in France an opportunity to send me their best wishes after I left. I called my parents again -- I had decided to leave on the earliest flight possible, but they convinced me to leave Tuesday morning instead so that I could settle everything before I left. Alex made coffee and said he knew I didn't drink coffee, but he didn't know what else to do. I booked my flight home in "Premium Economy" which was cheaper than regular economy, but we had no idea what it meant. Danielle helped me cancel hotels and other things, which was really just something to do. She insisted that I take a shower.

The running water covered the sounds of my grief.  I don't know how long I stayed there lamenting how much Meagan had looked up to me and every single possible thing I could think of. My body was wracked with pain. It wasn't in my chest, like I would have imagined, it was all in my throat, but I could feel it everywhere. I needed my family. Picturing the scene of my Mum opening the door for the cops, Andrea coming downstairs after Dad when Mum said it was bad. Mum yelling out, "Is she dead?!" and the cop answering yes. My family collapsing, literally and figuratively, and sitting down on the steps behind the front door. We are no longer the same people.

I hugged Meagan before she left for move-in day at Humber as if I would never see her again. She almost left without hugging me, but I called her back and held her in my arms because I was leaving and I knew I wouldn't see her for seven months. I was being over-the-top, just to be silly, kissing her on the cheek a few times. I didn't realize I would never hold her again. I can confidently say the last words we said to each other face-to-face were "Love you", but it hurts that I can't remember the last time I saw her on Skype. I messaged her on Facebook chat a few days before it happened, and we were making plans to see each other when I got home.

Eventually I had to pull myself together enough to wash and dry myself off. It turned out that letting it out like that helped me pull it together for most of the day. I started packing, I participated in a carnival in our neighbourhood with Danielle and my roommates dressed in random things,

I ate dinner at Arthur and Louise's (broccoli soup which was just about the best comfort food ever), I watched Django Unchained with Danielle and showed her photos of my family. I asked her to stay overnight.

On Monday, I closed my bank account, I finished packing, I had Olga over for a picnic lunch, I printed my flight information, Alex and Morgane cleaned the kitchen, Morgane spoke to the residence concierge, I had tea with Olivier and my other friend Morgane (who baked me chocolate chip muffins), I met with Quentin to say goodbye and told him through tears what had happened, he convinced me to come to Club Rock later to say goodbye, I informed the International Department of my departure, I bought souvenirs and went up to Fourvière hill with Danielle, Jack and Jamie made us pancakes for dinner and brought us Ferrero Rocher (even though they didn't know), and I went to Club Rock and said goodbye to Adrie and Mathieu after dancing a few last rounds with my favourite partners.

That night, Danielle and I stayed at her host family's house in Chapponay and watched music videos. She made me toast with peanut butter and bananas. When we turned out the lights, I tried not to cry while thinking about how long it would be before I would see my family.

In the morning, we dropped off the girls at school, grabbed almond croissants from the local award-winning bakery, and made it to the airport. We had to adjust my bags to even out the weight and then we hugged for a million years before I went through security. I cried in the waiting area and couldn't focus on the children's book Olga had given me as a gift.

The first plane ride was hell. For an hour and a half there were no movies and not enough space to read. There was an empty seat between me and another man who must have been uncomfortable with my attempts at silent grief and the quantity of toilet paper wads I had used to blow my nose building up on my lap. I brought a whole roll with me, just in case. I think maybe grief is the attempt to give out all of the love you intended for the person you lost, through tears. I think the pain you feel is really the sensation of so much love leaving you that it hurts -- or maybe so much love coming to you from the dispersed energy of your loved one that you can't handle it. During the layover I tried to call home and couldn't get through, texted Danielle, called Hattie for a long chat and ate loads of chocolate.

Four hours later, I boarded the long flight looking rather rough, to put it nicely, in my plaid shirt and green toque. The air hostess smiled at me when she looked at my ticket and I couldn't tell if she was genuinely smiling, doing it as part of her job or if she was inwardly laughing at the incongruity of my appearance and my seat number which was practically the front of the plane, almost First Class. I was backwards next to the window with a divider between me and the guy next to me in a reclining seat. Am I ever grateful for that! I tried to distract myself by reading, watching movies, eating, whatever, but I knew I couldn't attempt sleeping because my thoughts all made me weak. A few times I snuck into the bathroom to have out a proper cry while everyone else was sleeping.

The thought that Meagan might have been wearing the "sisters" necklace when she died, the one that I gave her for a recent birthday, set me off for ages. And the thought of being with my family was a constant trigger. It was painful because I knew it could never be my whole family and also because I couldn't get to them any faster. I imagined her death all the possible ways. I didn't really know any details at that time. Maybe she had been awake, in shock, thinking about us while lying in the ditch, so scared before she passed into darkness or maybe it had been instant and she hadn't had a chance to feel or think anything. I hurt for my family who were hurting. I tried to get off the plane slowly, because we had landed early, but I was only fourteen rows back and there were hardly any people in that section of the plane to wait for. I texted my Mum. They were half an hour away. Without trying, I made it quickly through customs and my bags were some of the first ones off the plane. I waited for a while on a bench in arrivals.

Normally, Meagan would have been the first one to find me. She would have been miles ahead of my parents and while I was watching for them, I mistook another woman for her. In the span of half a second, I went from feeling total elation to being crushed by sorrow and grief. I really need glasses. I pulled out my toilet paper and cried openly. The people next to me must have thought I'd been forgotten ... or that I was unstable. I saw my cousin Rachel and my Uncle Jeff and called out to them, but they went in the other direction. There was nothing for it: I put on my massive backpack, tied my coat and purse around my suitcase and rolled up behind my family. I barely managed the words, "Hey strangers" before we were all in tears hugging each other. Andrea and I hugged like our lives depended on it -- and they did. We promised to get tattoos for Meg.

My Dad was coughing, trying not to cry and saying "I call bullshit!". We must have felt almost relieved, but there is no relief in grief. Everything is only slightly better than the worst. I have no words for how it felt to see my Mum. In fact, that whole moment of seeing them all was only love. We laughed because the people around us must have thought that no one was happy to see me, we were all crying so hard. The range of emotions that can be elicited by grief doesn't fit in the Hollywood narrative.

I felt a sense of peace on the ride home that I hadn't felt since Sunday morning. The whole flight, I had been thinking, "Please get me to the ground safely", and my parents had been thinking, "Please get us to the airport safely". Being together made it easier. Andrea and I took sleeping aids and decided to sleep in the same bed.

*****

It started before I got out of bed -- people were at our house to pay their respects, bringing baked goods and casseroles and food, telling about their own lost loved ones, trying to offer comfort where there was none. The whole week was spent looking for silver linings, but every one we found was a paradox -- all of this potential happiness was only possible as a result of Meagan's death. Mum said that Meagan would have said, "At least...".

We looked through all of our old photos and laughed through tears. We chose photos for the visitation. People shared stories about Meg we'd never heard. We were receiving upwards of 20 cards a day. We felt like Vernon Dursley with the Owl Post, waiting for the weekend when there would be no piles of letters to open. Andrea chose music for the visitation. My high school friends came to support me. Saturday, twelve hundred people came to see us. I saw my friends from St Catharines and Milica, who drove from Windsor with her father to hug me and give me a card signed electronically by my friends in France and around. I met Meagan's friends from Humber, saw her childhood friends and her ex-boyfriend. Apart from that, the day was a blur. We were running on adrenaline and hugs. We were numb. No one could say anything to make it better, they could only love us and that they did. Sunday, our house was quiet and there was time to think. I wrote my eulogy.

On Tuesday, we put on our purple, Meg's favourite colour (almost everyone at the visitation wore purple and they had hosted a purple day at the high school in honour of Meg and Brittany), and drove to the funeral home. We cried when we walked in, just as we had when we'd walked into the visitation. If our home was overflowing with flower arrangements, it was sparse in comparison to the chapel. My Aunt said it felt like Meg's wedding. And it was. It was all of her important events rolled into the visitation and the funeral. My Uncle Brian did the service. I had raised my eyebrows at the built-in tissue box holders for the pews, but when it started, I didn't think they were so silly. I didn't want it to end, because that meant time hadn't stopped and we would have to continue on. Talaira and Andrea sat on either side of me. The funeral home gave us angel pins to wear with our purple ribbons. Eventually, I had to take the stand:

"Whenever someone in our family jokingly said something like “You’re crazy” or “You’re weird”, my smart-aleck answer was always “I practice on Tuesdays”. No one but Meagan thought this was funny.

As a big sister, you’re expected to be the role model, the one that is looked up to. I thought I was living up to this expectation by doing well in school, being involved in clubs and being “easy” on my parents, most of the time. Meagan thought it was a big secret that she wanted to be like me.

But I’ve realized that Meagan was the real leader in our family. Ron Hubbard said: “To love in spite of all is the secret of greatness. And may very well be the greatest secret in this universe.”

Meagan loved everybody no matter what they put her through. She had to work hard to follow in my footsteps for all of those things that I thought were important, but love came naturally to her.

Reading through all the messages that have been left for Meagan, I’ve realized what an incredibly giving person she was. Everyone remembered her as the friend who was willing to reach out to people who didn’t yet have any one. Mum always said that because of her ADD, Meagan wore her nerves on the outside. She felt love more intensely and more deeply than anyone else, and so she gave love the way she felt it.

On Tuesdays and every day, I’ll practice to be the kind of person she was. I aspire to be compared to Meg, my role model for a life filled with love."

My voice cracked half-way through and I had to take a break to hug my Mum (her hugs are magic) before I could continue, through tears. Mum followed. Uncle Brian concluded with a section of her obituary that Mum had written and we played a DVD of one of her dance solos. Everyone left in tears. It was the perfect tribute to an amazing girl. We took home some of the flowers and reconvened at our house for a party in her honour.

*****

As life has resumed this past month, it has been the hardest. There has still been a ton of business to attend to and letters and visitors have still been coming, but everyone else's lives have been continuing. No one has forgotten about us, but we're finding that we have to learn how to keep living, too. We watched Andrea dance her first solo, called "Home":

and she has gone back to school. Some days, I am fine -- others, the smallest things can set me off. A photo, something I want to tell her, the date... I am never prepared for those moments. We cleaned out Meg's room at Humber and donated most of her clothes. We found the necklace that I had remembered on the plane and now Andrea wears it. That was a hard day. All of our favourite photos, most of which we had put into the slide show for the visitation or had put in frames around the house, were also her favourite photos. She had them hanging everywhere in her dorm room. Her door was covered in tributes from her friends there. She was having the time of her life at Humber. She was just coming into her own and really being appreciated for what a thoughtful, loving person she was.

I've finally started to experience some of the reverse culture shock they told me I'd go through, but I didn't really have a chance to settle into "normal", everything happened so quickly, and so maybe I won't really notice the things that have changed about me for a while. Most days, I don't even want to go in public. Music and television shows and movies all seem to speak to our pain in some way. There's something to be said for wearing black as you mourn. It's really hard when you come across someone who doesn't know what you're going through, because it's not possible to say it to them, to explain why you don't feel "normal".

Through all of this, I feel that it's necessary to have a grateful heart. So many people love us. We know Meagan knew that she was loved. We have had nothing but support and empathy from those around us since this began. None of this can fix anything, but it helps us to bear the hurt as much as it can.

Now when I'm asked, "How are you?", I can honestly reply, "As good as I can be."

Hug your family for me.
Much Love to You and Yours,

Tessa

International Bingo: The Final Score

As my faithful readers may recall, at the beginning of my exchange, my friend Chantal gave me an International Bingo card to complete. I'm going to go through each one and include a picture or link to a post about what I did. Otherwise, I'll just write "to be continued..." because I don't like giving up!

1. Eat escargot: To be continued... (Not making a great start here).
2. Go dancing: I wrote this into one of the blank spaces Chantal gave me and I thought it would be really easy, but I'm actually really glad I wrote this one because it encouraged me to take it to the next level and get involved with the Club Rock on campus. I wrote an initial post about joining the group here. It turned out to be an opportunity for me to make great friendships, learn new styles of dance, go out for soirées just to dance...

...to perform in front of the ENS student body at a gala...

...and to volunteer at an international dance competition. My dance instructor at the ENS was ranked second in the world for ballroom dancing (and she was crazy modest and awesome) and my whole experience has encouraged me to take up Swing Dancing as soon as I can. Getting involved with the Club Rock was one of the best decisions I made during my exchange and it wouldn't've been the same without my partner in crime (and my occasional dance partner when there weren't enough guys), Hattie Bowen.

3. Kiss a Scotsman: Bonus points for being creative?

4. See a French film without subtitles: Les Demoiselles de Rochefort and L'ensemble, c'est tout.

5. Participate in a protest/demonstration: I went above and beyond here. My first "demonstration" was in support of gay marriage in France, and it succeeded! (Check it: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-22261494) and my second demonstration I accidentally stumbled upon while I was in Lisbon which was protesting austerity measures imposed by the EU, as seen below.

6. Indulge repeatedly in amazing food: I wrote this blogpost for this one, but if I'm honest, my blog is practically a food blog. So much good food!!!
7. See some less popular sights: I'm sure I saw many. The one that stands out as less popular and incredibly unusual was the sculpture park in Oslo, Norway. Talk about a sculptor with repressed sexuality.

8. French-kiss a Frenchman: All this nonsense about finding European boyfriends and I couldn't even manage this one! I guess we'll classify this as "To be continued..."
9. Eat an éclair: I wrote a whole post about this one here.

10. Take a pastry class: While I didn't take a pastry class, I did receive a French pastry book as a present from Claudia for my birthday. I'm going to say it counts.

11. Kiss an Irishman: "To be continued..."
12. Explore Lyon: Well, I spent as much time as I could roaming around Lyon, and was even confident giving tours by the end of it. Here are two posts that I wrote about my adventures getting to know the city:
http://traveltessa.blogspot.fr/2012/09/lyon-partie-1.html
http://traveltessa.blogspot.fr/2012/09/lyon-part-2.html

13. FREE!!!!
14. Find an Amazing Handsome Guy for Chantal: I sent Chantal many pictures of eligible candidates, but she didn't seem to be interested in them. I can't understand why...

Maybe because they are both married... but what about this guy?

Too hairy? Last chance:

What's that? Soccer players cry too much? Alright, I give up.

15. Go wine tasting: Did a little wine tasting in Porto. And with just about every dinner.

16. Get good grades: It depends when you met me, I guess, whether or not this will surprise you, but I did really well in my classes. My friends from home will say, "Like this even needed to be on here!" except maybe Brittney who knows that when you go on exchange, other things seem much more important than school. My friends who met me during my time at ENS can attest to that! In any case, I got the credits that I needed to finish my Bachelor of Arts (my licence, the French equivalent) and I will be starting Teachers' College in the Fall. That will be an adjustment.
17. Make an International friend: I made a few... and I hosted most of them at my Thanksgiving dinner in October.

18. Make friends with a local: I made a lot of French friends through the Club Rock and even stayed with a few, as I talked about in my most recent posts about Marseille & Caen, not to mention my roommates!
19. Have a wild and crazy night: Our night in Leeds ranks up there, as well as quite a few nights in Lyon ;)

20. Play "Rules" with my International friends: In my posts about my trip to Australia, I talk about the invention of this great game, which appears to be a cross between King's Cup and Thumbmaster... in any case it is extremely fun and I managed to squeeze it in just before I had to leave. We played on St. Patrick's Day, so it was an international crowd and it was fun times had by all.

 Setting up the game (with Canadian playing cards!)

 After the first round?

After a few rounds?

21. Kiss an Englishman: You can see that Chantal's mind was a little pre-occupied ;) "To be continued..."
22. Have a romantic moment at a national landmark: "Romantic" is up for interpretation here. I'm going to go with the classical definition when referring to literature. A "romantic" novel features a lone hero riding about in the rain on horseback being tragic and awesome at the same time. This was basically all of my trips, except that I was with my friends... so I'm going to go with my final trip to Paris on my way home from Caen. Hattie left me to visit her godmother, and I wandered the streets of Paris by myself for a few hours. I came across the Pont des Arts, which is covered in locks that have people's names written or carved into them. The idea is that they put the lock on the bridge as a symbol of their eternal love and throw the key into the Seine. I didn't do this, but referring to my previous definition and being alone at the time... how much more romantic could I get?

23. Write Chantal a lengthy letter and snail mail it: I wrote this post about writing letters home. I love mail and letter writing (and writing in general), so this was too easy! My favourite letter that I received was a package covered from top to bottom, except for the address, in regular-sized stamps.
24. Take a shot in every country using my Canadian shot glass: I failed this one right from the beginning, having only spent 19 hours in Poland for a lay-over... but I did try my best to make use of my Canadian shot glass. On my tour of Ireland, for example, I used it to take shots of ecchinacea (medecine!) on the bus:

25. Keep a travel blog: SUCCESS!

Overall I'd say it was a successful trip. As a score, 21 out of 25 (if I'm being easy on myself) doesn't seem too bad! Especially when 3 of the ones I missed involved kissing people of different nationalities... and besides... I wouldn't kiss and tell! ;)

French Ventures: Caen & Normandy

My final trip during my time abroad was within France to visit the home of one of my friends at the ENS, Arthur. He was Hattie's housemate all year and we spent quite a bit of time talking about different things. I love that he is so political. I look forward to the days when we are each the respective leader of our country... or you know, whatever happens.

We chose some dates and before we knew it, Arthur had mapped out the whole trip. I had been wanting to visit Normandy since I came to France. It was one of the only places in France I really cared to see when I first got here (and before I learned about all the other awesome places I could visit), but it was far and I didn't know anyone else who would be interested in visiting the World War II cemeteries with me. It was just my luck that Arthur specializes in studying history. And that he lived there and knew the area and all that other stuff. The chips fell into place, or whatever the saying is.

We arrived to his house late at night and it was so comforting to smell the cow farms on the outskirts of Caen. I'm from the Deep South of Ontario, Canada. Farm country is my home.

Taken in Alberta circa summer 2007

It was an action-packed few days, and I am guilty of not having taken very good notes, so I'm just going to say that the order we did things doesn't matter so much as what we did. We ended up putting 500 km on the vehicle we were driving in approximately three days.

The first full day we visited Mont Saint-Michel, one of the most visited tourist attractions in France, and one that I had never heard of. Basically, it is a tidal island just off the coast of Normandy where a commune was built in ancient times.

At low-tide it is possible to walk from the mainland to the island across the sand, but there is a risk of sink holes. The water rushes in for high tide "as swiftly as a galloping horse" (as described by Victor Hugo or "à la vitesse d'un cheval au galop"). There is a causeway for pilgrims (this is a site of Roman Catholic pilgrimmage) and tourists and another one currently being constructed that will allow the ocean to flow in underneath. The surrounding bay has salt marsh meadows that were ideal for grazing sheep. The sheep that graze here have become a Normandy specialty and they are called "salt meadow lambs" or agneau pré-salé.

On top of the mount, an abbey was constructed. According to legend, in the 8th century, the Archangel Michael came to St. Aubert, the bishop of Avranches, in a dream asking him to build a church on the mount. Aubert ignored the instructions repeatedly believing that it was just a dream until Saint Michel burned a hole in the bishop's skull using his finger. The Abbey was home to monks in residence. Arthur and our tour guide taught Hattie and I about the history of construction of the Abbey through architecture. The different periods of architecture made it easy to identify the time periods when different additions had been made to the Abbey and who had constructed them. The history of the possession of Mont Saint-Michel is tied to the story of the conquer of France by the Normans. Officially, Mont Saint-Michel is part of Normandy because of the Norman conquer of the area in 1066 CE. During the Hundred Years' War, the English were never able to take the Mount.

We stopped just below the Abbey for a picnic lunch, looked in the "tourist village" (essentially) in the commune for some decent postcards (and found none) before we headed off to our next destination..

While Arthur visited with some of his family, Hattie and I set off exploring the port town of Granville. We found the old city, by accident, and it was gorgeous.

We headed home for dinner, and I answered a call from my Grandma while Hattie and Arthur planned dinner. My Grandma asked me what we were having for dinner, and I relayed the question to Hattie, who realized with a horrified look on her face that they'd planned to eat fish soup and smoked salmon for dinner. At this point, I still didn't know if I loved fish, but I definitely didn't like smoked salmon. But when in Normandy, do as the Normands do... it turned out to be smoked trout which was pretty good and I didn't mind the fish soup. Slowly but surely, I was becoming a fish eater...

The next day was chock full. We started our day at the Bayeux Tapestry (tapisserie de Bayeux) which consists of 50 scenes made in the 1070's. It depicts, in images, the story of William the Conquerer (Guillaume le Conquérant), a Norman who conquered England (Battle of Hastings). The museum where it is kept gives a narration of the story and the historical context of the making of the tapestry as well as information about the history of Vikings and the Normans. It also shows some of the influences the Normans had on the English in terms of architecture, etc. While still in Bayeux, we snuck into the Cathedral to learn a little bit more about the differences between architectural styles and to see where the tapestry had historically been displayed once a year. The tapestry survived the Hundred Years' war, the French revolutions and World War II, including the bombings and the invasion by Allied forces to free France from Germany.

Keeping with this theme, our next stop was the American cemetery at Omaha Beach. When you enter the cemetery, you are officially entering the USA. To get into the museum there was a security check almost as bad as an American airport, but we skipped that and headed straight to the gravesites.

There were thousands. I couldn't fit the width of one section into my camera. There was a giant memorial sculpture with information about the attacks. I hadn't realized that most of the work Canadians did on D-Day and following was the liberation of the Netherlands and Belgium.. they had been involved in D-Day at a different beach that we would be visiting later, but the Americans and the British did most of the work liberating France. The Canadians had the fewest forces available in terms of manpower (considering what a small country we were, that we had barely recovered from the First World War and that the British sent us off to be slaughtered at the Battle of Dieppe, the test run for D-Day) so they represented a smaller number of troops on D-Day.

At Longues-sur-mer on the cliff, we looked at some German batteries:

There were children playing in them. We also stopped to take a look at the artificial port at Aromanches which the British can constructed to bring in supplies during and after D-Day, since all of the ports had been destroyed by the Germans to prevent an Allied invasion.

It's currently sinking into the sand, but it was obvious from where we were located (pretty far from it) that it had been an impressive innovation.

We made it just in time for the last hour of the Juno Beach Centre where all of the employees were Canadian students. We cringed a bit at the French accent of one of the girls and were on the verge of asking her to speak in English, but we must have collectively thought it was more polite to let her tough it out. It was a sort of pat on the back for us that we could tell that it was a bad French accent... you know, hopefully indicating that ours was really good. Or at least good. To be honest, it was a so biased and Canadian-centric and reeked of propoganda, but it definitely wasn't done by historians and as far as we can tell it's funded by donations.

Having studied World War II in my Canadian history classes, a lot of the information was stuff I already knew, but it was nice for Hattie and Arthur to learn about the Canadian contributions to the war effort. There was a lot of background information about Canada's historical background leading up to the war in terms of our relationship with Great Britain and our history of immigration.

Our last stop before we turned to drive toward home was Corseulles Beach....

...where we basked in the sunshine (which is unheard of for Normandy).

At sunset, just before we reached Arthur's home in Caen, we stopped at the Canadian Cemetery at Reviers.

It was really overwhelming and sad. They wrote the ages on every tombstone and the names. The drive home was beautiful and peaceful. The countryside of Normandy has been painted extensively by the impressionists because it is so layered and interesting...the rolling hills and the way you can see for ages. The sea contrasted with the sky gives so many blended shades of blue. It's all breathtaking. Impressionism is still my favourite genre of painting.

The next morning, we set off for the Abbaye aux hommes which is now the City Hall for Caen. It was built in the 11th century, in order to appease the Pope because William the Conquerer married his first cousin, Matilda of Flanders, and the Pope had ruled against it. In order to get back in the favour of the church, both William and his wife had to an Abbey. The Abbaye aux hommes is connected to the Saint-Etienne cathedral. The Abbaye aux dames was the Abbey built by his wife.

William the Conquerer as designed by Christian Dior.

William the Conquerer was buried here, but his tomb was destroyed and his remains scattered during the 16th century Christian reformation (by the Calvinists). During the Renaissance, the Abbey was remodelled by the wealthy men who decided to become monks. The interior of this area of the Abbey is excessively fine. Monks, who generally take a vow of poverty, are meant to live in very poor conditions. For these men, the definition of poverty was slightly different. To stay warm in the absence of a fireplace which was reserved for visitors, the monks had the walls covered in carved wood.

They also commissioned beautiful paintings to be done on the ceilings and had mirrors in their dressing room. The room in the picture now functions as the marriage hall. During the French Revoltuion, the monks were chased from the Abbey and it was turned into a school. Arthur's grandfather attended school here. You could see some graffiti which had been scratched into the wood and walls of the Abbey.

During the Second World War, the Abbey became a Red Cross hospital and the French sheltered here during the bombings and the Battle of Caen. All of the cities of Normandy were battle sites and most of Caen was destroyed. Arthur showed us some old etchings of what the city looked like before World War II. It still looked practically "medieval" with timber-framed houses (I don't know if they are technically medieval.. I think it was the Tudor period in England, if that clarifies things). There were only some buildings left that hadn't been destroyed.

In the gardens inside the Abbey, you can see the damage done by shrapnel, but the allies didn't bomb the building because they knew that the citizens of Caen would be sheltered there. There's a rumour that the French chose this building due to a famous saying referencing the towers of the Abbey: if the towers were to fall, so would the monarchy of England (since it was linked to William the Conqueror).. and so the French may have believed the British would take a little more care not to damage the building. At least, that's what our tour guide told us. Following WWII, the building was transformed into the City Hall.

We spent the late afternoon at William the Conqueror's castle which now serves as the Normandy Museum and the Fine Arts Museum. The Normandy Museum was closed for renovations, which we didn't realize, but it took four employees to tell us when it was going to re-open. We scratched our heads that it takes four employees to inform people that the museum is closed for renovations... At least the French can see their tax dollars disappearing. The Fine Arts Museum was nice. On the way out, Arthur noticed someone dining at the museum's café who turned out to be the head of an anti-gay marriage group. We all made obnoxiously loud comments about how close-minded homophobic people can be and then scampered off to look around the castle battlements....

....and to see the port.

If you're looking for a tour guide who knows how to maximize your time to sights ratio, Arthur is your guy.

Our last day in the area, we went to Cabourg to look around Paris's playground. Apparently this is where the Parisian's have come for ages to hang out on their vacations. It was more touristic than any of the other places we'd visited and we bought some souvenirs and postcards before heading to Paris.

Norman sex toys: Make love, not war.

Arthur took us to his old high school, Henri IV, where Kanye West had a fashion show and the library looks like it's straight out of Harry Potter. The next morning I visited the Musée de l'Orangerie featuring an exhibition by Claude Monet with Hattie and then explored a bit on my own before taking the train back to Paris and concluding my out-of-Lyon adventures for the remainder of my trip.