The Real Side of Study Abroad – Something Bigger

This past weekend, I traveled to Paris for the first time in my young life. I took the Chunnel (the train that travels under the English Channel) to get there and had a pleasant time. I managed to see the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre and the Mona Lisa all in a four-hour span. To say I was exhausted is an understatement.

But the most worthwhile experience of my France trip was undoubtedly what I did on Saturday. Saturday’s big excursion was an all-day guided tour of the D-Day beaches at Normandy.

Before I continue, here’s a little backstory you didn’t ask for. I’ve always been fascinated with the history of World War II. I got a book when I was roughly ten that quickly became my favorite book to look at and read. The book is called “The Good Fight” and I’m pretty sure it’s still in my bedroom at home. It quickly became my favorite book to read and look at, and I kept it on me constantly.

As a result of that book, I became incredibly interested in World War II and everything about it. I was so interested in the topic that in third grade I spent all of my free time at school working on a 10-page research paper on World War II. Not for a grade. Just because. I printed so many copies of that paper I ran through an entire toner cartridge in the span of two weeks. To say my teacher was upset is an understatement.

Over time, my interest in WWII waned. It wasn’t that I was no longer interested in the topic, but instead I found I had to study other things too (I know, it’s ridiculous). So when in July, my mom suggested I take a tour of Normandy, I sort of brushed it aside at first. It’s not that I wasn’t interested in the tour – I just hate planning for the future. Call it procrastination if you will, I prefer to think it’s spontaneity.

Plus, the tour seemed like it would be a hassle. Spending an entire day on a bus when I could be wandering about in Paris? It didn’t seem like an ideal way to spend one of my only days in France.

But the more I got to thinking about it, the more convinced I was to go. This was probably one of my only shots to see one of the most significant places in American history. It wasn’t an opportunity I could pass up. So I booked my spot on the trip.

Flash forward in time to last week, the week before I was set to leave for France. Predictable as it is, I got sick. Because of course I did.

I was devastated at the thought that an illness could take away from my experience in Paris, but more importantly my experience at Normandy. I did what I could to kick it – stayed in most nights, napped, drank tons of tea with honey – and ultimately it proved effective. By the time my train pulled out of St. Pancras International Station in London, I felt good enough to take on France with everything I had.

I got to Paris around 4 pm on Friday. Upon checking into my hostel, I immediately started walking to the touristy spots. I figured Friday was my best option to sightsee because of the tour on Saturday. Like I already mentioned, I saw everything I could in the window I had.

By the time I got back to my hostel, I was wiped out but I couldn’t get to sleep. I’m sure that doesn’t make any sort of sense, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t sleep. Chalk it up to excitement, I guess.

The next morning I got up at 4:30 to get ready to go on the tour. The company I booked it with had arranged for pick-up services for those who were staying in the city, so I had a taxi waiting outside my hostel at 6 am sharp waiting to take me to the tour bus. Roughly an hour later, at 7 am, I boarded the bus to take me to Normandy.

The first thing I noticed on board the double decker bus full of tourists is that I was far and away the youngest person on the tour. There was one family who had young children, but as from them, I was the spring chicken of the mix. In most situations, that would’ve been a bit bothersome, but this felt different. This was something I had been looking forward to for a while and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of my good time.

I slept for the majority of the three-hour ride there. When I woke up, we arrived in Caen, one of the largest cities in the Normandy region, approximately 15 km from the beaches. We stopped at a museum dedicated to the history of Caen with a focus on World War II and the impact the Normandy invasion had on the city. According to the museum, almost 80% of Caen had been destroyed during the war. A lot of the destruction came from Allied bombings prior to and during the D-Day invasion. The museum also featured a German communication bunker which was cool to see.

Over lunch, I got to meet several other members of the tour, including a UNC graduate. It’s always crazy to me how small the world really is.

Our next stop was Pointe du Hoc on the Normandy coast. Pointe du Hoc is a high point on the coast between Utah and Omaha beaches, the two American invasion points on D-Day . Pointe du Hoc is notorious for being overtaken by the 2^nd Ranger Battalion of the US Army. The Rangers had to scale the 100-ft high cliffs and immobilize several German artillery guns so American foot soldiers and warships could continue to attack the coast and move inward. The Rangers started with approximately 220 soldiers, and on June 8^th, the day reinforcements arrived, the battalion was down to 90.

My first reaction to the site was a sense of shock at the terrain. The path that cut through the battlefield was lined on either side by massive craters in the earth. As I walked along, it dawned on me that the craters were likely caused by bombings and artillery from American and Allied warships. All these years later, the war still shows its marks on the French coast.

My next reaction was shock and amazement. As I looked over the barbed wire-covered cliff out at the sea and cliffs down the beach, I thought about how impossible of a task these men faced. I took a picture of the cliff and sent to my parents, and my dad immediately responded, “Wow, I can’t even imagine climbing that.” Beyond the physical climb, I can’t imagine the bravery and courage it must have taken to make the climb. I’ll attach photos for reference.

The next place we went was Omaha Beach. Known as Bloody Omaha, this was one of the two American landing beaches in the invasion. It gained the nickname Bloody Omaha due to the overwhelmingly high amounts of carnage that took place there on the day of the landing. Omaha saw casualties of around 2,000 for the United States alone. If you’ve seen Saving Private Ryan, the first scene of the movie is the US troops initial landing on Omaha Beach.

I knew a little bit about Omaha before I got there. Most of what I knew was statistically based, such as casualty numbers and historical accounts of the battle. I had also seen Saving Private Ryan, which is said to provide a realistic view of what the battle was like.

But being there was different.

As I stood on the beach and looked out at the tide crashing against the shore, I couldn’t help but think about how blessed I am. If the year was 1944, I wouldn’t have been at Omaha Beach to sightsee on a tour. If the clock were turned back 75 years, I would be one of the young men charging up the beach. I probably wouldn’t have made it. The thought of young men my age courageously running into machine gun fire from the cold sea, knowing good and well they weren’t likely to make it off the beach, was enough to bring a tear to my eye. It was an incredible experience and the feeling of appreciation I felt standing on the beach is one that will stick with me forever.

Our next stop was an equally emotional place, and that was the American Cemetery at Normandy. As the name suggests, the cemetery serves as a final resting place for all the American soldiers who died in the Battle of Normandy. The cemetery features 9,000 tombstones – some with crosses, some with Stars of David, most with names, some without – all who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. The tour guides mentioned the average age of soldiers buried in the cemetery was 24 and the youngest was 17. 17 years old and fighting for his country. Dying for his country. Hearing that hit me hard.  

We had planned to go to Juno Beach, the Canadian landing spot, but a fire earlier in the day caused the visitors center to close. So we headed back on the road back to Paris.

I thought a lot on the ride back about everything I had seen that day.

If it weren’t for those brave men and women, there’s no saying different how life would be. Maybe we would’ve succeeded in another European invasion, maybe we wouldn’t have. There’s really no telling. But what is certain is without the sacrifice from the American military, the war effort would have been prolonged and even more devastating than we know it to be today.

It was one of the first times in my life where I truly felt like I had been somewhere and seen things that were bigger than myself.

The sacrifice, bravery, heroism, whatever you want to call it, shown by those men defined a way of life that is still present today in the United States. They fought for freedom. They fought for their fellow countrymen. They fought for men, women and children they were never going to meet. They fought for something bigger than themselves.

Visiting Normandy was one of the most surreal moments and experiences of my life. The men who stormed those beaches and occupy those graves will never have the chance to read these words. They likely would not have anyway. But even so, I will continue to honor their memory and sacrifices they made by not ever taking my freedom for granted.