San Jose & Arenal Volcano... (Arsenal...?)

Made the 6am boat-bus-bus journey to the rather shitty city of San Jose. That may seem unfair... but everywhere we passed was covered in iron bars, we were advised to take taxi’s everywhere (even a 5 minute walk down the road from our hostel, in a ‘nice’ area) and it just seemed bleak.  

The Hostel Pangaea on the other hand was great. Roof bar, free internet, very laid back but professional – was exactly what we wanted in this necessary stop over place. They even had a pool, but no time or need to use it. Originally our plan was to move straight to Nicaragua but we decided to take a day trip to the active Arenal volcano, which last blew in 1968 killing 78. Had dinner next door to our hotel and I had a taste exploding black bean soup (the picture, I am aware, does not do it justice... which I will post when I get home). Si’s highlight was probably the picture of a rather stoned younger Mel Gibson surrounded by girls on the wall.

The day trip was definitely worth the extra day – 6 of us on the tour, a 22-year-old girl from Gloucester who has spent the last four years in Illinois, a German from Black Forest (he confirmed this was where the cake came from…) and a honeymooning couple from Washington State. Great group of people and finally Si managed to see what I meant about how I love meeting people travelling! On the way to Arenal we visited a Church (not sure where it was but there was some significance of it being one of two… the other being the in Philippines..?) Still, nice to see the swallows and butterflies flying through it and interesting to see at least 30 people there to worship on a Monday morning.. not like your average COE church. We then moved on to an Ox Cart factory, which are no longer used for practical purposes in Costa Rica (they are in Nicaragua), but watching the painting of the intricate designs was really impressive. I wanted an ox cart, but had to make do with a mini one to use as a toothpick holder (I like to give my random trinkets a purpose).

The drive to the volcano was through fantastic scenery coupled with great chat on US Politics and travelling stories. I love the open and frank (but non aggressive) chat. I view my mind as a once blank slate. With each trip, book, documentary, conversation (even if you think I’m not listening and getting mad and don’t agree…  trust me.. I’ll think about it later and take it into consideration…) it’s like I’m wiping away the blankness revealing countries, knowledge… of politics, history, experiences, opinions, with so much of it from just looking, or talking to people. I love hearing about different lifestyles, reasonings, experiences, whether or not I agree with them. At Uni I remember a friend of mine started blanking me. I finally found out it was because he (as an British Indian) saw me talking to a neo-nazi, thinking I was befriending them. In reality I wanted to know they thought what they did, and why they thought what they did. They weren’t my friends! I did manage to find them useful for my (AWFUL) dissertation… and a few months later one of the younger boys who I’d spoken to (16?) that I’d taken a shining too (in that he just seemed lonely and abandoned and these guys provided him family) came running up to me at a rock club saying how he had nothing to do with those racists anymore. He spoke like a proud 10 year old, and I felt like a proud elder relative!!

Anyway. The Volcano. We had lunch in La Fortuna, and whilst eating saw it spurt some grey ash. Writing that, it doesn’t seem exciting. It really really was!! Then we headed to the hot springs; some insanely hot. Drinking beer in hot pools overlooking a volcano with great company was priceless. We had to join another group at one point, possibly a slightly pricier tour, thanking god that their hotel had Wifi and how charitable they all were made me even more thankful of our group!

Tortuguero, (the Turtle place... )

Bus and collectivos bright and early to Moin to catch a boat to Tortugera. All the usual fun of having no clue what’s going on, getting on the wrong boat… ending up on the shit boat despite paying the same as other good boats.. you know the drill. Journey was great (after moving our rucksacks from the top tip of the boat.. I don’t care how many trips have been done without any falling into the river!). Through the rainforest seeing Caiman, baby pink flamingos and many other cool birds I can’t name. Hostel by the (non swimmable, volcano, shark infested water) beach, but with a great bar and view – fresh juices, cervesa and reggae music. Riverside dinner… then the heavens opened. Though it’s rainy season this was the first we’d really experienced it. No chance of it passing so chucked our stuff in a bin bag and waded home knee deep in muddy water. Always fun, and finally saw some frogs!

Up at 5:30 a.m. for a dugout canoe ride through the rainforest. Spent ages deciding on a tour guide and we totally lucked out. He loved Manatees (which are there, but you can’t see), hated the motorboats and their noise, and liked to take things slow, loved his job and exploring the rainforest. So whilst the motorboats powered past we (he) slowly paddled showing us things we never would have spotted. Jesus Christ Lizards (nicknamed so because they can walk on water), Caiman (and baby ones), Cappuccino, Spider and Howler monkeys, Toucans, Herons, Kingfishers, Swallows, Iguanas. The flora and fauna was just incredible; the greens so vivid and contrasting. He also managed to source out the blue jean frogs (because they look like they are wearing jeans…) through the noise. When fully grown they are about the size of a 50p pence piece. Poisonous venom used to be used on the end of hunting spears. With all the other boats racing to get back after the tour he said, ‘they are all in a race, a competition. I am out of the competition’. I had to bite my tongue from saying, ‘but we are the winners’.

 Breakfast over the river – pancakes, fresh coffee, fresh pineapple juice, banana and syrup Incredible. See!

Discussing the trip Si said he’d never be able to do something as long as my South America trip (6 months, I was 18). As much as I was loving it all, and certainly was not ready to go home after a week, I can agree. The week before Kenya, seeing all my wonderful friends and family… (and Tildy)… I’ll be happy. Exploring the world, but knowing how wonderful home is too… it’s a good place to be in.

Before our Turtle Tour we went for a walk in the national park – mainly for something to do – rather than thinking there would be much to see. We stumbled across a large group of Spider Monkeys at feeding time and after about five minutes we heard some loud shrieks and the monkeys all ran off and hid… cowering in the trees. (Later we were told this would have been the mothers and babies hiding from the males, who could be violent to, or kill the babies!) David Attenborough’s we were not and we figured if they weren’t safe… we weren’t either... and left.

Walked back across the volcanic beach, past all the unused/unsuitable turtle nests, scattered broken egg shells (the remains of their predators lunch) and over the sand marks left by the turtles to and from the sea. Thank god we did this, as I forget I get a lot more anxious now than I used to – so at least when we were out there later in pitch black I knew roughly what my surroundings were and gave me a small degree of comfort.

About 7pm we waited with our Costa Rican no bullshit-hard man-adventure-cowboy-type ranger guy, Ernesto at the ‘Ranger Station’ for the sign that a turtle had been spotted. Walked out onto the beach (through the same nature trail we’d been on earlier) and a red light was suddenly shone on this massive 200kg turtle that was about a metre in front of us all. I’ve seen turtles before whilst, diving, snorkelling, in zoos, even had terrapins as a kid, but this was just something else. It blows my mind how they instinctively come back to the same place each year, all following the same rituals. I certainly wouldn’t be able to find my birth place if I wasn’t told...

You are only allowed to shine light on the turtles returning to the sea as otherwise you would distract, and upset the ritual; possibly making them then return to the ocean before laying their eggs. Between the ages of 30 and 60 years old the turtles return each year, and then less frequently after 60. It takes roughly two hours from the water to the top of the beach where they build their nest. If the temperature isn’t right after building the nest they return to the ocean and try again the next night. If it’s fine, they will go into a trance like state and lay roughly 100 eggs in about 20 minutes. We got to watch this. You can’t really describe it without being incredibly cheesy, or sounding like a complete dick, taking into account how beautiful turtles are in the first place, but it really was pretty gosh darn incredible. And that I’m very thankful for; otherwise the fact my rain jacket was more like a windbreaker, my legs (with only about 2 cm uncovered) had been bitten to an inflated mess, my wellies were too tight and blistered my feet, or the two mozzie bites right by each eye may have bothered me a bit…

Ahh last thing. The Costa Rican Currency is Colones and the coins look like pirate booty… Amazing! Thick, heavy gold coloured token like coins. OOOO ARRR!!

COASTER RICA BABY (Cahuita)

After getting a wee bit stroppy (me? Never?!) that we didn’t leave Bocas early enough to cross the border and catch the boat to Tortugera we decided to stop off in Cahuita. WHAT A BLESSING!! A beach/surfy Creole town with a population of about 900 people. We stayed in a beachside hostel complete with hammocks and our very own rocking chairs. On arrival we were approached to see if we wanted to do a snorkel trip. Against instincts (signs mentioning rip tides and the sea looking rough) we trusted the guide that the national park area was safe and calm. Thank god! The snorkelling was incredible. The coral was very dead, but the fish! Oh the fish! It was like we were swimming in an aquarium, but natural, rather than because we had been feeding them. What a surprise. Our books seemed to only mention the snorkelling as an afterthought, but there were many large fish, lots of little cutesy fish, and many I’ve never seen before. And I certainly hadn’t seen a 30cm (or any cm fish eat a crab before (nor had I seen a cat catch a gecko before… but that’s another sad story I hope my memory will suppress). A parrotfish type fish also seemed to be singing (!!) at us… Si was, understandably pretty nervous, but loved it!

Back at the hostel drinking Imperial Cervesa, on our rocking chairs, overlooking the Caribbean Sea… we were pretty damn happy (even despite the loss of our travel scrabble game). Went to Sankey's Afro Caribbean Historical Museum... which was shut, but you could peer in... possibly the scariest museum I have ever been to.(See below).

Beers followed by dinner at a Creole restaurant – possibly one of the best tasting meals I’ve ever had. It was just rice and vegetables… but the sauce! My god, if you could put sunshine, snorkelling and holiday beers into a sauce this would be it! Wow!

Bocas Del Toro, Panama

Got a taxi and boat from the station to Bocas Island, the largest in that archipelago, in the Caribbean Sea. Deciding between two hostels; Casa Max (Dutch run) or Mondu Tatu (USA owned part hostel). Went Dutch and thank god we did. I dragged Si into Mondu Tatu for a drink on their 80’s night and it was like a frat house. Fine if that’s your thing, but I’m more a few beers, some pool and good chat kind of person than a SPRING BREAK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Person. We were also told that if we ‘liked to party’ we needed to check out the bar with a hole in the floor that led to the sea. Needless to say, we didn’t go there… I guess we do not like to party.

Took a boat trip to see Dolphins (in the wild, not like Cuba’s ‘caged in the ocean’ dolphins, went to a beautiful (but sadly boring, with our boring group) beach…  perhaps if we’d known we’d be there for 3 hours we would have brought a beer or a snack... but finished off the day snorkelling. Fish not fantastic, but the coral was very much alive and the colours were beautiful (pink and purple tubed coral…)

Next day rented bikes to do a 17km cycle to Bocas del Drago playa. We were told it would be hilly, but that turned out to be a wee bit of an understatement. Ended up doing a Hik-cle; half bike, half walk. (hike uphill.. cycle downhill). Great fun, even in the midday sun. The beach was gorgeous, explored the jungle areas behind filled with crabs, iguanas, butterflies, dragonflies (like I’ve never seen before) and even a mono and it’s baby! Snorkelled expecting nothing, but had a great time just watching the fish underneath the fallen palm trees, going about their day or being intrigued by us. Ended a wonderful day with a cheap Chinese on the waterfront (which is where I penned this in my journal…) 

People (parents, elders…) have often told me I don’t know how lucky I am. Which really is such crap. Everyday I think how lucky I am. I lie in bed at home thinking how good I have it, with all my things in my lovely Bayswater house, with my war and conflict free life! I took this trip because I knew how lucky I was and at the moment I’m in a place that allowed me to do so. Who knows what will happen… but stay positive, keep smiling and grounded and make the most of everything whilst I can. I know it’s all relative and we are human with emotions.. but I know I’m lucky!!

Embera Village & Miraflores Lock, Panama City

On the second day we went to a village of the Embera Tribe in Lake Gatun, just an hour outside of Panama City. 10% of Panamanians are indigenous tribesmen/women, the Embera being one of seven, who originated in the San Blas Archipelago (better known for the home of the Kuna). Our tour guide Anne was originally from Seattle and was on a movie set seven years ago as an Animal Trainer when she fell in love with the Embera, and more specifically the man who is now here husband. Though some of the Embera go to school or University in Panama City most will return to their village; Anne’s husband being one of the exceptions who prefers the city life. These villages are in a national park and feel days away from the Panama City, not the short drive they are. We took a dugout canoe towards the village, stopping off first for a short trek for a swim in a waterfall – passing caiman, howler monkeys and a lotta lotta birds.  

For the Embera the ‘village’ concept was new as they usually lived in family units 10 – 15 minutes canoe apart. The Government will only provide a primary school for a ‘village’ and so the villages sprung up. Though they have lived in this area for approximately 40 years, the National Park was formed in 1984, which stopped them from fishing or hunting commercially, so tourism has become a primary source of income. We dined on Pescado and fried plantain wrapped in Pandanas Leaf; Panamanian fish and chips? The tourism hasn’t really changed a great deal about village life, and much of it was off limits – we were shown how they make their produce, visited the school, the communal kitchen and some shown dances. Living quarters were as you would expect; simple, clean wooden houses on stilts. There are however some Embera tribes that still live completely isolated in the park and will not even interact with the Embera that are open to the Western world. I was told that the ‘Ombora’ beaded skirts were only worn for special occasions, thinking she meant they normally wear western clothes… but Anne actually meant they usually just wear the loincloths!

(Tours here:  http://www.emberavillagetours.com/)

Day 3 was canal day when we headed up to the Miraflores lock. Personally did not expect to find this as cool as it was! Watching the huge ships go from one section to the other and being pulled along was just incredible! Bonus that the first ship we saw was from Hong Kong with the Bauhinia flag flying in the wind. Si of course loved this. The history of the Canal was also fascinating; with the idea first being brought up in the 1500s (it was completed in 1914) – the fighting for the rights to the canal, with the US obtaining it because the French could not complete it (I've heard different reasons why - money, disease, disinterest??!?) Also interesting was that the US bought the rights to construct a canal in Nicaragua with no intention of doing so, but to make sure that the Panama Canal was the only one in the Central America isthmus.

Afterwards we got a Diablo Rojo (known in the rest of Central America as Chicken Buses) but named so in Panama as all individually owned, so the drivers race each other to get the bus stops and also pimp them up in order to entice people on to theirs using neon lights, flashing boards, music, graffiti, etc. Then had to hop on a night bus to Bocas Del Toro via Almirante. Si was upset that a bringing alcohol on board was a criminal offence. Also odd to see someone get on wearing an Equifax jacket!

Bus was FREEZING, but otherwise comfortable. I also have a very nice boyfriend who leant me his hoodie (me: 3 hoodies, leggings long socks, scarf wrapped ALL round face with eyes covered with those night sleeping things… Si: 1 hoodie and shorts..) Oh, and the whistling man at 2am. I thought fine, one song, that’s cool…. trying to keep calm about it (I get almost autistically fixated on noises/lights, etc) but then the most whistle-happy song ever written came on (Wind of Change by the Scorpions … if you were unsure). Thank god for earplugs.

Miami & Panama City...

En route to Panama we stopped off at Miami for a few hours and headed down to South Beach hoping to catch the rollerbladers and speedo Italian beach weightlifters. Took the local bus passing insane numbers of 16 year olds in brand new SUVs but it only took us to mid beach and so we only stayed 30 minutes as our attire (Si in trousers and trainers) and lack of swimwear made it a little bit tortureous. Stuck at the airport for a while due to a passing storm; "for those of you running to the gate.. there is no need. Your plane is going no where". The storm was pretty amazing and within about 30 seconds of it passing, like the start of the day in the Truman show, in one instant everything starting working again.

Arrived in Panama City, and after the fun of no pre booked taxi waiting for us, not having a hotel phone number, not having a full address and having a confirmation email with a different hotel address to the one that is actually on the sign and that everyone uses, we managed to get to our hotel at about midnight. Our top floor room overlooked the Panama Canal; perfect view with Local Beer #1 (Bilboa) and Si regressing to my nephew Liam's age; getting overly excited by all the big boats passing by.

A few of the usual teething issues (costs of transport, phones not working, and Si's card being blocked - screw you Lloyds TSB) we headed down to the old colonial town, Casco Viejo (San Felipe). Described as similar to Havana's old town due to the delapidated colonial architecture. However you couldn't really venture outside the rejuvinated, policed, tourist area, which felt really odd to me. Still managed to find a local cheap cafe where we were the only gringos, so that made up for it a little (even though they still had English menu's ;) ). Of course I was trying to re-learn my Spanish and on being told a cab ride would cost  U$17 US I felt pretty good and telling him this was far too much and we should only pay U$10... but as soon as I got in the taxi I realised he'd originally said U$7... thankfully he laughed at me telling him my Spanish was bad (in spanish) and we paid $7...

Not a fan of cities (without exciting turbulent histories...) and Panama City is joked as being the "Miami of the South, but with more English speakers".. so we headed to the Smithsonian Museum, which is a conservation education centre. Fun and I managed to find the sloth in the forest (go me!) Forced Si to give up his manhood and ride a 2 man wussy 1920's (or not.. ?!) bicycle (i'll have a picture.. the connection here isn't good enough!) We tried to go somewhere cheap for dinner, but the restaurants we wanted to go to had shut down.. and ended up being dropped in the middle of Calle Uruguay... where all the fashionable eateries/discos are! The only cheap (pizza) place had turned into a new financial skyscraper... so we had to bite our tongues.. and go for expensive (for Panama.. not for London....) Chinese at Madame Changs...which has great reviews in the NY Times. OH NO!! Si said it had the best crispy noodles he has ever tasted... but for me the HK Golf Club still comes up trumps on that one!!
Saw the owner on the way out and he seemed excited at our raving reviews... even despite our backpacker sandal-short combo!

D Day + 3

In the car going home, putting all the pieces of the last few days together. Where to start?  I knew this trip would be interesting, but the way it’s opened my eyes isn’t something I expected. I also didn’t realise how much I would learn about my Grandfather. All I’ve ever known is that he was in the War, and that he died in the War. Because so little was said I assumed he wasn’t there for long, but I know it’s for more personal reasons and my Dad’s recent want to understand and know. And now I actually know what he did in the War. I stood on Sword beach where he landed. I stood on top of Hill 122 that he and his unit captured and drove through the houses and on the roads he walked through and seen the graves of his fallen comrades.

I know he wrote to my Grandmother each day. I know my Great Uncle went to see his grave. I know a fellow soldier wardmate in the Brugge hospital wrote to my Grandmother after he died, trying to explain how he had passed away and express his condoloenses. He told her he would visit in the letter, and pass on some jewellery that he’d gone to buy for Freddie to give to Eve (on his rreturn from the shop he had died) and only this weekend my Dad found out that he did visit years later, complete with the charm bracelet.

I met two Veterans. Both such wonderful men. George, the most amazing 90 year old. Never touched a drop of alcohol, fought for 4 years, married for 70 years and his wife died a few months ago. Always laughing and joking; running about with his walking stick  with son behind “Dad, slow down…. Dad!!!” He too landed at Sword Beach and worked on PLUTO (underground oil pipeline).

Wilf, of the Royal Ulsters, a very quiet man, who we later found out hardly spoke since the death of his wife 4 years ago, came out of his shell this weekend. We went to graves of his comarades, we went to places where he had been engaged in combat. His son, visably moved/upset. Wilf, always standing proud. In his way to Caen in 1944 his regiment’s orders were suddenly changed. It wasn’t until this weekend he found out why. It’s been bothering him for 66 years. I loved talking to them, hearing their stories. George especially took a shining to me, giggled when I wanted a photo of the two of us, then took one himself to show the others at his coffee club! (so said his Dad), But really the pleasure was all mine. An honour.

I also realised how little I knew of World War II. My focus of knowledge has always been on the Holocaust and though I knew bits and pieces there was too much lacking.. The stories of engagement, of individual valour and courage. Of the mass killings, and of all that went wrong and the seemingly little, but hugely important things that went right. . As Colonol Newbould said, with the friction of war, even the mediocre is an achievement. The scale of everything to do with D Day and the allies winning the war really is too much to comprehend; all the deaths – how does one understand or picture 6000 people dead on one beach? (Omaha). Many of the French in Normandy were not happy to see their “liberators”, happy enough to get on with a peaceful life under occupied Germany. Obbiously not the case for all, but  when you think that in Caen just before the liberation more civilians died, (due largely to Allied bombings) than those that died during the whole war in Britain you can understand why. Soldiers were surprised at this and generally wasn’t until they moved in land that they were greeted with excitement and gratitude.

I know I say it in every post, but how can I not. Thank you all. Thank you for me being able to visit France this weekend. To sit here on my MacBook, typing away whatever thoughts pop into my head. Thank you George for operating Pluto. Thank you Wilf for neutralisting key areas. Thank you Great Uncle George for securing the areas that paved the way for Wilf, and finally, thank you Grandpa Captain Freddie Coulcher for taking control of the hugely important Hill 122 I can only pray I never have to be as courageous as all of you.

D Day + 2

Today was all about the American input at Utah and Omaha beach. The Rangers, the Parachuters...) If you look at the top left of the Church you can see John Steele playing dead (obviously not him, but a mannequin they put up each year).

When we arrived at Omaha beach it was packed with families frolicking in the water. Our guide, Colonol Christopher…. said his first reaction is how unfitting it felt when describing the scenes of June 6th, but then he realised that this is exactly what the people were fighting for.

The landings at Omaha went distariously wrong on all counts and had a huge proprtion of deaths in comparison to the other landings. (Those who survived eventually went on to do great things).

We went to the German War cemetery…. Very dark and gothic… The top photo shows someone who killed about 20 allied men in five minutes. The flowers made me sick, Out of every grave there this was the most decorated. People on the tour with me said it was because he was strong; fighting for his people. But you know what...??? We weren't aggressive. We weren't trying to take France. We were trying to save ourselves. And though these men were just people; single men, don't dare try to make the 'struggles' the same. Aggressor and defenser. NOT the same.

I prefer our War graves.  The American one, was, and no offernce meant to Americans; American. Grand, HUGE (140 acres for approximately 9000 graves). Again, and not because of my nationality, I prefer the British graves. Each grave is more personal and the smaller cemetaries mean they were buried with their comrades nearer the place of death,  places they were trying to fight for.

It got me thinking today of both the egotistical arrogance (is there any other kind?) of the British and the Americans. As separate nations. Of course this is a mass generalisation, but I hear it from slightly smarter people than I would expect it from. What we achieved in the end was due to a huge number of peoples, of various nations, working together. Yes, the American’s didn’t have to come and liberate Europe, but then with the Germans not in the UK (aside from the Channel Islands) and with their main war on the Eastern Front... did we? (I realise I am being far too simplistic). But of course it was necessary, but considering the way the US handled communism with McCarthyism I hardly think a German occupied Europe, including Great Britain (or even larger Communist Bloc) would have been to their liking… and most likely would have just left them to fight an even bigger, more horrifc war in years to come.  I just think some humility wouldn't go amiss (especially when most of the people that make these claims of superiority had nothing to do with the war in the first place). 

D Day + 1

Juno, Gold, Arromanches (Mulberry Harbour) & the Bayeux Tapestry

First off; one of the ladies on our tour. She is a lovely, timid, Belgian brought up by her WWII resistance grandparents. This is her third time on the same tour. Dressed like a restistance figher (think the women in Allo Allo); she is obsessed with Remembrance. Not D-Day itself, but remembrance. She has acquired from various people she doesn't know around the world lists of the dead whose graves to place flags, poppy candles and crosses on.  She has told me how members of her family call her crazy, and since the age of three she has been attending rememberance services across Europe. She tried to join the army, but was rejected. (Physically she is fit and healthy). Yet, on seeing some (mild) footage today of the D-Day landings and the following days; she fainted. And then became more withdrawn and couldn’t bring herself to eat. I understand her problems are far more than a few minutes of a film, and in reality probably don’t have much to do with the witnessing the reality of war, but it saddens me that she spends so much time on the rememberance, when really, it was freedom they were fighting for, and a freedom she is so obviously lacking.

We started off visiting to Juno (Canadian) and Gold (UK) beaches. Gold being where Charles De Gaulle came through. All along the tours not only were we told the facts and figures, but stories of despair, chaos and bravery. One of the latter was regarding CSM Stanley Hollis, (taken from Wikipedia) 

"On June 6, 1944 in Normandy, France, Hollis was still a company sergeant major with the Green Howards, who were one of the assault battalions at Gold Beach. As the company moved inland from the beaches after the initial landings, Hollis went with his company commander to investigate two German pill-boxes which had been by-passed. He rushed forward to the first pill-box, taking all but five of the occupants prisoner and then dealt with the second, taking 26 prisoners. Then he cleared a neighbouring trench. Later that day, he led an attack on an enemy position which contained a field gun and Spandau machine guns. After withdrawing he learned that two of his men had been left behind and told Major Lofthouse, his commanding officer, "I took them in. I will try to get them out." Taking a grenade from one of his men Hollis carefully observed the enemy's pattern of behaviour and threw it at the most opportune moment. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to prime the grenade but the enemy didn't know this and kept their heads down waiting for it to explode. By the time they realised their mistake Hollis was on top of them and had shot them."

(Top: Where Hollis hid.   Right: George, the brother of a boy who was in the house whilst Hollis was there (now his house), Wilf and Christopher.)

 We went to Arromanche and saw remains of the Mulberry Temporary Harbour (not so temporary? – an amazing feat.) It's really hard to imagine what it would have looked like. And it's weird seeing kids playing around the leftovers! The American's didn't think it would work, or last the storms but the British insisted. Mulberry B stood strong, whilst Mulberry A at Omaha didn't; very diplomatic. 

And of course more war memorials and cemeteries. Again, happily walking around in the sunshine, reading the graves, my thoughts caught up in what they did and BAM! Tears.  I want to lay down something for every single grave I come across. I want to shake the hands and thank the two vetrans with me on this tour, but I feel it would be naff. If they drank, perhaps I could have a drink with them.. and then tell them.. but they don’t.. and I’d feel stupid, it's too much. So I ‘ll write it here. Thank you Wilf Vernon. Thank you George Chamberlain. You brave men. I owe you. Thank you.

I also went to see the Bayeux Tapestry (in Bayeux surprisingly... a large amount of people have asked me where I saw it..)  I thought I could do with a ‘break’ from the harshness and horrors of D-day.... when if you know anything about what’s portrayed on there; it’s pretty gruesome.. ending with an arrow in the eye. But somehow when it happened almost a millenium ago it doesn't have the same impact on the soul. So really to me it was just a fantastic embroidered depiction of a hugely important event in the 11^th Century. And it’s so damn cool. Honestly! I thought I guess I should see it after trying to draw it at school when I was ten… but  couldn't remember exactly what happened (hey.. I'm all about the modern history...) but seeing it and being talked through it  with the headphones was amazing. An old skool comic? My god I love History.

The Memorial of the missing.