When in France...

(Source)

While I would like to say that the opening photo is one of Your Humble Scribe and one of his grandkids relaxing next to the pond at Chez Sarge, I won't. As cool as that might be, the upkeep on that place has to be horrendous. For that is a photo of a portion of the palace at Versailles. In France. (For the edification of those of you with a "modern" education, which I'm proud to say are damned scarce in these spaces.)

Anyhoo.

I learn new things from you, the Chanters, and often your comments make the Old Sarge rethink a thing he learned as a callow youth. New things come to light all the time shedding new light on old topics. So I am rethinking that whole "the Versailles Treaty caused World War II" thing. While that concept is not complete bunk, after all Hitler used it as a cudgel to beat the German Volk into believing that they'd actually not lost World War I at all, nope the army stood undefeated in the field while the politicians blew the game back home.

While I'm all in favor of blaming politicians for lots of things, losing World War I wasn't one of 'em. That "undefeated" German army was deserting in droves and refusing to fight in many areas. They were beaten, they had nothing left and the good old U.S. of A. was pumping in doughboys by the thousand to continue to thrash the Hun and drive him back to the Vaterland.

Anyhoo. All that rethinking made my head hurt but it also reminded me of a wee sojourn The Missus Herself  and Your Humble Scribe went upon back in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-Two. In other words, an awfully long time ago. I daresay there are people I work with these days who were naught but toddlers when the missus and I got onto the bus to go to Paris. In France. (See above.)

We had been in Germany for only about four months when the unit to which I was assigned decided that an Easter weekend bus trip to la belle France would be just the thing to improve morale and delight the enlisted. So yes, we signed up. (Our unit did a lot of those trips over the years, some of the best times I ever had.)

So from Germany we advanced down the traditional invasion corridor, through a small bit of the Netherlands, across Belgium, and into northern France. Thing is, we were on a tour bus and not riding tanks, so we were welcomed with open arms. As long as we were spending money that is. (I kid, most of the folks we met in France were awesome.)

The drive across northern France was interesting, lots and lots of rolling farmland and here and there were these small structures which I swear must have been bunkers. For all I know those were where the farmers stored stuff. (Which doesn't rule out their use as bunkers in an earlier time.)

The first place we hit in France was the Tour d'Eiffel (Eiffel Tower for you non-Francophones.) Two things struck me immediately, the first was just how big the freaking thing is, kinda looks small on a postcard, in reality it's pretty big. The second thing that struck me was a chunk of hail. Yup, while there we saw sunshine, rain, more sunshine, and a passing bit o' hail. Welcome to France!

While the ladies all wanted to wait in line (forever) to go up the elevators to the top of the tower, we men proposed climbing the stairs (as the lines were much shorter). Eventually cooler heads prevailed and we went to seek the hotel where we'd be staying, which was on the outskirts of Paris. Once assigned to our rooms and with our luggage stowed, we went back to the bus to head "downtown," as it were.

I remember eating at a small restaurant on the Left Bank where the mussels were extremely delicious and the tables crammed together so tight that one could scarce swing a fork. But we managed, seems that wine makes a good way to maintain friendly relations with one's neighbors. Worked for us at any rate.

We didn't do many touristy things in Paris, a bunch of folks wanted to tour the Louvre, where the lines were a long as those on the beaches of Dunkirk in 1940. (Not to mention how the French lost WWII, well, they did didn't they?) I also recall being shushed at one point as we walked down the Champs-Élysées and I casually mentioned seeing photos of the Deutsches Wehrmacht marching down that very street in 1940. One of the passersby gave me a rather indignant look in the middle of that remark and I decided at that point that I shouldn't be mentioning the war, dontcha know?

Well, enough said about that the better.

We spent a lot of time at the Musée de l'armée and Les Invalides, the former for the many displays of French military artifacts and the latter for the tomb of Napoléon. (There is more than one tomb there, I was very impressed with the names of the men entombed there, many notables from French military history.)

While at Napoléon's tomb I was approached by an elderly gentleman who began to ask me, in rather terrible French, some question which escapes me at the moment, he might have been asking for directions to the loo, I don't remember. It was quite some time ago, as I mentioned above. I told the chap that my French was nearly as bad as his and perhaps did he speak English?

Well of course he did, he was an American WWII veteran come to visit Europe one more time, this time in a friendlier fashion I might add. When I mentioned that the lads and I were all Air Force members and their wives stationed in Germany (well except for Hans who is Dutch and his Swedish wife) he got a big kick out of that. He was late of the Army Air Forces and had been a bomber crewman in the Mighty Eighth. Small world, neh?

At any rate it was three nights and the better part of three days strolling the streets of Paris, visiting Versailles (long lines there as well, so we stayed in the gardens, very picturesque those were), and marking time in little bistros, sipping wine and observing life in Paris. It was a great trip.

I have photos, somewhere, which I need to dig out and digitize, for back in those days it was all film and the like. Digital was in its infancy, if it existed yet at all! I'd like to go back someday, once the heathens are driven out that is. There are parts of the City of Light a native-born Parisian won't go, not unless they've a death wish that is.

Sigh, the world changes and not necessarily for the better.