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 |  "Putting on the Game Face" |
  This blog is a doorway into the mind of Percy Goodfellow. Don't be shocked at the lost boys of Namby-Pamby Land and the women they cavort with. Watch as his caricatures blunder about the space between audacious hope and the wake-up calls of tomorrow. Behold their scrawl on the CRT, like graffitti on a subway wall. Examine it through your own lens...Step up my friends, and separate the pepper from the rat poop. Welcome to my abode...the armpit of yesterday, the blinking of an eye and a plank to the edge of Eternity. Note: This blog is my journal. I've no interest in persuading anyone to adopt my views. What I write is whatever happens to interest me when I start pounding the keys. |
| Biometric Serial Number Men and women are born, they go on for a while, and then drop dead. What happens after we die? Science says that what happens after death is “Unknowable.” This is a great conceit, the idea that because science can’t explain something… that makes it “Unknowable.” The best science can come up with was that once upon a time there was a primordial pool filled with enzymes and they some how combined in such a way that life was created… and not only was there life but it just happened by coincidence, to have the ability to replicate itself. Most find this explanation a bit hard to swallow. How could a random combination of nucleic acids both spring to life and at the same time have a subprogram where the ability to produce offspring was written? . If this doesn’t exactly make sense, science explains it away by telling us we have no appreciation of infinity and that a million monkeys pounding on a typewriter would before infinity is reached produce a perfect error free duplicate of every written work ever writ. Does anyone really subscribe to that outlandish notion? By the way the record of life on this planet does not stretch back to infinity, where ever that is. It seems to have started fairly recently given the age of the rock we live on. Despite advances made in medicine we are still light years from understanding how the human body works. The more we learn the more incredible life becomes and the complexity boggles the mind. We have this capacity called “Reason” which has led us an understanding of the space around us and while understanding is far from complete it vastly outdistances our understanding of the Spirit inside us. What are “senses?” and how do emotions really work. Imagine a godly designer talking abstractly about laughter and tears, love and hate and how they became hardwired into the genome. What is humor? How does it work? Some say it is a contradiction between expectation and delivery and the delta locks up the computer for an instant creating a hysteria that manifests itself in laughter. Not much of a definition… but it’s the best I could come up with and I can’t even take credit for it… seems I heard that somewhere in my distant past. Did I hear it or imagine it? What if one day, someone mucking about in the DNA comes up with a bio-code that is unique for every one of us… a serial number if you will, built around a date code? How cool would that be? |
| An Immortality of Awareness There are Stage Plays, Screen Plays, and illustrations of every shape and size. All these pale in comparison to the Stage of a Reader. (SOAR) As writers we get to play on the SOAR, the greatest stage of them all. Imagination is a capacity of the human mind and spirit to game play a Course of Action in our hearts and minds without ever having to experience it first hand. We can visualize and even physically experience events transpiring in imagination that are not directly tied to reality. “That will never work!” we often think, (feeling disgusted or some other emotion) thereby avoiding the consequences of an ill-considered notion. All this is no doubt blatantly obvious to my readers who are perhaps wondering where Percy-Bob is going with this thread. If you think about what you do as writers, it boils down to arranging a thread of Alpha characters into the representation of a word. A word evokes an image in the imagination. We string these words into a sentence, which is a cluster of these Alpha characters broken by spaces. The sentences are grouped into paragraphs, which represent a series of images designed to express an imaginative idea. So it goes into chapters and books. Now think about this. These images have both a rational and spiritual dimension. We have gotten good at reason, understanding the concept and even at times applying it to our lives. Our science has exploded based on this Greek idea of the problem solving process. Our spiritual understanding, on the other hand, has not progressed far from the white-hot energy that percolated for thousands of years in the minds of men and came to a boil around the time of Christ. At this point it began to cool to where today it’s hard to get a nativity scene in the public square. However, there is no denying the presence of the spirit even if we relegate it to the dungeons of our forgotten souls. Still if we look into the eyes of a child, animated by the discover of this thing or that or go out in the backyard on a clear night, we can’t help but be touched by a sense of awe which is an uncontestable acknowledgement of the spirit that men and women of old always accepted as real. In our love affair with science we forget that before science mankind was able to get through the day-to-day challenges of life, procreating and leaving the legacy that pulses today beneath our skin. This whole spiritual idea reached it highest expression in the Apostles Creed. It expresses the notion of a creator, linked by a spirit, to the life existing on this planet. The idea set forth is that a part of the creator is inside all living things granting them life and IT, an immortality of awareness. Is that cool or what? |
| Dear Friends, Well.... that ends the travel log. I know that many of my loyal readers suffered through the endless litany of pictures. I remember being invited in my younger days to see the home movies taken by friends on vacation. I tried to be polite but those sessions, except for the popcorn and brownies, always left me a bit non-pulsed I don't know what I will do for an encore. I have written a lot of blogs and while I have yet to run out of ideas, some of my better ones have already been expressed. Was it Omar Khayam who wrote.... "The pen has writ and moved on." For some reason I really like that saying. Tonight I think I'll talk a bit about characters. Most of you know that I write sensual prose (SP). The reason I do is not to tittilate myself, (I'm a bit old for that) but rather to try and get under their skin. What better way to do that than write SP?.  Get it? Duh!In my class we write vignettes of about one to three thousand words. This is an opportunity to both explore the possibilities of the story line and also the depth of the characters. At a 13+ classification we don't go into sensual prose although I expect that anyone visiting my port will see what I write. Writing about your characters in an intimate setting reveals much about who they are. For example what are they really like when the do it. Do they talk to each other, are they amused, angry, loving... what is going on besides the flesh slapping. When we think about our spouses or significant others we know them to the core... the imagery of who they are and how they think is as vivid as it gets. So can a writer get to really know his characters by putting them in an SP setting. Even if you take these erotic vignettes and hide them under the bed a writer gets to know them at a deeply personal level. That is what the reader expects to see and if they do, they sense the character is real. The character is real to them because the character is real to the author, real as only an intimate knowledge can make them. It is simple to edit out the "clutch and grab" if it isn't appropriate to the genre but when you do an amazing thing happens. The story remains animated, even when the language is toned down or deleted altogether. It is indelibly woven into the spiritual tapestry the author has wrought and the effect can't be entirely erased. What I'm saying is that it continues to animate the work. How cool is that? |
  Senlis On our last day we wound up in Senlis. That is an ancient Roman City outside Paris. We wanted some place close to the airport because our flight was leaving in the morning and we had to turn in the rental van. We were booked at a Bed and Breakfast that was a residence built into the old wall of the city. It was a nice place to stay even if the owner did chew my butt for not wiping my feet well enough. His son however, gave my brother good directions to the airport. After settling in we went and got something to eat. We met some nice local people including an attractive lady who talked to us about French politics. While waiting to get served I walked around the corner to the local museum and it was a pretty neat experience. Beneath the church, shown here were excavations dating to the very beginnings of the city. It’s mind boggling to see the artifacts they had unearthed including the remains of an ancient temple used for healing. There were stone carvings of female forms used to enhance fertility. A container filled with ancient Roman coins was unearthed. There were many gargoyle like figures used to frighten away evil spirits. Collectively, deep under the surface the effect of seeing all this was an almost primordial feeling that reached to the very core of one’s humanity. The picture on the right shows what the old fortified city looked like. We walked along the wall and as the sun set it was a perfect ending to our journey, which seemed like a long trek back in years but in the overall context of history was no more than the blinking of an eye. |
  Monet After leaving Rouen we went to see the home of Monet the famous French impressionist. There was a museum to visit, his home and the gardens that surrounded them. My father really liked Monet. The museum was quite small but nice. There was a woman at the desk who spoke fluent English. She had lived in Texas for twenty years with her husband. We walked around for about an hour looking at the paintings, and then went outside to see the gardens. Even though it was October everything was still blooming and it was like walking around in a flower shop. In Monet’s home there were many pictures displayed from his personal collection. I overheard one British gentleman say… “Well you know Edgar, the paintings we see here were the ones he didn’t feel comfortable publicly displaying. “ Hey! They looked like typical impressionist paintings, not my cup of tea in art, but they seemed high speed to me. I really liked the tour of the house and all the period acutraments. Like the wood stove, furniture and knick-nacks laying around. There was a gift store with some neat photographs blown up on the walls. Outside you see a picture taken from behind Linda. The gardens behind his house were particularly beautiful. We had trouble trying to find our way out. It was thronged with tourists. I picked up a walnut on the grounds and plan to plant it in my back yard. My farm has an abundance of walnut trees and probably would welcome some French sprig popping up to offer a little diversity. |
  More on the Festival at Rouen Before I came along my mother was hoping for a girl. I turned out to be a bit of a disappointment but undeterred ma made the best of what she had at hand. I got a doll once for Christmas but mostly she hauled me around wherever she went. My opinion was sought on the clothes she bought and what to get at the grocery store. I was not a very cooperative proxy and at length she began tiring of making me a pseudo skirt, but by then I was a teenager. While I turned out to be pretty normal as a guy with a strong interest in the fairer sex, I had also learned something about style, good food and finding the most expensive item in a store. To this day I love going to a market, be it in Europe or Asia. There is something about smelling the smells and watching the vendors display their wares that gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. So at the market festival in Rouen I was in hog heaven. I must have walked for miles and enjoyed every minute of it. Shown in these photos are more of the vendors at the market festival. The whole experience was a sensory joyride and I want to share a couple more of the scenes walking among the booths. |
  Rat-ta-tat-tat Edith Hamilton, who wrote the Greek Way, and other fascinating books about Greece, had a formative influence on my life. One of the characters of our ancient past she introduced me to was Hesiod. He was a contemporary of Homer and they both wrote about 500 BC. He was very down to earth and offered those in his letters, a lot of practical advice. In one to his brother he writes…. There are three types of men; those who can create excellence, those who know it when they see it and those who can do neither. This to me was a profound statement. While there are few who can create this thing called “Excellence,’’ we can all aspire to knowing it when we see it. This sets apart those of us who presume to be, “Silver Citizens,” from those in the bronze category. If you are clueless to what I’m referring to and have an interest, then read Plato. While we were in Rouen, walking around the festival, we heard a beating of drums and at first couldn’t figure out where the music was coming from. At length we rounded a corner and there was a group of players, dressed in colorful orange/yellow costumes. The music and beat were unlike anything I’d heard before. I thought I had a fair grasp of what good drumming was, having listened to everything from rock drummers to the black college bands at football games. So in my own inimitable way I considered myself something of an expert. However, nothing I have ever heard, done with percussions, prepared me for the music I was listening to. This group had a sound that was animated, primordial and astonishing. The way they played and the enthusiasm they demonstrated resulted in a rhythm and beat that was totally foreign and spellbinding. In the light rain they played compositions so uniquely different that they might have been composed on a different planet. The Rat-tat-tat went right to the core of the listeners and I felt it harken me back to forgotten times when mankind first emerged from the trees and expressed their humanity in music. It was primitive and compelling… something that has to be heard to be appreciated. |
  Rouan After finishing with the Normandy phase of the trip we began heading towards Paris. The reason for that was to get closer to Charles de Gaul Airport. A visitor’s bureau lady in Fouras recommended our itinerary. She told us we might want to lay over at Rouen. She said it was a beautiful French city on the Seine River. When we arrived we were glad to have the GPS in the car because it took us straight to the hotel, located on some very narrow streets. They had courtyard parking and we were able to get the van a nice slot. After settling in we took a walk down into the “Centre Ville” where a Joan of Arc festival was getting ready to start. This is the town where the English burned her at the stake. In the region each local municipality has a distinctive type of hat and as we walked through the displays it was fun to look at the vendors in their colorful local attire. It was sheer luck that we happened to be visiting at this time because the festival is a gala annual event. This gave us a chance to nose about the shops while still seeing all the activities taking place in the market square. There was so much going on I’ll devote a couple of blogs to it, although we only stayed a short time. When you see the Seine river cruises advertised on TV, Rouan is a layover and there were plenty of tourists thronging the narrow streets and marketplace. Most were from the British Isles but there were plenty of Americans thrown into the mix. |
  Fortified Farmstead As we toured Normandy we went up and down the back roads behind the beaches. Since I live on my family’s old homestead in Wisconsin I have always had an interest in old European farms. What makes many unique is being built on a square. The farmstead is comprised of four walls with the barnyard in the center. Within the walls is the family residence as well as cover for the stock, equipment and stores. There were many of these old farms in Europe that have variations on this design. The chief reason was for security and throughout history farmers, not just those close to the coast, had reason to worry about sea raiders and brigands, who frequently passed through to loot and terrorize. With security in mind residents could buy time until the local Noble arrived with reinforcements. The picture of the left shows the entrance and the one on the right is inside the winery served by the owner's lovely wife. So, as we were traveling down this farm road we passed one of these fortified farms with a sign, “Visitors Welcome.” It turned out to be a winery that catered to tourists or anyone else passing by. We drove through the arch and the owner came out to greet us. He took us into the tasting room and told us some of the history of the farm. The site had been occupied for over a thousand years and different families had adapted the architecture to their needs. He was proud to show early drawings made in antiquity. In WW2 the Germans forced the family out and used the grounds to quarter their troops. A memorial is next to the garden, left by an engineer battalion who took up residence there after running off the “Bosch.” |
  The Bayeux Tapestry As with life in general, on a trip you meet some wonderful people as well as some jerks. Since there are so many jerks here and about I tend to be dismissive about them. Why worry and be brought low by these minions of "Arsh Lochers" (a German term you can guess the meaning of…) filled with negativity and motivated only by their dark and selfish interests. In Bayeux, France we wanted to go and see the famous tapestry that dated to around 1066. When our daughter, visited the dedication of the 82nd Airborne museum, in Normandy, she was told by a friend to visit Bayeux and see the tapestry. This relic of the past is a long, hand-embroidered piece of linen fabric, which dates to the Norman conquest of England. In those times most people were illiterate and to maintain a historical awareness among the populous, it was produced in an English workshop (Coventry) and displayed in the Cathedral of Bayeux France. It served to remind everyone what an important event the Battle of Hastings turned out to be. So, once a year, it was displayed, depicting the battle and the priests would explain the panels, as the townspeople walked down the long display of scenes. This custom has been passed down and continues to the present. Now I know my readers are wondering what these two photos of a girl in a well-appointed room has to do with the Bayeux Tapestry. The answer is that we were lost and couldn’t find the building where the display was located. My brother was not happy thinking we were going to some outlet mall to look at scarves and girly fabrics. Anyway, amid the banter back and forth, Linda went off looking for directions. She walked into a hotel and this lovely French Girl told her how to get there. My wife was so taken by how nice this girl was and how her dress characterized the French phrase “Tres Chic’’ and the French appreciation of style and fashion, that she came back singing the young lady’s praises. I had to have a picture of this helpful and nicely dressed girl, so on the way out of town, after seeing the Tapestry, we stopped and took these pictures in the Hotel Lobby where she worked. |
  One of the things the United States Government does extremely well is designing, creating and maintaining its military cemeteries overseas. The one at Normandy is no exception. It is beautiful, the graves were dress-right-dressed and the landscaping is awesome. Throughout the grounds there were crews at work, keeping everything meticulously groomed. It takes a cemetery to really grasp how many soldiers were killed in the early stage of WW2. When I think of increments of soldiers I think in terms of platoons, companies, battalions etc. I have see these sorts of numbers march by in parades and used the recollection as a frame of reference . Looking out across the vista of Crosses and Stars of David, the sheer volume was mind-boggeling and staggered the imagination. Keep in mind that these are soldiers buried overseas and only a portion of the ones lost early in the war. When I was assigned in Germany we liked to like to go to Metz, in Northern France. They have a flea market that we loved to visit. One Saturday afternoon, on our way back to Kaiserslautern, my wife and daughters had to find a Restroom. We had gone to a rest-stop on the way down and the "WC" was primitive with a slat wall separating the male and female portions. If that wasn’t enough the facility had holes in the floor, with footprints, where the user was expected to squat. Anyway a rest-stop was not an option for my girls and they began complaining. As we passed St Avold I noticed a sign for a military cemetery and pulled in there. As my family went into the American standard facilities, I decided to look around and wondered where the graves were. The snow was falling and as I walked around a high hedge, the panorama exploded in front of me. On rolling hills, for over a mile stretched the perfectly aligned markers. On a carpet of snow I could hear only the squish of flakes breaking the deathly silence. The effect was a profoundly moving experience. I liked the cemetery at Normandy, however my favorite will always be the one at St Avold. |
  While at Omaha beach a tour bus rolled in and a couple of ladies, I took to be sisters, were shepherding this older gentleman along. It turned out that he was a Veteran of the invasion and they were bringing him back to France for what would probably be his last hurrah. Anyway while he was standing there with a far away pensive look, (could have been some Alzheimer’s mixed in) this French lady with her son walked up. He had his American Legion hat on and she asked in halting English if she could have her son’s picture taken with the old American Veteran. He graciously agreed, put his arm around the boy and as she took the snapshot he said, “Vous ete mon cher ami.” The boy beamed smiling up at him and I got the sense that it was one of the few French phrases the old duffer knew and he had probably used it in the distant past trying to strike up a conversation with the French girls. In the context he said it however, it came across perfectly and I was touched by the sentiment in his words. For those of you who have not spent a lot of time around soldiers be advised that the first words they always want to learn are phrases that will express their interests to a young woman. I’m reminded of when I was in Germany and a GI asked an older German employee, what he should say to make a good impression on a fraulien. The German, who was a traffic manager responsible for rail movements, replied. “Just smile and say the word “Eisenbahn.” “What does it mean?” asked he soldier. “It means in Deutch that a girl is very beautiful,” he replied with a deadpan expression. For the next couple weeks there was a story going around in the unit… about a GI, approaching young German girls, with the line, “Eisenbahn.” (It means Railroad.) |
  These pictures show the fortifications and bunkers at Point du Hoc, which was a high central pinnacle commanding the approaches to Utah and Omaha beaches. Small wonder the Germans planned installing heavy artillery there to thwart an allied attack. A group of Rangers had the mission of scaling the cliffs and securing the gun emplacements. Landing at the bottom, they had pipe like devices that fired grappling hooks, some of which took hold on the high rim. From there they climbed vertically, up the sheer face, until reaching the top. It's said that a fear of heights reaches it worst at about thirty-two (32) feet and from that point on, any incremental increases bring no additional anxiety. I've often wondered if that height is genetically tied to the terminal velocity of falling objects… i.e. they fall at 32 feet per second and no faster. Is that a coincidence or are the two somehow related? What I do know is that heights scare the heck out of me. I experience vertigo easily and my bung gets so tight I couldn’t get a broom straw up it. So, how must those Rangers have felt climbing those cliffs, knowing that at the top the Germans were waiting? It turned out that while the cement bunkers had been built, the artillery was not installed. Imagine, after all that work and sweat, to discover that the Guns of Point du Hoc were nowhere to be seen. B-26 Bombers raided the site on the eve of the attack and there are bomb craters to be seen, still much in evidence. |
  As we were driving about the beaches and visiting the museums, we passed by this church. It was so unique in its size, shape and design that I had to get a picture and share it with everyone. I know that churches in Europe are common and after a while one gets used to them but they all have their distinct look and seem to beckon with a rich history and stories to tell. There was a country song…. If you could read my mind… Oh what a story I could tell…” Anyway, when I saw this church that old Arlo Guthry song came to mind and it was almost as if the old edifice had a life and personality of its own. I hope I’m not boring my readers with a bunch of metaphysical nonsense but sometimes I sense a spiritual presence around old churches and cemeteries. In the picture on the right is a landing craft. Can you imagine huddled in the ocean storm swells as these craft bobbed up and down in the ocean each with a platoons equivalent of soldiers. Can you imagine the fear, trepidation and seasickness? Despite the complete surprise of the Germans, the losses were staggering. One stretch of beach had the Allies misfortune of being a “Training Exercise” (TE) used by a German reserve unit. Imagine their surprise when the TE turned out to be the real thing. It was here that some of the severest causalities were taken. |
  There are wonderful museums at St. Mere Eglise and Omaha beach with all kinds of displays and artifacts of the famous invasion at Normandy. Most of the WW2 veterans are passing on but there are many who still visit each year and relive their incredible experiences, ones that had such a vivid and formative impact on their lives. War is a terrible experience and something certainly to be avoided, but it also brings a maturity to young men and leaves powerful recollections on the veterans who survive the experience. This seems to be true of soldiers of all armies where the memories of being called to arms are unforgettable. We asked if the German veterans ever return to visit the beaches and sub-pens. The answer was an emphatic “Yes.” My wife told me, after returning from my first tour as an infantryman in Vietnam, that I came back a better person than when I left. She said I returned more mature and appreciative of some of the simple things in life I had here-to-for taken for granted. (Like a warm dry bed and hot home cooked meals… and not having to live under the constant specter of being maimed or killed.) While inside the museum there was a violent thunder storm which created a parallel ambience. The manikins of the soldiers and the displays combining with the weather, did something to make the experience almost surreal. The collection of memorabilia is extensive and the US Army and Airborne Museums at Ft Bragg and other sources have provided a vast array, not just of weapons, boats and planes, but also of the everyday rations, radios, wet weather gear, diaries, maps and photographs. It was well worth visiting and the tour guides, both at the museum at St. Mere Eglise and Omaha Beach, were as informative as they were enthusiastic. |
  This photo shows the airborne soldier who had his parachute snagged on the steeple of the church at St Mere Eglise. Just prior to D-Day the 82nd Airborne Division parachuted in and took up blocking positions on avenues of approach into the beaches. I think Red Buttons played the part of the paratrooper in The Longest Day. Anyway, I imagine him saying “Aw Shucks!” when he found himself in that dangerous predicament and only survived by playing dead. Today a dummy swings from the steeple as a reminder of this famous incident. We stayed three days at a hotel outside St Mere Eglise. While there we toured Omaha and Utah beaches and the museums and explored some of the old German bunkers that are still nestled in the sand dunes. Back in 1952 we visited the famous invasion site and had our picture taken at the very monument shown in the picture on the right. Judy, my sister-in-law, sent me some old black and white photos taken over fifty years ago. When I figure out how to have them scanned and loaded into my computer I will append them to the two shown here. We ate most of our meals at the Hotel restaurant and the food was good. We had a waiter who was a real cut-up and kept us entertained throughout the meals. In the morning we had a great “petite de jejune” which consisted of a buffet like spread with every kind of breakfast food you could imagine. We decided to see the beaches on day one, the gun emplacements at Point de Hawk the second and finally the cemetery on day three. It didn’t work out exactly that way but close enough. |
  This was the part of the trip that Linda and Judy had been looking forward to. I don’t suppose there are many with an interest in foreign places that have not seen Mont St Michel. It towers up out of the sands and while there is a road now, above the tidal level, in times of old when the tide came in, it was surrounded by water. This was an important defensive consideration when the splendid monastery was built. Linda ran out of gas on the first level and waited for us below. It was certainly worth seeing..., an impressive edifice of period design. Like other walled towns, it had shops and gardens in addition to what you might expect in gothic architecture. Linda had wanted a bowl of French Onion Soup ever since we arrived in France and since it is a seasonal dish, we hadn’t been able to find any. (It ‘s most popular in the winter.) However, we found some in a restaurant where we had lunch. It was good.... (tasted like watered down onions )One of the things you get to do in France is walk a lot. Here we not only walked but climbed and by the time we finished a couple of hours of looking around, we were tired from the exertions. On the top was another American who had returned to France for exactly the same Reason Norman and I had. His father had been assigned to an airbase outside of Paris and he was back to see where he’d lived. There were an abundance of tourists from Asia and the tour buses rolled in and out. It was good to have a van and be able to set our own pace. At the parking lot we met another American couple that had just come from the beaches at Normandy. That would be our next stop on the great adventure to revisit our youth. |
  After leaving St. Nazzaire we stopped for a day, at St Malo, on our leisurely trip back toward Paris, at this walled city along the coast. We arrived early and I drove the van through the gate and up the narrow streets to the Hotel, in order to drop off the bags. Fortunately we had the GPS and after a half hour of groping about found it. It was stressful driving. After unloading, (There was no parking inside the walls) we found a public parking lot and divested ourselves of the van. It was a beautiful town and we stayed there because it was as close to Mont St. Michael which Linda and Judy were anxious to see. The town turned out to be a wonderful place to visit and the Hotel was certainly centrally located. We stayed two nights and the seafood was exceptionally good. The narrow streets held many interesting shops and boutiques and as usual, we had a good breakfast and an opportunity to feast on the croissants and other French pastries. We also found an interesting antique shop where I bought a US Silver Dollar and two affectionate frogs carved in an ivory like substance. Each evening we walked around and read the menus posted in front of the restaurants and had fun deciding where we would eat. |
  After leaving Fouras we stopped for a day at St Nazzaire France. There was once a military RR center nearby where we used to go and visit … when my dad had a few days to relax. We stayed at a Holiday Inn and it was the best accommodations for the price that we had on our entire visit. Anyway it was from here that the Germans launched their infamous U-Boats during WW2. I have always been fascinated by the sea battles of the period and the submarine war in particular. The movie “Das Boot” made a particularly vivid impression. The scene where the Engineer crabs under a floor grate got to me. It is the part where the boat is resting damaged on the bottom and to reconnect an electrical circuit, this little guy goes under the floor on a gurney. It was a suspenseful and unforgettable scene. I am claustrophobic and just being in a submarine would be bad enough but crawling underneath that grate half filled with water was more than I could take. I had to get up and leave the theater. These sub pens drafted thousands of French laborers during WW2 and are massive structures of steel reinforced concrete. A large bomb landed on the roof during the war and hardly made a dent. The hotel owner told us the city wanted to erase all memory of the experience and considered having them removed after the war. Engineers decided the vibrations of the air hammers required to do the job would vibrate the city apart. Reluctantly they have allowed them to remain. We weren’t sure where they were located and imagine our surprise when they were right across the street from the hotel. |
  When my brother and I were kids, after WW2 and living in France, we frequently passed through Rochefort on our way to Royan. The beaches are beautiful there and we often camped out on the weekend. Outside of Rochefort was a river that had a unique sort of ferry. It was called a transpador and was a mechanical contraption with towers and cables that transported cars, bikes and pedestrians from one bank to the other. Before we left on our trip, Norman asked if I thought the Transpador would still be in operation. That perked my curiosity and I replied that we should make it a matter of top priority. On the way to Royan, there was a huge arching bridge and there below, dwarfed in comparison was the diminutive Transpador. In the first picture you can see a model that shows how it worked. In the second is an actual photo of the mechanical device in operation. These days it only operates for bicycles and pedestrians but it still wheels and clanks from one bank to the other. I can imagine one on an interstate highway in US. It’s a stretch but I can. |
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