This past weekend, while Obama was hanging out in our hood, the family headed off with the Millepattes to Dunkerque, for a Hockey tournament. French hockey tournaments don't seem to differ much from the Canadian variety; cold rinks, lots of sitting around waiting for the next game, beer, Red Bull to wake you up from the beer and crowds of very smelly men. The lack of ice cleaning in between games seemed to be the only difference to Rupert. It must have been, he told ten times.
Adoring Fans trying to keep warmIn the end the Millepattes didn’t fare too well and finished the tournament with a 1-4 win/loss rate. But what could they expect from a team with guys who fall down when they take a shot at the puck. The girls and I were proud that Rupert seemed to pull his wait, especially for an old guy .
As exhausted as we were from the weekend, we pushed ourselves to stop at the Vimy Memorial on the way home from the tournament. Like our trip to the D-day beaches, seeing the terrain and the gravesites made the loss of life so much more real than any Hollywood blockbuster could. It was so sad to see the large number of nameless graves marked “known unto God”.
Not far from the cemetery is the Vimy monument – a truly awe inspiring sculpture sitting isolated in the middle of a field, on the highest point of Vimy Ridge. The girls were asleep in the car, so Rupert and I took turns walking the grounds. Unfortunately we weren’t able to see some of tunnels and look-out points, but the site of the Memorial itself was well worth the detour – we were both happy we had stopped.
Not far from the cemetery is the Vimy monument – a truly awe inspiring sculpture sitting isolated in the middle of a field, on the highest point of Vimy Ridge. The girls were asleep in the car, so Rupert and I took turns walking the grounds. Unfortunately we weren’t able to see some of tunnels and look-out points, but the site of the Memorial itself was well worth the detour – we were both happy we had stopped.
Awesome!
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