Like many Americans, Sue and I know or knew people who had been involved in the D-Day landings in 1944. My Uncle Bob, my former colleagues Charlie Sehe and Bill Downing, all three in the navy, and a fellow Minnesotan named Bob Anderson who had jumped out of an airplane onto St. Mere Eglise on the night of June 5th and 6th among others. It seemed a natural thing to us to visit the battle sites and so as we made our way south we sought them out. It was an eerie experience visiting Utah Beach, but turning inland to get to St. Mere Eglise, we soon became lost in the bocage. Unfamiliar as we were with the French way of indicating routes, we couldn't get ourselves oriented. American roads are usually marked with numbers and cardinal directions, like North Highway 61 (thanks Bob Dylan!) while French roads are marked with arrows pointing to villages and cities that are along the route. What we didn't know was that if there is no arrow at an intersection the default is to go straight. So at one point, we stopped when we met an old woman and what was probably her granddaughter walking along one of the little roads in the bocage. I politely asked in my best French for the way to St. Mere Eglise. The old lady put her face close to mine and asked if I were German." No, madame", I replied, "I am American". "Ah well" she said, "you just go about a kilometer down that way. You can't miss it". I thanked her and she turned to go. Out of curiosity I asked what she would have said if I had been German. "In that case I would have told you to go the other way."