In the last week of May, we set off from Frankfurt, stepping into a journey that would carry us across borders, languages, and centuries of history. What began among the modern glass towers of Germany’s financial capital soon led us into the narrow alleys of half-timbered towns, the calm of riverside parks, and the timeless charm of France’s storied cities and countryside.
This photo series captures the visual rhythm of our late-spring travels—from the botanical elegance of Palmengarten and quiet corners of Offenbach, to the Gothic splendor of Metz Cathedral and the global icons of Paris. We crossed stone bridges, lingered in café-lined plazas, explored cathedrals bathed in golden light, and wandered into rural landscapes where silence speaks louder than any landmark.
What links every scene is a sense of scale—between the monumental and the intimate, the vertical towers and the shaded footpaths, the known and the unexpected. These photos are our way of sharing that contrast and connection: a visual notebook of a Franco-German week lived fully and slowly.
Memory, Supremacy, and the Relevance of Remembrance
As we walked the quiet cobbled streets of Germany, we stumbled upon seven small brass plaques laid into the sidewalk — Stolpersteine, or “stumbling stones.” They mark where the Hamburger family once lived, until they were torn from their home and lives by the Nazi regime during the Holocaust. Most were deported to Auschwitz and murdered; only two survived. It’s a subtle but powerful moment of remembrance, embedded into daily life. You don’t find them in a museum, you find them at your feet — where people once walked, lived, and were taken away.
The Holocaust was not only a genocide of over 6 million Jews — it was the product of a state ideology that ranked human lives by ethnicity and heritage, targeting entire families and communities for “cleansing.” It began with dehumanization, escalated through propaganda and law, and ended in industrial-scale mass murder. What made it possible was the belief in a “supreme race” — a worldview that justified cruelty in the name of national destiny.
And this history is not just history.
In our own time, we watch Russia’s war against Ukraine, where propaganda speaks of “historical unity,” dismisses the existence of Ukrainian identity, and dehumanizes Ukrainians as enemies of a so-called imperial order. These are not just military acts — they are echoes of supremacist thinking, where one nation claims moral and cultural superiority over another, often backed by force, violence, and erasure.
The Stolpersteine remind us what happens when ideologies of dominance go unchecked, when neighbors are labeled enemies, when families are erased from memory. And so this journey — through Germany, France, and into the heart of Europe — is not just about beauty, history, and culture. It is a walk through warning signs.
May we always remember — and resist — the belief that some lives matter more than others.
From Rembercourt to the Donbas: Lessons of War, Resistance, and Alliance
We visited a dear friend—more like family—who lives in the deep heart of France, in the small commune of Rembercourt–Sommaisne. She is a Ukrainian woman who married a kind and truly authentic French gentleman, building a life that blends the traditions of her homeland with the rhythms of rural France. Here, in the Meuse department of the Grand Est region, narrow lanes curve past moss-covered brick outbuildings and centuries-old stone houses. After a light rain, the village is wrapped in quiet, save for the distant church bells and the soft rush of the River Aisne beginning its journey nearby.
Nestled in the quiet farmland of northeastern France, Rembercourt–Sommaisne feels far removed from the storm of world affairs. Yet in the final years of World War I, this land became a strategic hub for one of the most decisive Allied campaigns—one that marked the rise of the United States as a global military power and left deep scars in the soil and memory of Europe.
In 1918, Rembercourt served as a critical base for the American Expeditionary Forces under General John J. Pershing. From here, U.S. troops launched the Saint-Mihiel Offensive—the first major American-led assault—pushing German forces out of a long-held salient near Verdun. Soon after, the region supported the Meuse–Argonne Offensive, the largest and bloodiest operation in U.S. military history. These campaigns, fought alongside French forces, helped break the deadlock on the Western Front and led to Germany’s eventual defeat.
The cost was immense—tens of thousands of American lives in a matter of weeks. The green fields surrounding the village, so serene today, were once scarred by trenches, artillery pits, and field hospitals. Names like Verdun, Saint-Mihiel, and Argonne still carry the weight of sacrifice, binding French and American history together.
Over a century later, another war burns in Europe—this time not between empires, but between a sovereign democratic nation and an imperialist aggressor. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 echoes the same logic of conquest that shaped much of the last century: denial of national identity, targeting of civilians, and attempts to redraw borders by force.
For my friend, the connection is deeply personal. Standing in these peaceful French fields, where Americans once fought for freedom, she sees a mirror of Ukraine’s struggle today. Just as France once relied on its allies to turn the tide, Ukraine now stands on the front lines defending sovereignty, democracy, and the rule of law. The alliances forged in World War I—and strengthened in the decades since—still matter. The same shared resolve that brought American soldiers to Rembercourt–Sommaisne now helps sustain Ukraine in its own fight for survival.
History does not repeat itself exactly, but here in this small French village, you feel its rhyme. The memorials, the faded trenches, and the quiet countryside all whisper the same truth: when free nations unite against tyranny, the course of history bends toward justice.
Our friends gave us a car ride to Reims, turning the day into a journey to remember. Sunlight spilled across golden fields, dotted with rolled hay bales and framed by tall poplar trees swaying gently in the breeze. We passed through small villages where stone houses wore bright shutters and flower boxes overflowed with blooms, each place quieter and more picturesque than the last. The road wound lazily through vineyards and open farmland, the warm air carrying the scent of cut grass and fresh earth through the open windows. Laughter and conversation flowed easily as the kilometers slipped by, until the city of Reims appeared on the horizon—and with it, the unmistakable spires of the cathedral rising proudly above the rooftops.
Stepping into Reims Cathedral is like walking into a living chapter of French history. As the cool air and faint scent of centuries-old stone envelop you, your eyes are immediately drawn upward to the soaring Gothic arches that seem to dissolve into light. Built in the 13th century, this masterpiece of medieval architecture has witnessed the coronation of nearly every French king for over six hundred years, earning it the title of the “Coronation Cathedral.” Sunlight filters through intricate stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the limestone columns, while the gentle echo of footsteps reminds you that you are part of a continuum stretching back to 1211, when construction began.
Each detail tells a story—the sculpted angels on the façade, the delicately carved choir stalls, and the luminous rose window designed by Marc Chagall in the 20th century. Despite suffering damage during World War I, the cathedral stands restored and resilient, a testament to the artistry and devotion of generations. Whether you visit for its spiritual significance, its architectural grandeur, or simply to feel the weight of history beneath your feet, Reims Cathedral leaves you with a quiet awe that lingers long after you’ve stepped back into the bustling square outside.
For nearly a thousand years, Reims Cathedral stood at the heart of France’s royal traditions as the sacred site of coronation for its kings. Beginning with Louis VIII in 1223, most French monarchs—from medieval rulers to the ill-fated Louis XVI—were anointed here in a ceremony steeped in symbolism and grandeur. The tradition stemmed from the baptism of Clovis I, the first Christian king of the Franks, by Saint Remigius in Reims around the year 496, an event that tied the city irrevocably to the legitimacy of French rule.
On coronation day, the cathedral would be filled with nobles, clergy, and dignitaries, all gathered under its soaring Gothic vaults. The most important moment came when the Archbishop of Reims anointed the new king with the holy oil, the Sainte Ampoule, believed to have been divinely delivered for Clovis’s baptism. Trumpets, choir chants, and the shimmering light from stained glass created an atmosphere of both spiritual solemnity and political power. Even today, standing in the nave where these ceremonies unfolded, it’s easy to imagine the echo of royal processions and the weight of history that made Reims Cathedral not just a church, but the stage on which France crowned its destiny.
