Mont-Saint-Michele

 

Friday:

I don't remember if I've talked much about our breakfasts.  They have been almost exactly the same each morning, no matter what hotel or region:  croissants, chocolate pastries, brioche, a selection of jams, fruit salad, eggs, bacon and sausage.  Cold cereal as well.   Coffee (often lots of different kinds – cappuccino, espresso, etc.) and two or three juices.  No one is impressed with the (scrambled) eggs, although they're clearly real eggs, not powdered.  They're a little soft and damp, kind of like the “perfect eggs.”  In our last hotel, there were knives and spoons at the table with the table setting, but no forks – if you wanted one, there was a basket on the buffet.  Almost as if no one thinks of  eggs as being anything but an add-on for the Americans?  I don't know.  But we're really happy with the breads and fruits and will miss them terribly.

We left Saumar to embark on what was probably our longest day so far.  We were moving from the Loire Valley to Bayeux, in Normandy, almost on the English Channel coast.  That in itself was a long trip, partly because we had to take a lot of local roads.  And on the way, we stopped at Mont-Saint-Michel, the abbey built on a rock out in the sea.

But first a word about rest stops.

EV Charging Bays

We've stopped at maybe a half dozen rest stops on our various bus journeys, and our guide says they're typical of the country at large.  They seem new, and are clean, bright and colorful.  There is always a place to get boulangerie-type stuff (imagine finding a croissant at a rest stop on the Mass Pike?), and a separate restaurant featuring sandwiches, funny little pizzas, salads and burgers cooked to order (as long as the order is rare).  You can buy a wide variety of tourist and traveler items, including clothing, snacks, a wide variety of ice cream, and books.  Actually, lots of books.  Restrooms are clean and bright.  There are even washing machines and showers in some, so – truck stops without looking like truck stops. So – if there is such a thing as Rest Stop Wars, France wins.

We had lunch at a rest stop today (I had a funny pizza with fancy cheese and mushrooms; Abbey had a really big burger and really good fries) because eating establishments at Mont-Saint-Michel were “overpriced,” according to our guide, who is named Caroline.  We arrived at the Mont-Saint-Michel  parking lot (actually, one of many, the one for buses), and walked about a quarter mile to the shuttle, which took us the mile and a half to the bridge to M-S-M.  

If you're at all interested, you should really go take a look at photos of MSM if you're not familiar.  It looks in real life just the way it looks in the pictures – bizarre and fantastical.  The million visitors a year have not come because of a deep interest in the Abbey on top, or any of the shops on the way up; we're all interested in being on that strange rock in the water, because it is like being in a fantasy novel.  

MSM started as a rock in the tidal flats, just like those rocks at Ryder Beach and elsewhere on the Bay side of the Outer Cape.  Except this one was really big, more like a small island.  Here's the (compressed) origin story:  in the eighth (ninth?) century, St. Michal (St. Michael to us) wanted a chapel where he could be worshiped (the story is already going off the rails) and tried to get the local Bishop's attention regarding this task.  The local Bishop wasn't paying attention, so St. M. pressed his forefinger into the Bishop's forehead and left a hole.  Somehow, this got the Bishop to build a chapel on the rock, and it just grew from there.  They added on to the chapel as the centuries went by, and by the late medieval there was a huge Abbey rising way higher that the top of the rock, massive and imposing.  It's the Abbey that gives the rock its other-worldly shape and stature.

Early on, a rock causeway was built because, like Lieutenant Island, you could only get there at low tide, but then the bay silted up because flow was restricted and it was just mud all around.  In 2014 the causeway was replaced by a very long bridge from “the continent” (as our local guide called the land) to the gates of MSM.  A nearby river whose mouth is right nearby was dammed up; the dam is closed as the tide is rising, and opened as it retreats, so that the increased flow of the dammed-up water helps wash the silt out of the bay.   I thought that was pretty clever.

Disappointingly, the street up to the Abbey was lined with shops that were similar to the shops in Carcasson and Rocamadur.  I had thought that there was an actual town on the rock, and that we would wander around admiring the medieval architecture and then eventually get to the Abbey.  Actually, there is just one street, starting from the somewhat impressive set of gates a “sea” level; it winds up around about one half circuit of the island, rising all the time, sometimes steeply, and then you're at the bottom of the (300) Abbey steps.  The shops are maybe a half-step classier than the ones we've seen, and there are a lot of restaurants.  You can go through a narrow passage with steps, here and there, and get out to the ramparts overlooking the continent.

We met our local guide outside the gates and moved up the street to the Abbey.  For tours guided by our guide or a local guide, we use gizmos called Whispers, which is a small receiver on a lanyard, and one wired earbud, and they work pretty well, if you can keep the earbud from falling out of your ear.  Up and up we went.  Some of our group dropped out, preferring to sit and wait and browse the shops.  We got to the steps, kept going, and, with the occasional stop to rest and learn more about where we were, we reached the monstrous Abbey which comprises about half the height of MSM.

It's a pretty impressive hunk of stone all on its own, but here on top of, and above, the rock of this island, it's unbelievable.  I spent a fair amount of time imagining the lives of the guys who hauled those huge pieces of dressed stone hundreds of feet up from the sea, where they were transported from a quarry on a nearby island.  And the medieval engineers who figured out how to design, construct and support this sweepingly vertical edifice, seemingly balanced on top of a rock out in the sea.  

Pretty cool place, even more memorable than I had expected.  The pain was pretty memorable, as well; it was a bad hip day.*  We had gone 250 vertical feet from mud to Abbey nave (it really seemed like a lot more), and then up and down stairs as we negotiated the huge labyrinth within the Abbey, and the arthritis in my right hip was making itself known.  I bought a cane before the trip, not because I thought I needed a cane, but because I thought I needed the seat that was part of it; it folds out into a three-legged seat (with a cell-phone holder!).  But as soon as I began using it, early in the trip, I realized I could use it to take some pressure off my legs hips/knees/ankles, some or all of which always hurt when I walk.  I've also used it to sit on a few times.

Current resident

Anyway, the way down from MSM was a lot more painful than the way up, which is typical of my particular brand of ailments.  It was excruciating by the time we got to the shuttle stop on the bridge (after using the pay toilettes at the gate; when's the last time you used a pay toilet?  One euro.).  Then sitting in the shuttle actually made it worse, then standing around waiting for everyone to gather and walk back to the bus.  Sitting in the bus seat finally provided some relief.  

So that was Mont-Saint-Michel.  It's really as fascinating as it seems to be in the pictures.  I still can't grasp the planning, design and centuries of work that it took to create that – I want to say “Disney castle,” but it's not – it's much more imposing and serious, more fascinating and – real - than that.  You can feel the weight of every stone, every year, and the combined effect, so far up in the air, is otherworldly.

And then we were on our way, past the fields of pre-salted sheep (grazing near the salt water results in a different taste to the meat)(?), to the town of Bayeux, where they keep the tapestry.  Invasion weekend.  Can't wait.

• Saturday's fact (are we really ahead of ourselves?  I'm so confused...) - If you walk around Mont-Saint-Michel on the tidal flats at low tide, there's a good chance you'll encounter quicksand. 

Looking for Quicksand

NOTES:

* - You know, two months later, when I'm organizing these journals and putting the blog together, I have completely forgotten the pain (except for the very end of this day, when it got very bad).  That's the kind of place it is.

The bridge, the dam and the river

                             

                                                                                              

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