So we all know that my entire life relates to cycling (or Disney), in one way or another. This is a story of another how-on-earth-can-she-draw-cycling-into-THIS-one...but she does.
There is a beautiful image from Stage 6 of the 2011 Tour de France that shows the five riders of the breakaway against the coast of Brittany, western France, with a giant island monastery in the background. That ancient monastery is the famous Mont-Saint-Michel, and since that day it's been one of my dreams to see it. Despite all my travels I'd never found time for a trip out to Normandy, where Mont-Saint-Michel
is, so eventually I promised myself that it would be my graduation
present to myself, a special solo trip (ha! They all are!) to the far west coast to finally see the island in person. Well, God willing (inshallah, masallah, Zeus have mercy) I graduated on Tuesday. Today, I saw Mont-Saint-Michel.
It's a strange feeling, seeing something for which your expectations have been so heavily built up. It's one thing when a stranger does it, since I usually find myself disappointed (case in point: Florence). It's different when you've done it, when the anticipation that's hatching live butterflies in your stomach is all of your own initiation. You worry that it won't be everything you've expected it to be; you worry that you'll have disappointed yourself.
The first view of Mont-Saint-Michel was incredible. The fear of disappointment vanished. I was here. It took a little bit of effort - due to a lack of accommodation in the area I'm staying almost 100 kilometres away, in the city of Rennes. There are bus services from Rennes direct to Mont-Saint-Michel, but with today being a public holiday the first one wasn't until 11.30am. Instead I took the train to Dol-de-Bretagne, from where the first bus left at 10.30am. By this time I'd managed to find a friend - trust me! We'd said a polite good morning over breakfast at the hostel and were halfway to Mont-Saint-Michel before we realised we were both going there and might as well go together.
So we sat on the bus together and stared in stunned disbelief at the mountain abbey rising from the ocean before us as we crossed the causeway. It was awesome seeing it from afar, but somehow it seemed smaller close-up. Do not, however, make the mistake of reading smaller as less impressive. Have you ever stood at the side of a mountain and looked straight up? Now imagine that mountain was in the middle of the ocean and had angels and houses carved into the side. That's an approximation of the scenic and architectural beauty that is Mont-Saint-Michel, size notwithstanding.
So we began the hike up the steep, twisting streets towards the top, stopping for food on the way (waffle with Normandy toffee - sticky, HOT and yaaah-mee!) As we stood in line for the abbey looking out at the beautiful Norman-Breton scenery below the mount, another voice joined our conversation, and our group expanded again. The line moved pretty quickly, and once again I blessed my wisdom in choosing to carry my passport with the French resident visa that permits me free access to most French cultural monuments, like Mont-Saint-Michel. So there we were, an Australian, a Canadian and a Turk, residents in France, Switzerland and Germany, speaking eight different languages between us, exploring an abbey atop an island off the coast of France. Welcome to my life!
We spent maybe a couple of hours going through the abbey, which is really not that much different to any other church, abbey or religious complex that I've ever visited. What's different is the locations, the views: of the bay, the island, the other nearby islands, and coastal Normandy. I may have complained to the boys for about an hour of my desire to follow the other pilgrims walking from Mont-Saint-Michel to the other island in the bay, not far away, but the realisation that they were walking barefoot through the tidal mud soon put paid to that idea, though not the complaints... ("Ils marchent a l'ile. Je veux marcher a l'ile. Je ne peux pas marcher a l'ile. Je suis triste maintenant. JE SUIS TRISTE!") Also, the fireplaces are just ridiculous. I'm quite convinced that the wicked witch from Hansel and Gretel had them built for burning a dozen people at once (which is roughly how many each one fits!)
The weather was just byootiful, even if the wind kept threatening to steal my hat, and we wandered along the narrow, twisting, winding streets some more, looking for one of the green picnic areas we'd seen to sit down. We eventually realised that wasn't going to happen and just enjoyed the views and the architecture as we braved the tourists on our way back down. Our buses - one to Rennes, one to Caen - left around five, which is when the weather decided to turn nasty and hurl raindrops at our summerly-dressed bodies. I got a good dose of my favourite irony when we decided to skip the crowded first bus to Rennes and boarded the emptier second one, which then left before the first. Apparently patience is a virtue after all. I spent the hour-long ride home curled up on a Canadian pillow watching the beautiful Norman scenery and my book (Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery,
if anyone was wondering) in turn. I'm pretty sure I got a tan sitting in the window seat. At any rate, I got a thoroughly satisfactory and comprehensive dose of Vitamin D today, and my crepe craving was satisfied at a long, bilingual-Disney-duet-accompanied dinner (see, everything relates to Disney, too!). And don't worry, Mum, we ate the healthy ones first (and I forgot to ask for Chantilly with desert, so that was pretty healthy too). Tomorrow, train to Nantes. Don't ask why. Spontaneous, wild nomad travelers don't need reasons. We just go.
*Blogger and the Youth Hostel Internet would like to apologise for their rottenness which prevented our wonderful authoress from uploading gloaty-gloaty photos of her marvellous exploits of today. This will be remedied on Facebook and, if Blogger and the Youth Hostel Internets co-operate, in a later blog post. Goodnight/bonne soiree!
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