Friday (St. Malo)…

 
The low rumble of delivery trucks on the cobbled street below signaled the re-awakening of the sleepy old town. A hearty breakfast to fuel the day: perfectly runny eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and yummy little pancakes crêpes filled with rhubarb and blueberry preserves. Strong coffee with warm milk. 

Time for a day trip. 

Our route to Mont Saint Michel took us along the coast. The tide was out, leaving the boats tilted on the muddy bottom. Stone buildings–built to weather winter storms–lined small town roads. Seaside turned to farmland…fields of corn and carrots and cabbages. Rows of drying onions. 

Mont St. Michel rose in the distance. 

We parked in the towns new parking lots, no longer at the base of the rocky island. We learned that the lots were moved as part of the long term restoration of the famous bay–with its very famous tides–that surrounds the island. Over time, silt had been deposited, in part due to the man-made causeway joining the island to the mainland. A new engineering marvel involving a new elevated causeway to allow water to circulate, plus an up-river dam to create stronger flows to flush silt. Very impressive. 

Mont Saint Michel is every bit the bucket list, picture postcard you envision. Tuning out the ubiquitous souvenir shops and restaurants, and you are left to ponder your every step as you trace the steep winding path up the hill. No views to distract your mind, you focus on your footsteps. 

Partway up, tiny Eglise Saint-Pierre with its wood domed ceiling offers a short respite. A side chapel honors L’archange Saint Michel. 

We continue up. And up. The steps seem steeper. 

Just below the abbey, we find steps to a portion of the ramparts. Finally…a view to quench our curiosity. The tide is out…way out. Chattery kids are guided in huge packs out across the mud flats. Their bright clothing add color to the subtle browns and grays. 

More steep steps. And more. Even as we reach the base of the abbey…more steps up inside the abbey. Impressive. Exhausting. Inspiring. 

You can imagine yourself a pilgrim arriving along this same route…making this same final push to the relief inside: physical, mental, spiritual. 

The Abbey. As we reached the very top of the Mont, the grandeur of God’s creation lay before us. The sun and clouds created subtle hue variations on the muted palette of sandy mud, shallow rivulets, and low pastures. Suddenly, melodic chants emanated from the abbey’s main chamber, drawing us in. The harmonies of midday mass filled the soaring stone room. A tattered brown rope hung from a hole at the base of the hidden bell tower above. Faded purple and green stained glass echoed the muted hues outside. 

In the cloister next door–typically a place for meditation–three women wrapped themselves around stone columns…posing for selfies like Satan’s whores. (Apparently, while the Pope is away in the U.S., his European flock is straying!) 

The route through the abbey wound down. Layer upon layer of rooms, hugging the rocks. A favorite: the Great Pillared Crypt. A dark and brooding room…yet still inspiring and worth an expected pause. Muffled steps. Long dark shadows slipped across stone columns 6-7 feet in diameter. 
We ate a late light lunch along the ramparts. Croque Monsieur. Frites. Salad. A welcomed cold beer. 

We explored every nook and cranny, re-tracing our steps back to the top of the ramparts. The tide began to come back. The tiny rivulets grew and began to join, erasing muddy footsteps. A clean canvas for tomorrow’s visitors. 

We walked the elevated causeway back the mainland, but we kept turning out gaze back to the Mont, lit in the sinking sun. 

We paused to admire the dam. Beautiful in its own right, but with an engineering might. By now, with the tide returning, the mighty river flowed backwards through the dam. A daily routine that defying your first instinct. Soon, once the ocean has filled the river, the dam gates will close for a while, until the tide recedes, and the flood is released. 

Our evening drive retraced our path through fields and along the shore. We returned to St. Malo in time for sunset along the ramparts and a wonderful warm dinner with seafood and beef. Very much the epitome of this bountiful perch on the edge of sea and land.