Mont Saint Michel and Home

15th-19th September – Mont Saint Michel (Normandy)

The journey to our next site “Camping Saint Michel” (original title) was uneventful, leaving the relatively flat but very pretty area of Le Noirmoutier for Mont St Michel. The weather forecast hadn’t been too good and the nearer we drove towards our destination the darker the storm clouds became and then it poured. When we arrived the umbrella was buried somewhere in the boot of the car and not accessible, but fortunately we could just about reach our anoraks. We walked around the very pretty site in the pouring rain trying to work out which pitch was the least squelchy. Graham is now expert at parking Freda so it didn’t take him long to unhitch. We got rather wet – a new experience for us - but let’s face it, we were being prepared for home!

It rained on and off nearly all afternoon so we made ourselves comfortable “indoors” (we now call Freda home by the way). Later that afternoon the sun popped out so we took the opportunity to explore the site. In a field adjacent to the campsite there was the fattest, most beautiful cow I think I’ve ever seen (OK she may have been pregnant). There were also two donkeys (one tried to bite Graham) and a nicer one. There was a small herd of goats that are found particularly in this region; little legs and big fat tummies (perhaps they were pregnant too) – a lovely attraction for children and for grown ups who like a fence between themselves and farm animals. No E. coli here!

Running out of steam and enthusiasm for the tourist sites by now, we decided on just two trips: Mont St Michel (the reason for our stay) and St Malo.

The next day, bright and early (11ish) we were on our way. We drove through, now, flat farmland, fields and acres of sweet corn, I guess grown for the oil. It was so tall in places we had a quick rendition of, “Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day” (which it wasn’t of course; heavy dark grey skies) “where the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye.” On our next view of the horizon there it was: Mont Saint Michel, once known as the “Mount in Peril from the Sea”. Many pilgrims in medieval times drowned or were sucked under by quicksand while trying to cross the bay to the 80-metre high rocky outcrop. It was a real surprise in such a flat landscape. Unfortunately visibility was not good for photographs, as the area was surrounded in a drizzly mist which shed an eerie light onto the sea as the sun tried to penetrate the dense cloud.

We opted to park the car at the bottom of the town along with hundreds of other tourists. We parked without trouble for just 4 euros. We then made our way to the main “Porte du Roi” where a sign (in English as well as French for a change) warned of the dangers of the incoming tide, so Graham’s pride and joy (the Jaguar) was in peril of being submerged by the incoming tide. I think he was having palpitations throughout the day.

The streets leading up to the cathedral were narrow and ancient, with lots of bars, restaurants and souvenir shops crammed into every nook and cranny. The Rough Guide had warned that it was very difficult to find a good meal on the “Mont” so we had several indifferent coffees which seemed to fill us up. (Girls, there is nothing more irritating than a man, when you are peckish and could do with a crepe or some other “snacklet“ says, “I’m not hungry, you have one.” It’s like drinking - you definitely can’t do it alone. Here’s another gripe – why is it men find it so hard to find a parking space. Graham will drive round and round. Why can I choose a space in no time! (G – She can find the space okay, it’s getting into it that’s the problem!)

The Abbey dates back to the 8th century, when the Archangel Michael supposedly appeared to Bishop Aubert of Avranches, who duly founded a monastery on the island. The site was further developed in the 11th century. The Abbey had been wonderfully restored and our visit coincided with the midday service; nuns dressed in long white gowns with pale blue capes and monks in brown habits... the choral pieces were stunning.

We climbed so many steps that day I couldn’t count how many, but we were both pretty pleased with ourselves that we weren’t panting and clinging onto walls for support.

The next morning we were rudely awakened at ten to seven by the bells ringing out from the Abbey. Ten minutes later they stopped! Well, the bells must have woken up the donkeys! How do they make that noise without ruining their vocal cords – they honked until they were horse (good pun, eh?). Anyway, the doves decided to join in – so we gave up after that and had an early start to the day. A very strong cup of coffee (known by us as our “wake up juice”) got us going. Destination – St. Malo, the most visited place in Brittany.

St-Malo is a walled city built with the same grey granite stone as Mont St-Michel. It was originally a fortified island at the mouth of the river Rance, controlling not only the estuary but the open sea beyond. A two-week bombardment by the Germans forced the city’s surrender in 1944 and destroyed 80% of the city, which has now been carefully restored. From the ramparts of the city there were fine views of one or two rocky islands (sorry, at this stage I can’t be bothered to check what they were called) and miles of golden, tidal flats.
It was a very windy, cold, grey day and we found St-Malo rather dark and depressing. SO, we cheered ourselves up by finding an extremely nice restaurant for lunch; oysters, salmon and il flotant. Graham had pork with java beans and chorizo for starters and seafood platter for main course and ice-cream (his favourite). Who’s eaten “il flotant”? I’m not sure I really like it, but I’m sort of fascinated by its texture and sweetness; I think its steamed meringue sitting on a bed of egg custard. Even now it’s making my mouth water but it’s soooo sweet. The meal was perfect!

Friday, the sun shone (well for a couple of hours) then torrential rain, so we visited our local Carrefour (like an old friend by now) to stock up on wine and bits and pieces for home. Wine is still cheaper and the quality of the food is far superior (I think) to that available in the UK, unless of course you shop at Harrods.
We then packed up as much as possible in case we had rain in the morning and what a good thing we did. Ready to leave for Caen by midday, the heavens opened so we had to delay hitching up for an hour or so.

By the time we reached Caen the sun was out and it was hot. I had never sailed from Caen before (although the port wasn’t in Caen itself) and was pleasantly surprised. There appeared to be only one berth for a ferry, Brittany Ferrys’ “Normandie”, a lovely new boat, and the facilities on board were super. We dumped our stuff in a pleasant lounge with reclining airline type seats for the six hour journey to Portsmouth. Of course we had to have one last meal to round off our trip. The restaurant on board was super and we had the most delicious meal (again). We arrived home just before midnight.

Well, all good things must come to an end (I ask myself why) but there were some commitments I made before leaving for our epic trip which I had to fulfil, so the desire to turn around and drive south was (just about) overcome.

What a journey – Graham and I have to look at our itinerary sometimes to remember exactly where we’ve been. But for me – Toledo, Santa Elena and central Spain were extraordinary – the desolation, isolation and wide empty horizons, travelling through all the different types of scenery (in an air conditioned car remember, but stepping outside into blistering 40+ degree heat). All those miles and miles of olive groves, sunflowers, sweet corn, grape vines, soaring eagles and other birds of prey – just wonderful, but our stay in the Ardeche and, of course, Marbella came close seconds. And of course not forgetting all the lovely people we’ve met during the course of our travels, many of whom have kept in touch via emails and encouraged us to visit places they’ve been to.

Freda has now been spring cleaned and is spotless, tucked up in her waterproof cover for the winter. Living in a confined space has definite advantages: housework five minutes, cooking outdoors so no kitchen to clean, no worries about what to wear, no post, no TV, although occasional phone calls (none urgent) and the delight of waking up in the morning without any responsibilities. We were free – well, for three and a half months. Home again; the washing machine churning endlessly, a house and cars to clean, Sainsbury’s (and the disappointment of made-to-measure vegetables and fruit). BUT, it is lovely to be home and catch up with family and friends, particularly my old Mum, who has been terribly ill whilst I’ve been away. I’m pleased to say that she is rallying a bit, but as I’m now retired I can spend some quality time with her.

Next trip is Bangkok to visit my son and his partner in the New Year. We’ll spend a week or so at a lovely unspoilt resort called Khao Lak, just outside Hua Hin, and just enjoy being together. It would be exciting to take Freda - but I think we’ll fly instead!Next summer? Well, Italy sounds nice. Watch this space!