Christine, Loïc, their two kids, Christine's parents, and our family set out in a car and a van today for a 3-hour drive to the fortified city of St. Malo and then to the famous abbey on Mont Saint-Michel. Christine's parents -- Christian and Liliane -- also visited San Francisco, and we hosted them for some dinners last October. This year, they hosted us for an amazing home-cooked dinner at their house on the Normandy coast and have done some sightseeing with us. Not only are they kind, warm, and generous, but touring around these ancient cities with Liliane is a special treat because she is a teacher with a specialty in medieval history. I am flabbergasted by how much information she can access. And by how much nutella can be smeared on a single waffle.
St. Malo is a walled city from the Middle Ages. There's a history of piracy here, and of rebellion (in the 1400s they declared independence, saying they were not French, not Breton, but Malouins), and is currently a lovely place for crêpes, muscles, and cider. We walk around the entire town on the ramparts to pretend that we deserve our 5000 calories of cheese, cream, alcohol, and -- naturally -- nutella. Here and there, you can see the difference between the truly old sections and those that the Americans rebuilt after bombing it during World War II, mistakenly believing it to be occupied by Germans. Oops.
It's one of those iconic places that you just want to see at least once in your life, and it doesn't disappoint. It's magnficent and very surreal. Tiny winding streets going up, up, up the island mountain, and a church built on so many levels -- mostly with stone -- that it's an architectural wonder it doesn't collapse. It's the swiss cheese of mountain abbeys. There is also a lovely cloister/ courtyard, which happens to be a major architectural feature in my fantasy villa, the one that has a courtyard with Moorish arches, Mexican talavera tiles, hot sunny weather, and yet is located in the heart of San Francisco. That fantasy villa.
St. Malo is a walled city from the Middle Ages. There's a history of piracy here, and of rebellion (in the 1400s they declared independence, saying they were not French, not Breton, but Malouins), and is currently a lovely place for crêpes, muscles, and cider. We walk around the entire town on the ramparts to pretend that we deserve our 5000 calories of cheese, cream, alcohol, and -- naturally -- nutella. Here and there, you can see the difference between the truly old sections and those that the Americans rebuilt after bombing it during World War II, mistakenly believing it to be occupied by Germans. Oops.
After St. Malo, we drive over to Mont Saint-Michel, parking in a vast, low lot. I wonder out loud if we need to worry about it flooding at some point and am met with scoffing. Yet when we get inside the fortress walls on the island, a sign informs us that today's tide won't overrun the parking lot till 9pm, so we're safe to park there for the day. No particular mishaps to tell you about on Mont Saint-Michel. I just want to show you the pictures (mostly taken by Anthony).
It's one of those iconic places that you just want to see at least once in your life, and it doesn't disappoint. It's magnficent and very surreal. Tiny winding streets going up, up, up the island mountain, and a church built on so many levels -- mostly with stone -- that it's an architectural wonder it doesn't collapse. It's the swiss cheese of mountain abbeys. There is also a lovely cloister/ courtyard, which happens to be a major architectural feature in my fantasy villa, the one that has a courtyard with Moorish arches, Mexican talavera tiles, hot sunny weather, and yet is located in the heart of San Francisco. That fantasy villa.
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