Saint-Malo

Gusts of wind tangle my hair in seconds when I step out of the shelter of the car in Saint-Malo.  I'm excited to be in the town described so vividly in All the Light We Cannot See, and I feel guilty once again because my son doesn't have a proper coat or raincoat.  He's not going to be warm or dry if any rain decides to fall from the clouds moving over the city.  

 

We step into a bakery selling crêpes because they're always a win for the kids, and I'm feeling the need for a hot drink.  I get flustered a lot when ordering in a foreign language so I hurriedly order something off the chalkboard menu, momentarily forgetting that Viennese coffee means coffee with whipped cream, and before I know it, I'm holding a cup that looks like a birthday party.  Not all language mistakes end in disasters.

I notice a sale on coats at a shop we pass, and ten minutes later I am no longer a bad mother.  James is properly protected from the elements, not to mention easily recognizable from now on in a bright red waterproof coat.  I communicate in halting French with the saleslady, and she uses Google translate to tell me not to use liquid fabric softener when washing the coat.

We decide to walk along the walls of the city with its incredible views of the green sea and Le Fort National.  I'm especially impressed with the pool built-in to the beach where it can be continuously filled at high tide.

The water is so beautiful on a blustery March day that I imagine how stunning it must be reflecting the summer sun.

Using logs as part of the sea wall is also brilliant and beautiful.

The rest of the afternoon is spent looking for sea glass and collecting shells.  It's a gorgeous beach, and I'd love to come again in the summer, though I expect it will be much more crowded.  There's a lot more to discover here in this ancient city of pirates and explorers.  It's so fun when we read about Jacques Cartier in history a couple of months later, and I tell the kids he set out from a place they've visited.

Le Mont St. Michel

The last week of February I sat in the back garden in the sun with Noreen.  That pleasant week made the cold wind and rain that descended on the first of March that much more of a shock to the system.  The day we planned to visit Mont St. Michel there wasn't much rain, but the wind was fierce.  Have you ever ridden a bike in the wind?  It's a lot like running I suppose:  when it's at your back you feel like you could fly, but when you're pushing into it, it is hard-going.  

There was a fair amount of singing, "When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most anything!" as we rode in a group down this path to the mont you can just see in the distance.

Seeing Mont St. Michel from a distance makes you feel like you've entered into the enchanted world of fairy tales.  It's so other-worldly.  

The stone streets at the bottom are filled with restaurants and shops to purchase memorabilia as well as swords and shields and books about the history of the abbey at the top of the mount.  Once you enter through the gate you keep climbing slowly up and up, gaining an ever-more-impressive view of the sand and water below you.

There are dangerous sections of sinking sand amidst these coastal flats.  

The smell of salt water is strong in the air, and if you want to visit the abbey be prepared to climb a lot of steps.

The church is really beautiful.

K.J. and I most enjoyed the cloister this time.  Maybe it's the bright patch of green in the middle that seems to be begging for a tree.

I loved all the white stones used in the path, and the colors of the sea reflected in the window glass.  There are many huge rooms to walk through, and it's always tempting to go stand in one of the enormous open fireplaces.

The size and scope of this room seemed the perfect place for a skirmish between the fellowship and orcs.

Outside the abbey, the Japanese cherry blossoms were just beginning to appear all pink and white on the trees.

I recently read a book published in 1942 that partly takes place at Mont Saint Michel.  When I read the author's description I thought, Yes!  That is exactly what it feels like.

Les Obiones: Staying at a Lamb Farm

For the past couple of years when we travel K.J. has used Airbnb to find us a place to stay.  It's been a great way to stay somewhere reasonably priced, be able to cook our own meals, and most importantly--have a separate bedroom from the kids. 😊  It's also just fun to stay somewhere charming, old, different, or some combination of the three.  

When K.J. was researching our two-night stay in Brittany he discovered a sheep farm that was opening part of the old stone farmhouse as an Airbnb.  I loved photographing the lambs in North Yorkshire , so I was really hopeful our trip would coincide with lambing time in Bretagne.

Our hosts at Les Obiones were a young couple who left their former jobs and spent a year learning from the previous owner how to run the farm before taking over for themselves in October.  Felix invited us to come to the barn at feeding time.  The barn is a very loud place at feeding time; a chorus of maaa-maaaas greeted us.

A few lambs whose mothers weren't able to feed them were kept in a special pen.  They ran to greet us when we walked up and made a huge racket.  I think they knew what time it was.

Felix filled the tubs with milk and gave us the opportunity to bottle-feed the two who needed special attention. 

All was quiet for a few minutes.  The lambs were eager and contented eaters.

What a floppy-eared darling.