Normandy notes 2...

I’ve decided that my life’s ambition is to own a hamlet. In Normandy. I decided that after having driven along the back roads from Asnelles to Mont Saint Michel, guided by ‘Peter’, our carrot-up-the-bum English gps voice. I was really grateful that he took us the scenic route though as we saw so much beauty in the simple, timeless stone homes and their rambling rosy gardens and thriving vegetable patches. If I owned a hamlet I would invite groups of creatives to join me, to enjoy the restored solitude and to work their creative magic surrounded by the sounds and sights of nature. The country lanes were again very English, but then I would round a corner and see a spot of Ireland or even Wales.

(Once in a while I desperately want to be hurled back in time to when life was slower and communities were closer. I’m a mix of Gerard Manly Hopkins and Thomas Hardy I think, in their love of the countryside, and I wonder sometimes whether I was born into the wrong century…Hmmmm.)

Back to reality – we weren’t so grateful that (again) we almost got killed on the road as a long truck rounded a bend on our side of the road. I took the ‘brace, brace’ position and surprisingly calmly prepared to have our car and precious cargo smashed up. Merci à Dieu, we survived with millimetres in our favour. We all gasped as we drove through the small town of Caumont l’Eventé to find not one, not two, not three but six tractors laden with hay bales/hay making equipment all vying for right of way down the narrow passage of lanes. The fields of cut wheat/hay/grass were spectacular with rolled up round bales waiting to be loaded onto trucks and taken away (where??). When I was a teenager I remember the young lads of my home town rushing off to help the local farmers at hay making time.

 
I had been snoozing in the car when suddenly the family were all a-shouting: “There it is! Look at that! That’s amazing!”. My breath has been truly taken away on the following occasions: at the births of each of my babies, on seeing Carcassonne, St Cirq Lapopie, Cordes sur Ciel, Rocamadour, and now on seeing Mont Saint Michel. Wow. We braved the crowds. And the Normandy heat of summer (which is about the same as a really great summer’s day in New Zealand, which ain’t that hot actually). I have to say that I am not a fan of crowds as I get a bit claustrophobic, and I just about turned and ran back to the car when I saw the throngs of people inching their way up the cobbled streets towards the abbey, some metres above us. But I took a deep breath, sang a little song and felt better… So brave!

Having been there I can now confirm that the view of Mont Saint Michel and the views from Mont Saint Michel are, for me, a zillion times more satisfying that actually being there in the mix of abbey rooms and cobbled streets. Some of the views I saw that day will remain with me for the rest of my life.  We really wanted to stay and watch the tide coming in as we have read (Lonely Planet?) that it comes in as fast as a galloping horse. But the incoming tide was hours away, and we had faux filets with three pepper sauce to be cooked on our BBQ and an extra swim to be squished in before bedtime.

Mont Saint Michel, with the tide out

Importantly, we have renamed Mont Saint Michel ‘The Tower of Babel’ after hearing English, French, Scottish, Irish, American, Canadian, Italian, Spanish, German, Dutch, Australian, Danish, Japanese, and New Zealand accents in the car park, on the transit bus, on the long walk to the island, up the narrow lanes, through the maze of the abbey, from the lookout viewpoints, in the cafés, etc etc etc. Everyone was respectful and well-behaved, and despite my detesting crowds it was pretty cool to be amongst them all. The most prominent nationality was the Japanese that day, evidenced by the flag/umbrella/book/hand waving guide with the audio headset linked directly to his/her crowd’s ears, and their unique sense of fashion (= grab any item but make sure it has no style connection with any other item you are wearing. Then add a bunny or kitten on a key ring to your bag/hat or shoe lace. Of course, I generalise…)

It was a day to remember. And the faux filets were très bon too!