Mont St. Michel

We are leaving the Sarthe region, moving into Normandy, and noticing the subtle changes i farms and homes. Two story houses line the village streets. The stone is mortared, not covered with stucco. Roof tiles here are dark gray and smaller. Corn and wheat fields give way to pasture for cattle.














We're on our way to Mont St. Michel, a UNESCO World Heritage site and probably one of the most-photographed places on earth.

The villages along our route are just as pretty as those in the Sarthe and the Loire Valley, and if possible, even more flower-filled baskets hang from fences, gates and walls and line the sidewalks.

Driving through Pre-en-Pail we see an imposing gate and glimpse a magnificent home at the end of a long, perfectly straight drive.

At Domfront, where we encounter a detour because a crew is painting new lines on the the street, we discover we're in a medieval city. I notice the wall and an old tower. We'd love to stop but we haven't time. I finally find the town in a Michelin guide. It dates to the 11th century, and was under the protection of Henry Beauclerk, son of William the Conqueror, who, in 1100 became king of England. Domfront became an English possession. It was passed back and forth or another 500 years.

I'm the navigator on our trips, and I have maps spread all over my lap as we approach the end of D275. looking for the turn onto D976. "It's up here, not far ahead." I say, and then look up.

My jaw drops. "There it is!"

Sarah will know what I mean by this: It was a Stonehenge moment.

Beyond rows of corn and peacefully grazing cows, Mont St. Michel rises above the sea in splendor. Truly there is no other way to describe it. Thousands of photographs have been taken of this place from every angle and time of day and night.

We pull off the road in a few seconds to join the others lined up taking pictures. The sight is stunning!

We take a dozen or more pictures before we're in the parking lot with hundreds of others. A sign posted at the gate warns that this lot will be covered by the sea by 5:30 p.m. These are the highest tides in Europe - up to 40 feet - and at low tide 9 miles of mudflats are exposed. The tide comes in quickly - at the rate of a person walking at a brisk pace - and many people have drowned because the misjudged the speed.

This is the first truly crowded sight we have visited. We manage to climb about 2/3 of the way to the top, but decide against ascending to the abbey since the line is long, it's very hot, and stairs in that last flight are narrow.

Many people have brought their dogs; this is common in France.

I see a little girl reach for her her baby brother's or sister's leg (I can only see the baby's legs and feet) and begin kissing it's feet. I think of Elyse and Jacob, Elyse and Juliet.

At the overlooks we see some spectacular views, though because the tide is out now mudflats rather than sea surround us.

Our descent takes a long time. We're mashed together in a narrow medieval alley lined with souvenir shops, restaurants and hotels. We could complain of modern commercialism, but the truth is medieval pilgrims from the 11th century on have encountered fast-food joints and souvenir shops at the same spot.

The crush of people means that it takes us about 20 minutes to move the equivalent of one city block. We move so slowly that as we pass a snack stand Bernie orders a bottle of Pelligrino water and has only moved 3 steps by the time the clerk has gone all the way to the refrigerator in back and returned with the water.

It's good we're not claustrophobic.

The only thing I'm anxious about is the parking lot. It's nearly four o'clock and, though the sea has not moved in yet, I picture a panic of people trying to get the hundreds of cars and campers to safety.

Bernie suggests that we walk on the sand and I decline. As soon as we are out of the parking lot and onto the causeway, I regret my decision. It would have been the one place where we'd be away from the crowds and able to enjoy the view of this amazing structure built on a tiny island.

Mont St. Michel is behind us now, but we keep looking back for just one more glimpse. We have pictures, of course - who doesn't? - but they will never be able to capture this monument to the archangel Michael that rises magnificently from the sea.