Tuesday, August 9, 2005

Although I left Bayeux without viewing its famous tapestry, I did manage to see some giant earwigs having a grand old time on the ties of our tent. Bugs creep me out. So imagine my terror when James and I disassembled our tent for the first time. I’m reaching blindly under the top layer to untie it from the poles, and inch-long earwigs are having a party under there. I shudder thinking about it even now.

Terror aside, we managed to take down the tent, pack up our little campsite, hoist our gigundo backpacks high, and make our way to the train station to catch the 7:48 AM train to Pontorson, our next stop.

The Inter-Rail Ticket, Thus Far

Our first task upon arrival was to find our next campsite. After wandering around trying to find the “shop-lined D976” and the Camping Les Portes du Mont St-Michel described in my Lonely Planet book and failing, we came across Camping Haliotis (which we immaturely nicknamed Camping Halitosis). Although it was still early, there were no available pitches for us to rent. Once it was established that we were on foot and had no car, however, someone found a small patch of grass just large enough for a tent. We gratefully accepted the offer and went about setting up.

We bought our bus tickets to Mont St-Michel and ate a lunch of baguettes and grapes in the shade on the roadside, watching the traffic. As we ate our grapes, a group of teenage girls wandered past. We weren’t the only ones to notice; a young man on a motorbike began performing tricks as he sped through the intersection, hoping to attract their attentions. I’m sure he managed to attract more attention than he’d bargained for as the wheelie he was attempting went terribly wrong, the back wheel of his bike flying out from underneath him, throwing him into the road. The bike landed on its side, and after hesitating there for a second or two, began to spin in wild circles in the road. The young man, with more of a bruised ego than body, jumped up and ran to his bike, trying to bring it under control. When he finally managed to shut it off, he looked up to find himself surrounded by shop owners, other drivers, and passersby, all yelling at him and gesturing wildly. The girls stood by in fits of giggles. Obviously, the young man had failed to make the impression he was striving for.

Mont St-Michel, France

What attracted me to visiting Mont St-Michel most was the description of its location – surrounded by sand stretching out into the distance at low tide, and surrounded by water just a few hours later when the tides turned. It sounded really magical, and I had to see it for myself. Unfortunately, it looked like half of Europe had the same burning desire, and we spent the majority of the bus ride stuck in L.A-like traffic.

Abbaye du Mont St-Michel

Once we were on the Mont, James and I made our way through its narrow, twisted and turning streets, hoping to find an area that wasn’t populated entirely by fellow tourists. We didn’t see any cars once we passed through the front gates. The labyrinth of streets all seemed to lead upward to the giant 11th century abbey at the top of the Mont, our destination.

Cloisters

To me, most European churches feel gigantic, but the Abbaye du Mont St-Michel was especially enormous. We were allowed to explore the main cathedral of the abbey, wander through the cloisters, view the crypt, and every time we thought we’d seen everything, we’d discover another door or staircase leading to another part of the abbey.

Abbaye du Mont St-Michel

Instead of stained glass windows forming Biblical images, these windows were simply tinted and arranged in patterns, making the space feel much lighter and less oppressive. The views across the sand toward the mainland of France were amazing. We could see people on the sand, but we were so high up they appeared as tiny as ants.

Prayer Candles

We picked our way down to the middle part of the island and found another, much smaller church. It was dark inside, but filled with hundreds of prayer candles in colored glass votive holders. After exploring a little more, we also found an attached cemetery on multiple tiers.

From Mont St-Michel

Later that evening, James cooked a dinner of Toulouse sausages, onions and mushrooms in red wine, with carrots and green beans on the side on his tiny camping stove. Fresh food cooked outside never seems to taste as good when you try to re-create it indoors at a later date. We sat on the grass outside our tent in the fading light, enjoying the food and local wine, and finished the meal off with a cup of Irish Crème coffee brought with us from Wales and brewed in the small coffee press we’d brought from James’s home. We may have been camping, but we were camping in style.