(80) is Saturday, 27 March 2010
Okay, just so I can save myself the trouble of describing things that are really beautiful when I'm not that big on descriptions anyway, here's the link to my photo album about this weekend:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=416088&id=734690178&l=9d34c3b9b6
So! This weekend was a road trip of sorts. I got up at early o'clock to go to Opera Garnier (and this time, yes-- it was Garnier, not Bastille). I joined up with the CIJP (Club for International Young People in Paris), a buddy group of Reid Hall's, for a weekend trip to Mont-St-Michel and Saint-Malo. Turns out I didn't know anybody on the tour, and I'm real good at being awkward.
This was going to be fun.
Well, I befriended a girl named Emily, who took the bus seat next to me, and we chatted and napped.* We arrived at Mont-St-Michel around 12:30 and got out of the bus to scope it out.
Okay: here's what you need to know about Mont-St-Michel. It's a big Gothic church. On a hill. Surrounded by walls. And it turns into an island when the tide comes in. Swim through that water long enough and in the right direction, and you will make a straight shot to England. So, we looked around at the winding streets full of restaurants and souvenir shops, many of which were quite cool. Suits of armor and samurai swords-- 'nuff said, right?
Emily and I found lunch at a little crepe place, and we met up with the rest of the bus group at 2:30 for the guided tour. We had a very nice French lady show us around, but there were a lot of people and echoes, so I sort of tuned her out. Honestly, knowing me, I probably would have tuned her out either way in favor of looking, trading commentary with Emily, and snapping photos.
So, after the tour, we had another hour or so to look around, so we all ambled our way down the hill to where the bus was parked. We boarded at 4:30 and drove (that's English for "slept") for about two hours until we got to the hostel at St-Malo.
I got roomed with Sergio, a Spanish student studying in Paris, and Thierry, a young teacher working for the French Dept. of Education. We got one key for the three of us (STUPID system, especially since other people reportedly asked the front desk for extra keys and got them with no trouble). So, we all walked into town together after a while of getting settled in.
The only problem I found with this hostel was how freaking far away it was from the town itself. We had to walk for a good 20 minutes to get to the point on the coast where everything was located. It was a cute little seafaring town once we got to it. A small group of us had dinner at a forgettable sandwich place and strolled for a while. We found this one bar with a huge hodgepodge of stuff decorating the place: dolls, puppets, all sorts of knickknacks. Best part: the bar itself (as opposed to the tables) had 4 swings coming down from the ceiling as seats. Awesome. Second best part: the bartender was this really nice, knowledgeable guy who learned to speak English in London (so he was French with an English accent when he spoke English). He had lots of great stories about world travel, and was generally a pleasure to converse with. I'm just kicking myself, as I can't now remember the bar's name.
So, after this and a brief stint in a nightclub (before it got going), I headed back to the hostel to sleep for a few hours. I did, and woke up an hour sooner than I'd have liked (yay daylight savings!). We went on a historic tour of the town, which was another 20-minute walk away.
The reason we had to walk was great, partly because I had rather predicted it in some offhand remark the day before. Apparently the bus driver is not allowed to drive more than a certain amount of time before taking a break. This is standard, you would say. Right, I would reply even though I'm not using quotation marks, but is a limit of 2 hours standard? From the country that brings you regular strikes... oh, boy.
Anyway, we had another good tour guide (who I actually listened to this time). She told us about how this town lives by, for, and with the sea. It declared independence once, it had a lot of mercenary sailors, and the giant stone walls are all original, protected by giant logs stuck in the sand to break the force of the waves. Also, a few specific stories connected to photos you'll eventually find in my Facebook photo album.
There was once a navy attack on this town, but it defended itself so well that the only injury was done unto a cat. It lost a leg and thus walked funny. There was a street named after him: "Rue de la Chat Qui Danse," or "Street of the Cat That Dances."
Emily and I found a rather tasty pizza place for lunch. I found a macaroon store that was quite good (although it would later be dwarfed by the culinary wizardry that awaited me and my parents back in Paris).
There was also a street festival of sorts. This was a week before Easter, so I'm guessing that's why. There were elaborate costumes, dancers, drums, and general hubbub. It was great fun. We caught the parade (and the street-cleaners that didn't miss a beat in following them) just before getting on the bus to go back to Paris. We got back in around 10.
Conclusions: if you can, go see these two places. But make sure the weather's good.
-Andy
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Footnotes
*Probably not at the same time, though Sam Seymour claims that it has, in fact, happened.
