An American Girl in Avignon

Mt. St. Michel
May 23, 2009
Well, finally, what I have been waiting for: Mt. St. Michel! I had been dying to go here ever since I opened up my French book my first day of French class sophomore year of high school and saw the impressive city on the mountain. Who would have thought I’d be there a few years later and living in France for three months? Life is funny like that. Never ceases to surprise and amaze me. It just goes to show you, you never know what’s coming around the bend!
This morning we took a train to the gare near Mt. St. Michel, which turned out to be a Podunk, sketchy station in the middle of absolutely nowhere. One would have thought that for such a major sight, such as Mt. St. Michel, there would have been a grand gare with lots of tourist traps, and of course, lots of tourists. This was not the case. For such a big hot spot, there was hardly anyone there. When we took the 2 euro shuttle to the city on the hill, I discovered why. Since the Mt. was literally out in the middle of nowhere and built on quick sand, there was nothing for miles. Most people came here by shuttle buses, but unlike us, most didn’t arrive at the station.
The Mount was more breathtaking in person then in photos, like most places. What amazes me is who came up with the idea to build an entire city, complete with a magnificent monastery and abbey, on a hill in the middle of quicksand? We really need to give those Middle Ages architects more credit. The plans that went to constructing something as grand as Mt. St. Michel must have been truly ingenious.
In person, the mount had a haunting feeling about it due to the gloomy weather and the grim, dark-ages architecture.
We were very lucky, because when we walked into the abbey, there was a mass going on. The monks were seated alongside the priest, chanting a haunting song in Latin. It was really chilling and eerie, but in a cool way. Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to take pictures, so I will just have to remember this. Trust me; I don’t think I am going to forget.
After touring the abbey, we decided to walk around town, which was tourist-trap central. Since we had to check out of our hotel in Bayeux that morning, we all had backpacks on, because we had nowhere to store our stuff. Yes, we climbed and toured Mt. St. Michel with fully-loaded backpacks. I really roughed it this weekend, and embraced the whole back-packing through Europe thing. It was empowering, but exhausting and irritating when trying to maneuver your way through tourist-filled corners. The streets were narrow, slanted, and wet from the rain. If only I had a Euro for every time I bumped into somebody.
Wanting nothing more to sit down, we chose the first restaurant with available seating and seemingly reasonable prices. This happened to be a place where the servers were rude (they counted our napkins) and told us that in order to get just a small sandwich, we had to order other things as well. Welcome to tourist traps: 101. Read the menu’s fine print and signs carefully. We ended up paying more for our sandwiches and Normandy’s famous fermented cider than if we would have bought something decent. You live, you learn…In spite of the over crowdedness and dreary weather, Mt. St. Michel was amazing, and like most places I have visited in France, I would like to return one day.
Our next stop was Granville: the hometown of famous fashion designer and creator of my favorite scent (Miss Cherie, Dior), Mr. Christian Dior himself. To be honest, we really knew nothing about Granville besides the fact that it was the home of Christian Dior and that it was ocean-front before going there. Not expecting much besides to relax and enjoy our last day, we were pleasantly surprised when we arrived in Granville and discovered that there was loads to do! What’s more, is that our hostel was located alongside the ocean and had an amazing view.
We also learned a valuable lesson on our way to our rooms. A group of creepy and most likely desperate European boys asked us if we were from Paris, which honestly, was really flattering, but Rachel, without thinking, said, “No, America.” Big no, no to say to creepy European boys. They automatically turn-on overtly-friendly mode after you tell them this. Just save yourself some harassment and say England or someplace else.
We decided to go looking for the beach, which was mysteriously MIA. It turns out that it was high tide, and since it was almost a new moon, the beach was under the water. Searching the town for the supposed beach, we walked along the boardwalk after stopping to buy, yes, more kebabs and enjoy the nice view of the Atlantic and the Casino in town. Granville is, after all, also known as the Monaco of the North. Big spenders come here.
Our after dinner walk took us to the home, museum, and public gardens of none other than Christian Dior. What luck! Funny how you can find things when you aren’t even looking for them. The garden and house where oceanfront and gorgeous. All around the garden there were little plaques of his fashions and fragrances over the years. You can lift up the silver lids on the plaques and smell the scent of Christian Dior throughout the ages. Pretty nifty, huh? Sure beats perfume testing at the mall.