Tuesday 13th July
Headed off to see Le Mont St. Michel today. Getting two small children and a husband determined to learn the phrase, “Je ne parle pas le Francaise” before the week is over, out of the apartment before 11am was impossible. Not good for a journey which was going to take four to five hours for the round trip. We also stopped to get some sandwiches at the supermarket to make up the picnic I had already prepared.
The roads around Brittany are so good that there seem to be few places to stop and picnic. So we pulled off and drove around looking for a suitable grass verge on which to place our tartan rug. A mere mile off the auto route such a place presented itself. No idea where we were, but there was a small shrine just across the road and hardly any cars at all. At least there were no cars until Iona and I decided that we needed to go to the toilet and then lots of car
s appeared from nowhere. Iona delighted in trying to hit far off leaves with projectile wee, while I tried to keep her upright and away from prickly branches.
The picnic was lovely, as was the chosen venue and after the rain of yesterday, the sun was shinning. It reminded me of those days when as a child I used to picnic with my parents and brother on holiday in France on the way down to camp on the Costa Brava for two weeks. Only in those days random French men seemed to delight in piddling about three foot from ones picnic spot.
We eventually arrived in Le Mont St. Michel to much “ooing” and “ahing” as you get a great view of the island a few miles away. It is spectacular, seemingly rising up out of the sea. I had a vague memory of a previous visit back in 1991, but obviously things had developed since then and there is a huge car park below “Le Mont” with ominous warnings of the oncoming tide. We were to be sure to be back to the car before 7pm or it would certainly be washed away by the tide!
There was far too much to see with a four year old and a nine year old. The French take their museums almost as seriously as their Chateaux. Sadly we made the mistake of buying a ticket for all four museums. About five minutes into their first all French guided tour, Sam decided that he needed the toilet. I managed in not great French to ascertain from the guide that the only toilets were at the bottom and the top of “Le Mont”. However, she cheerily informed me that “Les enfants” could go in the garden in which we were currently standing. Obviously this was how French men could quite brazenly wee up the tree one was picnicking beside; they were trained at an early age. Needless to say there was no convincing Sam of the merits of this, as he spotted a woman on the wall above who obviously was training a telescope on him and his toileting intentions.
We escaped the total French guided tour, through the dungeons, which were pretty awful. Those implements of torture were rough and there was some poor man in a wooden cage barely tall enough to let him stand up. Admittedly this was only a wax effigy, but still… The next 10 minutes were spent finding the toilet for which we had to pay €1.60 for the four of us to go. That is serious inflation considering that it used to cost 1d. Having paid for tickets for the four museums we felt it important that we at least saw one more, so headed for the nearest one which appeared to be about ships. Can’t really think of one thing that stands out about that museum, except an audio visual which showed how fast the tide came in. Once again all were in French.
Sam and Iona enjoyed the museum shop and Iona purchased a rubber inflatable spikey white cat/lion which she decided to name “Debbie”. I have no idea why. Sam at least purchased something that bore some relation to the island – a small dragon, although I may have missed the bit about the dragon because I don’t actually know the French word for dragon. It’s good to know your children have learned some culture from their trip to such an ancient place. (Dates back to 709 apparently).
Having climbed hundreds of steps (and I have to say that Iona did a great job, with almost no complaining). It was time to return to claim back the car before it was sucked away by the invading tide.
Alan had spotted a sign for a German cemetery for the dead of the Second World War, so we drove there. It was a moving place with over 11,000 buried there. It was built in 1963 and is circular in shape with graves on two levels set into the walls around the circle. There were a number of wreathes and one grave with a cross and a poppy on it. Many of the men had died in August 1944 and, many were very young. A lot of the graves bore only the phrase “A German Soldier,” some had names, but no date of death.
Headed off to see Le Mont St. Michel today. Getting two small children and a husband determined to learn the phrase, “Je ne parle pas le Francaise” before the week is over, out of the apartment before 11am was impossible. Not good for a journey which was going to take four to five hours for the round trip. We also stopped to get some sandwiches at the supermarket to make up the picnic I had already prepared.
The roads around Brittany are so good that there seem to be few places to stop and picnic. So we pulled off and drove around looking for a suitable grass verge on which to place our tartan rug. A mere mile off the auto route such a place presented itself. No idea where we were, but there was a small shrine just across the road and hardly any cars at all. At least there were no cars until Iona and I decided that we needed to go to the toilet and then lots of car
s appeared from nowhere. Iona delighted in trying to hit far off leaves with projectile wee, while I tried to keep her upright and away from prickly branches.The picnic was lovely, as was the chosen venue and after the rain of yesterday, the sun was shinning. It reminded me of those days when as a child I used to picnic with my parents and brother on holiday in France on the way down to camp on the Costa Brava for two weeks. Only in those days random French men seemed to delight in piddling about three foot from ones picnic spot.
We eventually arrived in Le Mont St. Michel to much “ooing” and “ahing” as you get a great view of the island a few miles away. It is spectacular, seemingly rising up out of the sea. I had a vague memory of a previous visit back in 1991, but obviously things had developed since then and there is a huge car park below “Le Mont” with ominous warnings of the oncoming tide. We were to be sure to be back to the car before 7pm or it would certainly be washed away by the tide!
There was far too much to see with a four year old and a nine year old. The French take their museums almost as seriously as their Chateaux. Sadly we made the mistake of buying a ticket for all four museums. About five minutes into their first all French guided tour, Sam decided that he needed the toilet. I managed in not great French to ascertain from the guide that the only toilets were at the bottom and the top of “Le Mont”. However, she cheerily informed me that “Les enfants” could go in the garden in which we were currently standing. Obviously this was how French men could quite brazenly wee up the tree one was picnicking beside; they were trained at an early age. Needless to say there was no convincing Sam of the merits of this, as he spotted a woman on the wall above who obviously was training a telescope on him and his toileting intentions.
We escaped the total French guided tour, through the dungeons, which were pretty awful. Those implements of torture were rough and there was some poor man in a wooden cage barely tall enough to let him stand up. Admittedly this was only a wax effigy, but still… The next 10 minutes were spent finding the toilet for which we had to pay €1.60 for the four of us to go. That is serious inflation considering that it used to cost 1d. Having paid for tickets for the four museums we felt it important that we at least saw one more, so headed for the nearest one which appeared to be about ships. Can’t really think of one thing that stands out about that museum, except an audio visual which showed how fast the tide came in. Once again all were in French.
Sam and Iona enjoyed the museum shop and Iona purchased a rubber inflatable spikey white cat/lion which she decided to name “Debbie”. I have no idea why. Sam at least purchased something that bore some relation to the island – a small dragon, although I may have missed the bit about the dragon because I don’t actually know the French word for dragon. It’s good to know your children have learned some culture from their trip to such an ancient place. (Dates back to 709 apparently).
Having climbed hundreds of steps (and I have to say that Iona did a great job, with almost no complaining). It was time to return to claim back the car before it was sucked away by the invading tide.
Alan had spotted a sign for a German cemetery for the dead of the Second World War, so we drove there. It was a moving place with over 11,000 buried there. It was built in 1963 and is circular in shape with graves on two levels set into the walls around the circle. There were a number of wreathes and one grave with a cross and a poppy on it. Many of the men had died in August 1944 and, many were very young. A lot of the graves bore only the phrase “A German Soldier,” some had names, but no date of death.
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