Monday, 23 August 2010

Normandy Day III – Mont St Michel

Well, this day started as an utter, utter disaster.  In fact, it was possibly one of the WORST days of my ENTIRE LIFE!

We forgot the sandwiches.

Even now, the memory makes me shudder.  We also forgot our cameras as they were both in my rucksack – WITH THE SANDWICHES – and the rucksack was not in the car with us, but on the kitchen table in the Gite, severalty billion miles away.

Much slapping of palms on foreheads followed, but technology being what it is, we had our mobile phones.  And in France, you can always find food.

msm5 Never mind the monastery – where’s the flippin’ cake shop!

Mont St Michel is mighty fine.  It’s a veritable layer of historical slices, like an angel cake (oh Lord, the food trauma is still with me).  From the Norman arches to the 18th Century facade, from the crypt to the cloisters – it is a beautiful, architecturally intricate building.  You would be hard pushed not to find something to appeal.

In a post from many months ago I pointed out (quite correctly, as it happens) that 18th Century history is a complete and utter waste of time, so there are no pictures of the main doors into the monastery. This is because they were no doubt built by bewigged fops and powdered dandies, the sort of wasters who totally failed to turn up and show their support at the Battle of Culloden in 1745 and thus left England in the hands of the wicked Hanoverians. So I have NO TIME FOR THEIR ORNATE DOORS!  I give you, instead, the rather beautiful arches of a previous (and far more interesting) era of history.


I am a Norman Arch and I don’t care who knows it.

And here is St Michael, who seems to be in something of a foul temper.  He has obviously just realised that St Gabriel has raided his rucksack and run off with his sandwiches.  We’ve all been there, believe me.

msm6 I’d put brie in and everything.

For my next blogging installment, I shall describe the lovely and picturesque town of Bayeux, the treasures of the tapesterie, an encounter at the butcher which produced much mirthe and gaiety with the local inhabitants, and a thought provoking and interesting diversion at the war museum.


silverpebble said...

Arches: they freak me out - how do they stay up all by themselves? It must be physics or something.

I think St Michael is coming to your rescue. He is raiding a caff for you - he's after a croque monsieur.

JuliaB said...

heehee .. you do my favourite blog! Sunshine in the rain. xxx (not that it's raining , but even if it was .... )

JuliaB said...

ps.. sorry if that didn't make sense .. too much gin. xx

Soft Rock Mama said...

So many things that make me smile in this one post...
^castles built on rocks
^Flippn' cake shop ~ love it!
^my need for a dictionary...I'm going to learn about 'bewigged fops and powdered dandies'
^Brie, for the love of soft and creamy cheese ~ divine
^Forgotten sandwiches, so sorry. (yeah, I'm not the only one!)
^coming stories of butcher encounters

The Coffee Lady said...

If it would help to share the trauma, I too left our picnic in the tent when we were on holiday.

(Well, I say 'I', but I am just being kind. Mr Coffee left the picnic. Let's make no mistake about this.)

Lynn said...

Bewigged fops and one of my top five fave places on earth, all in the same blog post! It must be my birthday, or something like it. Thank you for letting me relive my dewy youth.

Can't wait for the next installment...