When I think of St. Malo, I remember the book, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, a WWII novel set mostly in St. Malo. Now I have images of St. Malo’s stately homes, its ramparts, and the miles of beach and ocean.

We arrived pretty close to the height of low tide, which was fortunate so that we could cross the causeway to Isle de Grand Bé, where the remains of the writer Chateaubriand lie.

As the tide was coming in we didn’t dawdle too much on this island. The water was already coming up over the causeway on our return. About an hour later we saw a couple attempt to cross. They retreated back to the island. Would they wait for low tide again? They would be there until midnight or so. Would they call to be rescued?

This beach has a sea pool with a diving board. Below you’ll see it at low tide and then at high tide. Actually, you won’t see it at high tide because the ocean covers it.

Bretagne is known for its buttery cookies, crêpes, galettes, and koing amman. Crêpes are sweet. Galettes are savory crêpes made with buckwheat, and koing amman are sickeningly good. They are light layers of buttery, sweet pastry. We split one and that was plenty.

First views of St. Malo castle and ramparts. The castle currently houses the town hall.

I’ve been noticing many store windows with enlarged photographs of some cute critter’s face. Turns out it’s ermine, the allegorical aimal of the Dukes of Brittany, symbol of purity and loyalty. The photos are there while buildings are being remodeled.

Last thing while I think of it. Brittany has a long history of Celtic ancestry. Many street signs are in French as well as Celt. Some hundreds speak it regularly, and a movement has arisen to bring it more fully back. There are bilingual schools now. One of the railway lines has the name Breizh – Celt for Bretagne.

C’est tout pour au’jourd’hui. I may have one too many apostrophes there.

As does the Chemin…even when you are no longer on it.

I simply love this artwork. Here is what it signifies:

Pentecost (also called Whit Sunday, Whitsunday or Whitsun) is a Christian holiday which takes place on the 50th day (the seventh Sunday) after Easter Sunday. It commemorates the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Virgin Mary and the Apostles of Jesus Christ while they were in Jerusalem celebrating the Feast of Weeks, as described in the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 2:1-31).

It has nothing to do with the title of this post.

Warning – this post is more of a personal reflection. More for myself, perhaps… You may be bored! Here is what I want to say about the Camino providing:

After leaving the Chemin in Conques I had real misgivings. I wanted to continue, and I had concerns. Rightfully so given Achilles tendon flare-ups. I missed the Chemin so, even while enjoying the travel. I missed the quietude of walking in fresh air in nature. I missed the people and easy interactions. I missed speaking French with acquaintances. I missed the ease of walking, only planning ahead to the next day’s stop. I still miss it and look forward to completing this Chemin (Via Podiensis) next year. It won’t be as steep, so will be easier on compromised joints.

That said, extensive touring has also given me ample time to reflect. Everywhere we go we stop in the cathedrals, chapels, churches – for the history, the artwork, the architecture – and for time to sit in silent meditation within a sacred building, consecrated over centuries by millions of souls.

In the 3 weeks since leaving the Chemin, I have come to realize that I am ready to give up my long-standing desire to live in another country for an extended period of time as a tourist. Without the comraderie of the Chemin, it’s rather isolating. Is it touring? Is it that we’re staying in one country for an extended period? Is it that our Chemin was too short?

At any rate, I get that even staying in one community for 3 months is not the same as committing to a life there. And I don’t see that happening. Our foray into leaving NM for another state left us clear that it is home.

Once I recognized that leaving the Chemin allowed me to gain clarity, I was able to let go of leaving it early as a loss, and instead be thankful for what its absence provided.

I’ve been having a grand time planning outings and where we’ll go next. Which is Vannes. Next post will cover St. Malo and Dinan. But first, 2 photos that show why Rennes is the Paris of Bretagne.

If you have a hankering for Paris, go to Rennes. It’s such a great size. Walkable. Beautiful buildings, architecture, churches. It doesn’t have the museums. It has them, of course, but not the Louvre, L’Orangerie, etc. We took a map guided walking tour today. It took us the better part of the day, with time out for lunch. I had filet mignon – of pork! It was savory and tender. And a surprise.

The above is just around the corner from us. Cathedral St. Aubaun. A carousel. Copious seating for drinks.

Rennes has some 300 of these old half timbered houses. Many others burned in the great fire of 1720. Brittany is known for them. We are staying on the middle floor. It’s spacious. It’s got massive beams. The floor is really wonky – not level. And the stairs are narrow, steep, and curve around. They would not fly in the States. Otherwise,  it’s quite up to date for a home built in the 15th or 16th C.

As you can see from the photos,  we’ve been having great weather.  80 degrees today. We expected much cooler for this time of year and at this latitude. It was so cold and grey the day we flew into Paris,  August 31.

A few more notes on France: public toilets are widely available. Even along the Chemin. They usually have tp. Only once have I encountered one, in Espalion, that smelled rank.

French love dogs. They also don’t pick up after them. ‘Nuff said.

Train stations have a walkway specifically for the blind. It’s a path bordered by textured brick or tile. They also have an office staffed with people to aid the handicapped in travel.

Make of it what you will.

Oh-la-la!

I couldn’t be this close to the Med, ie in Provence, and not buzz down to the sea. Then the realization – I was last here in 1978, or ’77. Which is it Laurie? Oh, the memories. Laurie and I had one piece bathing suits. We got to the beach and all the women were in bikini bottoms. Off we toddled to some cheapie store to pinch some bottoms of our own. Now we were properly attired for the French Riviera! We somehow managed to spend time on the beaches of Nice, Cannes, and Eze-Sur-Mer. We tried to hitchhike to St. Tropez, but gave up. Back then when you bought a Eurail pass for a month you could travel as much as you wanted to. Once we hopped on a train for a lark just to see where it would take us. Nowadays you have to choose how many travel days you want within a month – and pay accordingly. Time for a photo…

We are in La Ciotat, east of Marseilles. I opted for a smaller town, though it’s still plenty large. But we can walk to the old port, veille ville, and beaches in about 20 minutes.

Today we walked to Parc Mugel, with its sea vistas and tail end of the Calanques – steep cliffs rising from the ocean.

France is a rocky country.

And while this beach wasn’t big rocky, it wasn’t sandy. Though the ocean floor was incredibly fine sand.

The above two photos in Parc Mugel. As is the next one of a field of Sweet Alyssum.

Tomorrow we return the car in Avignon and the following day will find us on a train to Rennes, Bretagne, from which we’ll do some day trips. Rennes also sounds interesting, so stay tuned. Don’t touch that dial!

Roundabouts. Traffic circles. Ubiquitous in this area. I don’t think you can drive for more than 6 km before reaching one, and usually it’s more like 3 km. Some are quite large, small islands at an intersection of 2, 3, or 4 roads. Some are petit, barely a bump to maneuver around. They do keep traffic flowing. And if you’re not sure which exit, just go ’round again! I wonder I didn’t recall that aspect of driving here. And I remembered it as being much curvier than it is!

Random: Pillows here are square.

There is a river here: L’Auzon. My mom’s maiden name: Lauzon.

Yesterday we went to a restaurant in Chateauneuf-de-Gadagne, La Maison de Celou. We’d heard about it from two Irish women our first day in Isle sur Sorgue. We sat on the terrace overlooking town and valley. The entrée: pâte de foie gras. Oh my. So rich so creamy so decadent. Followed by the best cut of meat I’ve ever had.

And dessert of course. Didn’t eat anything for the rest of the day. It was enchanting.

That morning I went out shopping, thinking I at least needed a better top to wear with my skirt. I didn’t find anything. Really?! In France?! That’s right. Summer clothing was on the way out; slim pickings. At any rate, I wasn’t the only one there (besides Ed) casually dressed. The staff was friendly and welcoming- no pretensions.

L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is actually an island surrounded by the River Sorgue. There are several water wheels along the river, which at one time were working water wheels. Now they are simply charming.

C’est tout, jusqu’à plu tard.

Today is Monday, October 2. We arrived Friday, the 29th. I was here 3 years ago mid September with my mom. We spent 2 glorious weeks in the area traipsing about. We were situated in a gite just outside of town, an easy drive into town and easy drives to so many beautiful villages. It was about 2 and a half years after my dad died. Now it is 3 years since my mom died. So many memories. I feel her energy and her spirit.

I’m sitting with my feet in the icy water. Dang Achilles tendon acting up. Plus, it just feels good.

Went to Gordes today, a medieval village on a cliffside. This area is not as steep and winding as the Dordogne, but it till has some impressive hillsides and it’s share of narrow roads.

We went to a fort/chateau that only opened last year. It was underwhelming. More of an art gallery now with an exhibit by Andrew Simone. Modern. Slashing, blocky colors. Can we get a refund please?

Other views

Wandering around town I happened upon a small café where mom and I had stopped for coffee.

On the way down the hill we took an unexpected side trip to Village des Bories, a cluster of stone buildings that encompass rudimentary homes, animal sheds, communal ovens… They are dry stone construction – no mortar used, just stones stacked. They are architectural feats.

They could have been constructed as early as 7th C or as late as 18th C. Or, constructed early and reconstructed over time. When people settle in an area, they do whatever they can/must to provide for themselves.

Our host had spoken highly of Fontaine de Vaucluse, a village in the area as very peaceful and a must go to as one sees the source of the Sorgue there. One may in springtime see the water gushing forth from the base of a really high cliff, but in autumn…no. Still, it was lovely and this late in season not over run with tourists. It was peaceful.

Now. Getting there turned into a bit of confusion. We were on the main road flying along when I spotted a sign for Fontaine de Vaucluse route touristic. We doubled back for it. Followed the signs until they stopped. Then Google maps was so confused it had us turning right where there was no street, turning wrong into a one way street. Good thing we know how to ignore bad directions. We did go through some sweet towns.

It was a good day.

I wrote that Avignon was grand. Partly due to the fact that we spent the day inside the ancient walled city where it is much quieter. Further, visiting the Palais des Papes was quieter yet within those massive stone walls. It took me back in history, while curiously also being completely in the present due to the use of a tablet for info and touring. Both impressive pieces of work of entirely different scales and nature.

Listed as a World Heritage Site by Unesco, the Popes’ Palace is one of the 10 most visited monuments in France with 650,000 visitors per year. A true symbol of the influence of Western Christianity in the 14th century, this 15,000m2 masterpiece of a monument is the largest medieval fortress and biggest gothic palace of Europe.

National Geographic: Built in less then 20 years starting in 1335, the Popes’ Palace is the amalgamation of two palaces built by two popes: Benedict XII, who built the Old Palace to the east and north, and his successor Clement VI who built the New Palace to the south and west.

I read somewhere that it takes an hour to go through the 25 rooms. We were there at least two hours and it passed by so quickly. I came outside and felt disoriented.

There was also a temporary exhibition by artist Eva Jospin. Phe-nom-i-nol.

There were several sculpted cardboard installations throughout, each stunning. I can’t even imagine how someone can conceive of such a thing, never mind being able to bring it to fruition.

Then, of course, we had to go Sur le pont, d’Avignon, and dance there, tous en ronde.

I’m heading across the street now to watch the locals play patanque. Known sometimes as boules and in Italian as bocci. The clicking of the balls is calling me.

The Abbey hosts a nightly program for pilgrims. It begins at 8:30 with Compline and a blessing. I was sorry not to understand more than a few words of the Brother’s sermon because he had people chuckling so often. The 4 Brothers in attendance sang acapella and the acoustics amplified their sonorous voices.

At 9 there is a description of the Tympanum.

The Brother was quite the ham, acting it out with his body, changing his voice, inviting the audience to respond. It was entertaining even if I missed a lot of the French explanation. I got the gist.

Following this, musicians perform in the Cathedral. Amazing. This night were a flutist, cellist, and violinist. They also performed some acapella vocals that soared in that space and brought me to tears. The flutist also played piano, Clair de Lune. Splendid. Tried to upload video, but WordPress can’t do it…

Lastly, there’s a light show on the Tympanum. It had been painted way back in the 11th-12th C. Different areas are lit, highlighting various parts in their time. Here it is fully lit. Ed got a great shot.

All in all, it was quite an evening, a satisfying experience to end our Chemin – for now.

Other images of Conques…

Last year a friend broke her leg, mis-stepping on this bridge. After successfully maneuvering all those killer downhills… She and her husband are back this year to continue.

We spent a full day in Conques before catching a van the following day, the 27th, back to Le Puy, which felt like a large city after our countryside days.

Then we arrived in Avignon. I was ready to get back to the nature and quietude of the Chemin and fell into a mini depression, exacerbated by a flaming hot Achilles tendon. So Chemin out. My leg and ankle need the break.

Avignon today was grand, more on why, later. Bonne soiree!

They are voluable. Did I already mention that somewhere? They really like to talk and to laugh, to crack jokes, and engage in conversation with anyone. A boon for me, as they have also been very kind when I speak, try to speak, French.

Round or roundish glasses are in. I feel so out-moded.

There are either big spoons or quite small spoons. Big spoons are often used to eat cake.

The French are so dramatic. They’re not sorry, they’re desolated: Je suis désolée. They’re not bothered, they’re deranged: Ça me dérange. When they kiss the cheeks, there is often a loud smack of a kiss. Women will wear stylish scarves around their necks even in 90 degree heat. Which it was here in Avignon today, the 28th September.

They have a word that seems to be too nice for garbage. A trashcan is a poubelle.

I’m impressed with the number of small independent shops that survive in small towns as well as larger cities. Not a Dollar General or Dollar Tree to be seen. Thankfully.

France seems to have kept more of its manufacturing: linens, blankets (really thick wool), electric hand dryers ( that work really well)… Haven’t run across any bidets though….

I’m an admitted Francophile. Vive la France! 🇫🇷

Yesterday was our last day on Chemin. I have mixed emotions. On one hand, it’s exciting to be moving ahead with plans to visit other parts of France. On the other, I’ll miss the walking, the sights, running into pilgrims we’ve met on trail and exchanging news.

We had a short day yesterday after our grueling hike the day before. Fortunately, our stay in Senergues was delightful. An English couple had ditched life across the channel, bought a 3 level place (formerly a post office), and turned it into a gîte. They have just 2 rooms to let, and offer dinner and breakfast. Good thing too as the only café in town was closed. There is an epicerie, but it was closed in the afternoon.

Dinner was cooked by Julie of local fare. Delicious. We were joined by a Swiss couple, French speaking with some English. We had amiable conversations.

I loved our room.

Although we were late and the Tower of Senergues was past hours, the owner opened for us.

We were out early that morning and had a long walk before lunch. I was getting cranky, but held out for a good spot – ith Ed’s encouragement. Thank goodness! We rounded a corner and beheld this. It was a bit like Dorothy opening the door of her house after it settled in Oz.

And just across the street…

Leaving so early in the morning it was quite chilly and misty in the valley and over the Lot River.

There was quite a bit of pavement walking, which is generally not easy on the feet, but after trekking over so many rocks, it was a relief.

Lots of folks stopped in Galinhac, which made for a long trek for them into Conques. And the entry into Conques is – yes – steep and rocky! Ran into one guy we’d met a few times along the way and he was beat! So, it worked out for us.

In addition, the apartment we rented for our 2 night stay is on the top of the hill before the descent into the village! And it is oh so steep – even without pack the legs feel it.

Next year when we return to continue the Chemin, we’ll ship our packs from Conques to the next stop. No need to flagellate.

Here’s our place in Conques.

Clinton, from Canada, had to hit the road this afternoon. We’re meeting Jenny and Mike for dinner to celebrate the completion of her Master’s – with distinction!

More tomorrow…or the next day. Tomorrow we take a bus to Le Puy, then a train to Lyon, and then a train to Avignon. It’ll be a long day – with not enough walking!