Mont St. Michel and Saint Malo

After our trip to the American WWII Cemetery, Danuta, Michel, Dad, and myself stopped by a field full of cows with a view of the distant Mont St. Michel. As we continued our drive post lunch, we could see the mount in the distance as we rolled through the hills of north western Bretagne (Brittany).

When we finally reached our destination, we walked from the car toward the fortress/castle/monastery/cloister/village that is Mont St. Michel. It was impressive enough from the outside alone, but once we crossed the drawbridge and entered the bustling city, it was incredible. As if we'd been transported back in time to the middle ages during a festival, there were banners and colorfully painted signs, narrow paved streets and suits of armor displayed at every other window. I envy the people who still live here and get to experience it on a daily basis because it is truly spectacular.

We climbed the twisting, steep streets, and climbed countless stairs. If there was one complaint about the day, it was that there were too many stairs. I got blisters on my blisters despite being in good, comfortable shoes padded with moleskin. But it was absolutely worth it and entirely beautiful.

I've had incredible luck here with the weather, its been more than a week and every day has been sunny and warm. The day at Mont St. Michel was no exception and so though we perspired as we traversed up the mountain, the sunshine on the water and surrounding greenery was magnificent.

Once we reached the monastery itself though, everything became cool grey stone, it was almost chilly. Winding staircases led us to wide rooms full of historical importance and architectural detail, we passed a giant wooden wheel that was somehow used to lift food to prisoners when the island was used as a prison during the Revolution, and at the very top found the cloister gardens surrounded by some of the prettiest, most intricate stone work I've ever seen.

Once the tour was complete, we made our way down out through the town, tired but satisfied with our journey. It was getting late and we still had a two hour drive before us to get back to Nantes, so Dad and I expected our trip to Saint Malo to be cut. Instead, Michel insisted not only on making our way there, but stopping at various tourist points along the way.

It seems like every single tourist point in France has a set of steps you must climb in order to get the best view or full experience or whatever else. We climbed up the side of a cliff that overlooked the ocean, and at that point I was so tired I was ready to just jump into the water, it looked so cool and inviting after our previous hot walks.

Finally, we made it to Saint Malo. It is a gorgeous seaside town and if you ever have two days to spend in the northwest of France, suggest you spend them visiting Mont St. Michel and Saint Malo, but not both in the same day if you value both your feet and your sanity. After climbing up one last tower to look at the city and the ocean, again, we descended and began looking for somewhere to eat and found a little creperie that was just to our tastes. We shared a bottle of cider which is not like the American version I quickly found out, but was still very good regardless. I had a chocolate banana crepe because after a day of walking, sometimes all you really need is chocolate.

Our drive home through the dark was quiet, I think we all fell asleep from exhaustion, with the exception of our driver and zealous tour guide. All in all, it was a lovely day, I just wish we hadn't had to walk up those last six flights of stairs in the apartment in order to get to bed.

Day 1: A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step

Preparations for this trip have been going on for ages, organizing places for me to stay, getting packed, getting presents for friends, and trying to decide if I was flying alone or not.

I am incredibly terrified of flying. It may not be a primal fear that made my cry as a baby like my distaste for elevators, as my mother likes to point out, but it's much more emotionally and occasionally crippling. So after much begging and pleading, we finally decided about four days before I was set to leave that my dad would fly over with me, stay for a week, and then go home. I'm not allowed to worry about what happens when I fly home, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Good thing he came with me too, because as we were going down the little shoot they send you through to give you a taste of the claustrophobia and increase the tension before actually getting on the plane, I tried to make a run for it. Did I mention earlier that the thought of flying is emotionally crippling?

Well Dad and the very kind and understanding stewardess finally got me on the plane, and after a last ditch call for reassurance from Mom, the xanax finally worked and I calmed down enough to not hyperventilate anymore and managed to keep it together for the rest of the ride. As we were disembarking, the woman of the couple who'd been sitting behind us patted my arm and assured me I'd done fine. It was very kind of her as I'd been quite embarrassed about the scene I made before the drugs kicked in to calm my anxiety. She then informed me that she and her husband would be flying all the way to Paris with us. I'm sure she had her fingers crossed that this time they would be nowhere near us.

A four hour layover in JFK, and a couple hours

of getting sick later, We were ready to board the much larger and longer flight that would take us to Paris.

Here's dad looking much happier and better than me in the airport during the layover.

Boarding this one wasn't nearly so bad because, for some reason my fear of planes is like my fear of snakes: the smaller it is, the scarier. Also, I remembered to take my xanax on time before the flight and was sufficiently chill by the time it was ready to go.

We made it to our seats and right across the aisle was the couple from the first flight. The husband and I sat across the aisle from each other and had a silent bonding over our mutual fear of flying as we gripped the arm of our seats and clutched the hand of our travel companion. I'll admit it though, once the plane got in the air, it was very pleasant. They played that movie with Russell Brand, the remake of the old British comedy Arthur, which I didn't watch.

Three hours of Merlin and four Sudokus later, they served dinner which was quite good. They showed the newest episode of 30 Rock and I fell asleep in the first ten minutes of Parks & Rec. Dad and I got lucky, we were in the middle column, but there wasn't a third person in our row so he had more leg room and I was able to lounge across the extra seat. Breakfast was a nice warm croissant with strawberry jam, orange juice, and coffee.

A bumpy but successful landing later, we were in France! We collected our baggage and took the train from Charles De Gaulle into Paris. After some freshening up, and major confusion, we found the lockers and stowed our bags. Our train to Nantes on the west coast of France didn't leave until seven that night and it was about eight in the morning. We struck out from the Montparnasse station, passed the huge black skyscraper that is, I believe, the only skyscraper actually in Paris instead of the suburbs, and found ourselves only a few blocks away from one of our favorite places in Paris.

The Jardin de Luxembourg is beautiful. I'd never seen it anytime except for the spring, so the

early signs of fall were new to me, but it is equally lovely. We walked for a while and saw the chateau in the middle of the gardens and then went to find lunch on Rue Mouffetard where we found a great little bistro/take away that had an olive oil drenched foccacia for dad, and a crepe with ham, cheese, and egg for me. They also had a fantastic chocolate gelato with actual bits of French chocolate in it.but just as lovely. We walked around, gazed at the lovely

After lunch, it was back to the gardens for us, and we both took a brief nap in the fantastically comfortable chairs by the pond. We still had a few hours until the train, but neither of us wanted to miss it so we set off for the station to claim our luggage and wait. A train ride later, we were in Nantes and our French friends Michele and his daughter Marie were waiting to take us back to the family home. Michele and his wife, Polish born Danuta, have six children, but only the youngest is home. Dinner was absolutely delicious, ham and melon, then a chicken and tomato pastry and salad, followed by the cheese, and then finally a fantastic chocolate cake garnished with strawberries.

So that was yesterday, and here we are in France!