Pardon my French

Pardon my French trip posts because I totally get that more than, say, three posts about the same topic is a little annoying.   I'm on post four, and I still have two more I want to write, complete with really funny punny titles.  Like "Show me the Monet" for our trip to Monet's house.  When I thought of that one, I snorted because it was so lame and perfect, and then I screamed it Jerry McGuire-style to Dan, "Show me the Mo-net!!"

 I guess I kinda ruined it by telling it in advance, but it's still coming. :)

Anyway, I'm fully aware that I'm milking this topic totally dry, but I figured it would be more interesting than, say, talking about preparing my students for standardized testing or how Dan and I are thinking of getting our peeling windowsills repainted, which have been the riveting subjects of my life this past week.  Plus, I want to write all of it up just as a memory for me.   Feel free to skip the next three posts, though, if you are sick of being knee deep in croissants.

Okay, so day six consisted of us driving to Mount St. Michelle, a medieval abby on a quasi island.   I've wanted to visit ever since I saw a picture similar to this one on a calendar in the foreign language resource room:

I snapped this picture about three miles away:

It was freezing that morning, so we had on every article of warm clothing we packed.  I asked Dan to snap a picture of me out front of the abby and just as he was about to click the shutter, he called out, "Work it for the camera, girl!  Show me some of your third layer!"   You probably had to be there.  Now I'm left with this picture of me laughing my ass off like a lunatic with hair blowing in my mouth.

I couldn't get enough of the silhouette of the abby or the tide coming in around it:

But I could get enough of the inside of this little "town".  We beat it out of there pretty fast because the inside streets were absolutely mobbed and full of  touristy shops selling Eiffel Tower paperweights.  We could barely move without colliding into a fanny pack.

Then, we spent two nights in Dinan, a medieval town in Brittany, which was one of my absolute favorite parts of the trip.  We slowed down, slept in, and enjoyed a much less touristy France. 

I loved the timbered buildings.   Notice how the top levels jut out more?  Dan and I read in our trusty Rick Steves book that that's because in medieval times people were only taxed for the square footage of the ground floor, so they squeezed in extra space by building the top levels out.  I'm just happy these top heavy buildings are still around to check out.  I mean, some date back to the 13th century.

We walked the long, steep road to the port:

A few sights on our walk were this outside table for a bistro where we later had crepes:

The wall that used to protect the city:

And even artsy graffiti:

When we finally reached the bottom, we stopped by a bakery and bought pastries to eat by the small port.

Delicious apple sticky bun thing:

The rest of the day, we just hung out.  We ate, we drank cider, we rewarded our steep walk with another pastry.  Our one sight-seeing venture was the bell tower.

200 steps later and one ladder later, we reached the top.  It wasn't even that tall, but for some reason my fear of heights kicked in because the guard rail seemed so short and I got scared that the bell would toll the hour deafeningly loud and somehow we would be startled or something and fall cartoon style.  Totally rational, I know.  Needless to say, Dan took these pictures since I was gripping the hand rail with both hands and edging along the perimeter, roller skate rink style.

  

This picture might be the one I frame.  I just love the quaint village look that is going on here.

If you are reading this, you actually made it to the bottom of this post!  Good for you! 

Next post will be about the food.  Then, the infamous "Monet" title and I'll officially retire my blog passport for a while.