The Learning Curve
So next we’re off to Bouille near the town of Avranches. As I mentioned in the last post, I’m most excited to see Mont St Michel for the first time in real life. I’ve always loved the pictures of the area and then I read a great book (The Inquisitors Tale) and the final action takes place on Mont St Michel. So it's one of the places that's been high on my list for a while.
Did I really think our Airbnb would have a view of the place itself? No. Did I think it would be right on the walking route with one of the best views across the salt marshes to the Mont. Nope. Both were joyous surprises. But before we got there, we encountered a few other surprises along the way. We did the whole journey to Bouille in the pouring rain and then, as we’re navigating back roads and farm traffic, we round a corner and with perfect timing and deadpan voice the sat nav says “You have arrived at your destination.” The pair of us peer out the window just as we pull up to this:
Once we pull ourselves together and do a 45 point turn, we drive back up the road, drive passed it again and back up one more time, before finally finding our little gem of an Airbnb, right next door to a sheep farm with all manner of fun things for Shadow to sniff and stare at. In fact, right after the video below was shot, the goat which had been standing stock still and expressionless, just like that drunk guy at the bar, decides Shadow has looked at him funny and without warning takes a running headbutt at the fence. Lesson 1 Shadow - don’t look a goat in the eye.
Our educational experience continued when we went to get some basics in - milk, bread, wine , that sort of thing. We arrived on Sunday. Not sure if you know this but everywhere, and I mean everywhere, shuts in France on a Sunday. Even the massive hypermarkets that are as big as malls. Shut. Ferme. Doors locked.
Mr T managed to find one shop somewhere in Avranches that promises to be open on a Sunday, so off we trot to see what we can get. For the record the town of Avranches looks lovely with some wonderfully old buildings and pretty views. Where the shop was located however, was clearly the dodgy end of town. I knew something was up when we arrived and there was clearly money exchanging hands outside the shop for something or another.
Me: “I’m not getting out. I’ll wait in the car and rile up the Labradoodle.”
Him: <somewhat gingerly> “Ok. What do we want?”
Me: “Milk, broccoli if you can get it, and a bottle of the first thing you see. Don’t hang about geeking on wine. Get in get out. I’ll keep the engine running.”
I watch him give a wide berth to the two “entrepreneurs” outside, one of which is a man of about 60 who I’m not sure has many teeth but he is rocking a charming sweatpant/jacket combo that looks warm at least. Out of the corner of my eye I see him follow Mr T into the store.
More time than I deem completely necessary passes and just as I’m about to mount an exfil rescue mission with the WonderDog, out comes Mr T, and unbelievably he has three items only. Good lad stuck to the brief. Looks like it went well. He’s laughing even.
Him: “That was weird.”
Me: “Did I see the old guy follow you in or did I imagine that?”
Him: “Yup. And when I picked up the wine, he came over, grabbed it out of my hand, looked at it, laughed, said something in French, smacked me on the shoulder and walked off.”
Me: “Do you still have your wallet?”
Him: “Yes of course.”
Me: “What do you think he said?”
Him: “I have no idea. I picked the most expensive bottle in the shop and it was 15 euro.”
Me: “He probably said you have more money than sense, good luck to you!”
So we had broccoli pasta and 15 euro wine for dinner and let me tell you it was pretty darn good. Especially as we dodged bullets getting it!
Back at our Airbnb, we took a lovely sunset walk along the marsh overlooking Mont St Michel with only the horses and sheep for company. That night we would have slept soundly had it not been for the donkey next door that started to bray at 4am. That’s a wake up call if ever there was one. Mr T was vocally indignant, the WonderDog was up and racing to the door for an emergency evacuation and I was too busy crying with laughter to do much of anything else.
Since we were up early (thanks Eeyore!) we got a head start on the crowds and had Mont St Michel pretty much to ourselves, which has to be the very best way to see it. I’m sure that the -6 wind chill had something to do with the lack of crowds as well. We wanted to walk there and back and not take the shuttle, and it was as majestic a walk as you can get. But wow, was it cold.
Mr T went into the abbey but as I’m not really one for churches, the WonderDog and I explored the rest of the little island and all it’s nooks and crannies. Given this place was a stronghold during the Hundred Years' War, it has endless fortifications, ramparts and secret alleyways which were a great deal of fun to amble around. What a treat of a place it is.
Onwards then to St Malo. Built as a walled citadel guarding the Rance river, it’s infamous for it’s pirates and for it’s unyielding spirit during World War II when it was bombed to pieces then built again, brick by brick, by the people of the city. You’ve also read all about it’s cobbled streets if you’ve read ‘All The Light We Cannot See.’ And it was driving down those cobbled streets that we found ourselves, inexplicably, by making something of a wrong turn somewhere. Suddenly we were trying to navigate what looked like pedestrian walk ways that would struggle to fit a smart car. No footage exists of this point of our journey, but we may have both aged 10 years and I’m sure we did the pirates and seafarers proud with our language! We had a solid creperie session to quell our nerves afterwards and a nice bottle of cider for medicinal purposes.
On the way back, as it was Monday and some life had returned to Avranches, we hit up the Carrefour for something to make for dinner. After hearing all about the Agneau de pre-sale or Salt Meadow Lamb which is the famous dish around Mont St Michel, Mr T was dispatched to get lamb and some provisions. Twenty five minutes later, back he comes. With a duck breast, a bag of potatoes, and some greens. Apparently Carrefour hasn’t heard of the local delicacy of the region.
Next stop was the wine shop across the road. Mr T hasn’t found a wine shop he didn’t like yet. Even though this one was more like a French BevMo and the owner trailed him around every step of the way (he’d probably heard from his toothless mate at the French 7-11 in Avranches that we’re big spenders!) he still managed to kill a lazy 20 minutes and came out with a box of bottles.
Dinner was epic. Even though the electric hob didn’t get very hot, we didn’t know how to use the oven, utensils were slim pickings, it took an hour longer than it was supposed to and we were expecting lamb not duck - it was a total winner. The recipe for the duck is here if you’re ever in the mood. It's very easy (assuming your hob works as expected!)
Next we’re off to the Loire Valley, the lesser known wine region of France compared to Burgundy and Bordeaux (at least outside of France) , but with some tremendous wineries that we’re excited to visit. See you there!
