Europe, Day IV

A few months before the trip, neighbors of Dad and Ann had recommended a small harbor town in Normandy called Honfleur so we made that our destination for mid-morning. The clean highways were free of billboards and gave faint views of farmhouses behind the fog.

Honfleur was a tiny, half-moon shaped town wrapping a harbor. Nice, quiet little streets, outdoor cafés, sailboats cutting in and out of what is essentially the center of town. It seemed like the ultimate retirement destination if you don’t mind Channel weather. We had tea at a table right on the harbor until around noon.

Next we took a curvy, coastal highway west to the towns of Deauville and Trouville where we got lunch at our first specialty crepe joint. We wandered through a flea market sort of even by the beach, expecting an exotic European variety, but found the same kind of crap they have at flea markets here.

We took a tricky route down and around toward Caen, where, if we’d known better, we would have shot directly up to Omaha Beach. Instead, we tried hitting all the beaches in succession, from Juno Beach onward. Unfortunately traffic only moved about 20mph on the beachside roads and we got frustrated.

So instead we headed southwest to the coast to our destination, Mont St. Michel was located. I’d been asleep in the backseat, but as I woke up we were coming off the highway, crossing through tiny towns and between tiny stone farmhouses. Through the fog, miles to the north, we could suddenly see what looked like Castle Greyskull rising up from the horizon. Or a ghost ship, or a fortress in the sky. As we drove down the causeway and got close to the base, it looked like this.

It was raining lightly as we scaled the huge, slippery steps leading up. Luckily the tide was out but apparently when it rolls in, it’s at 15mph so conditions are not so great for travelers showing up at random. We checked into the inn first. The twisting hallways were filled with references to famous folks who’d stayed there, including Hemingway in 1944. It’s also known for the original innkeeper, a lady who made omlettes the site of pizzas. and took a quick walk toward the top where St. Michel’s abbey was located.

With our bags checked, the four of us ducked into a tiny brasserie for drinks. We sat adjacent to three huge windows looking out onto the salt flats as the rain continued. The glass-eyed bartender hurried us out as they closed down, so we hit hotel’s main restaurant downstairs. I had oysters and some dense, seafood-and-vegetable soup. We celebrated Wistar’s and Ann’s September birthdays and drank kir, wine, belgian beer and champagne.

As we walked back up to our rooms, the rain had really picked up in vain. I sat on the bed, drowsy. Before bed, I watched soccer while Wistar visited the downstairs bar to get some writing done. I was sort of glad for the rain. Had it been a nice night, it would have been tempting for all go explore the fortified walls and gardens and turrets in the dark which I think would have definitely been spooky.

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