A postcard image is hidden on the coast of Normandy: a UNESCO World Heritage Site, washed by the Atlantic Ocean. This location is undoubtedly the reason why we chose France as our destination.
So, if someone finds themselves wandering around a Parisian neighborhood, then it is worth buying a ticket for the first train to Mont Saint Michel. It is a destination that is indelibly imprinted in both the mind and the heart. With a fairytale atmosphere and a medieval air, we packed our belongings and set off for Paris.
Although our trip to Paris included all the charming sights, I was looking forward to the day when we would leave the city lights and the Eiffel Tower behind us, to get closer to the authenticity of the French countryside. Next stop: Mont Saint Michel.
The long-awaited day arrived, and we were all set to experience it. Our mission: to discover the famous island. We put on our long coats, wrapped our scarves tightly, grabbed our cameras and headed to the train station. At the central station of Paris, we waited impatiently to board the carriage that would take us back in time. The journey takes 3-4 hours, with the first route starting early in the morning. The route is magical: in these 300 km. you cross a large part of eastern France, full of tiny diamonds.
Throughout our trip to France, winter made sure to remind us of its presence daily. The gray sky and frequent rains were an integral part of the melancholic French elegance. However, Mont Saint Michel is not directly accessible from Paris by train. We disembarked in a picturesque Normandy village, Villedieu-les-Poêles, from where we were to take a bus to our final destination. A miscalculation, however, left us stranded in this tiny village, with no bus available, while a storm seemed to push the dream even further away.
After an hour of waiting under the station building and somewhat disappointed, the rain began to let up, giving us the opportunity we had been waiting for. We began to wander the unfamiliar streets of this lonely village. Then we realized that, after all, the French, in general, do not speak English. We entered cafes, boulangeries, asked passersby and drivers, but the answers we received were either in French or the Norman dialect.
Time was passing and we were in the middle of nowhere. Now convinced that we had run out of time in this 12th century village, we suddenly found ourselves in front of a complete tourist service center. From one moment to the next, without even realizing it, we found ourselves in a taxi taking us to Mont Saint Michel.
As we were in the car, I was leafing through a tourist brochure with all the information about the 11th-century Abbey. The rain had begun to ease, and looking hesitantly out the window, I saw the French sky clear, cloudless for the first time. A rainbow decorated it, giving a magical moment. In the distance, an imposing figure was outlined that resembled a castle – just like the ones we saw in the movies as children.
As the minutes passed, we got closer and closer. We had done our research and knew that we wanted to approach the attraction from a specific point, avoiding its regular entrance. Without a second thought, we shouted to the driver to stop in the middle of the road, in front of a plain. We got out in a hurry, almost as if we were being chased, ready to live the moment.
When the sea recedes, it leaves behind shifting sand and streams that run through the marshy plain. The hill that emerges from the ground transforms into an island, and vice versa. This magical transformation takes place with impressive speed. The only element that connects the island to the coast is a road, built in 1880. Sheep and some wild horses roam the surrounding fields.
It took us a while to finally reach the entrance, as, without realizing it, we were inventing ways to enjoy every moment. When we were now close, we realized the grandeur of the sight and how small we seemed in front of it.
An architectural masterpiece, surrounded by walls. At the top of the castle is the chapel of Archangel Michael, from which it took its name. Few permanent residents live here, living the fairy tale to this day. The route through the interior of this medieval island exudes a mysterious aura that awakens the desire to explore it.
As we walked the labyrinthine paths, we were mentally transported to other times, admiring the cramped houses. The sparse presence of visitors made the experience more authentic, letting our imagination wander into the past of this place. Within the walls there are even hotels, in which, if we had more time, we would definitely stay for a night.
The sun was setting, and we had to return to the city lights. We had achieved our goal, and our smiles would not fade. The taste that left us that afternoon, in the castle town of Normandy, was unique.
