It seems unlikely that I will ever take a train without being reminded of Meghan and our trip around Europe in 2007 (http://on.fb.me/gs2VNP), that is, of course, unless we're talking about a VIA Rail trip, which more just reminds me of some combination of a cattle cart on the Oregon Trail and Chinese water torture. My trip with Sahar to Mont St-Michel was no different. From Arras, our train took us west through the north of France to the city of Rennes, where we boarded a bus for Pontorson. From there, a short transit bus ride took us towards our final destination. I was pretty interested to see the old fortified city for myself, but as the bus wound down the country roads near the French coast, I realized that I, after three months away from PEI, was actually excited just to see the ocean.
Mont St-Michel rises like a fairy tale from the waters just off northern France. The site of l'Abbaye St-Michel since the 8th century, it is built on a peninsula that protrudes about a kilometer from the mainland, connected only by a narrow causeway when the tide is high. At the top of the imposing mount stands a church that was constructed in the 11th and 12th centuries, and then partially re-configured in the 15th century, leading to a combination of Romanesque and Gothic architecture. From there, a fortified city (current population of less than 50) spirals all the way down to the base of Mont St-Michel where, today, millions of visitors flock every year.
Sahar and I blended in well with the tourists that bound the streets when we arrived, as we settled into the business of taking pictures of every corner and angle that looked even halfway interesting. As is true any such attraction, the passageways of Mont St-Michel have become over-run with tacky souvenir shops stocked with the usual cliché fare. But once you make your way further up and out of the fray, the town offers spectacular views of both itself and of the surrounding tidal flats and waterways. After clambering up and down stairs for an hour or two, we headed down to walk around the island itself, renowned for its merciless tide. They say the tides here race to fill the void left in their departure like "galloping horses", which, at 14 meters is no match for Fundy's 17 meter tidal boar, but is still pretty frightening. Sahar and I didn't end up getting swallowed up in the tide, but we did get pretty muddy, which I'm sure did not impress the staff at the restaurant we went into immediately afterwards.
After dark, we headed off on foot in search of our chambre d'hôte, taking the opportunity to see Mont St-Michel lit up at night. About six kilometres later we stumbled into 'la Bastide du Moulin' and claimed our beds for the night. As far as I can recall, this was my first bed and breakfast experience, (although some hostels I've been to may technically be considered B&Bs) and it more than exceeded any expectations I may have had. Our room had a four-post bed and a double bed on the loft, as well as a newly renovated bathroom and a window/door that led into the backyard. Exhausted, we took a few moments to gush over the place before passing out for a solid eight hours of sleep.
After breakfast we headed back on foot towards Mont St-Michel to see the museum, but were also able to catch part of Mass in the ancient church, celebrated with the monks and nuns who still live in the monastery there. From there we continued back through the streets, where Sahar bought a few of the aforementioned cliché trinkets, and we headed back the six kilometers (that's 18km total, if you're keeping track) to our chambre d'hôte to retrieve our bags and to catch the bus back into Pontorson.
Fast-forward to about six hours and a couple broken down trains later, and Sahar and I are sitting stranded in a Paris train station, still many miles away from Arras, with Monday morning and another day at work ticking ever-closer. Tired from a long day of sight-seeing and traveling, we shuffled into the long line-up where all the passengers whose journeys had been disrupted now stood. Given my past dealings with VIA Rail, Air Canada and the like, I have come to accept such a low level of customer service that I assumed what awaited us at the front of the line was a lengthy argument, resulting in us getting a voucher or some other meaningless coupon that did nothing to resolve the predicament we were in. Fortunately, they do things differently in France. While in line, we were given a free boxed lunch which included a letter of apology from SNCF (Société nationale des chemins de fer français). However, we didn't have time to eat it, because the line moved very quickly, and when we reached the front of the line, we were dealt with efficiently and professionally. As the last train for Arras had already left, he offered us train tickets the following morning so that we would get back in time for work, and a complimentary stay at a hotel next to Paris Nord train station. And we didn't even have to yell or anything.
As the train schedule was fairly extensively messed up by whatever was going wrong with the engines or signals or whatever in France that day, it turned out that about 35 of us were all staying at the same hotel. We were given instructions on how to get to the hotel and then our convoy was set loose on Paris, rolling through train and metro stations like a well-behaved street gang with well-appointed luggage sets. When we came to the RER (Réseau Express Régional) turnstiles, each person politely held the door for the next, chivalrously enabling them to jump the fare while the rest of the group patiently waited for everyone to get through. When we reached Paris Nord, our posse took to the streets, and people stopped or slowed their cars at the sight of us, probably wondering what kind of protest we were mounting at one in the morning. After walking for about a kilometer (stopping occasionally so stragglers and those caught at crosswalk lights could catch up) we arrived at our hotel... or so we thought. But we were turned away and told that the hotel we were actually looking for was ten minutes in the opposite direction. And so we bravely spilled onto the streets of Paris again. We arrived at our hotel and crawled into bed with about 5 hours to go before we had to be back up at Paris Nord. After walking about 14,000 kilometers that day we were very tired and drifted quickly off to sleep.
In the morning we got a free breakfast along with our free hotel room, both of which were actually pretty good (especially considering the price) and made our way back to the train station. After a mishap where Sahar nearly got blasted in the face with a water hose by city workers, we got on the train. As our tickets were actually for the night before, we had not been assigned new seats and so we decided to just take a seat in 1st Class and see where that got us. When the ticket guy asked for my ticket, I silently handed it to him, again, expecting to be land-basted again for having the audacity to sit with my social betters, here in my light hikers and jeans.
"Did they put you up in hotel last night as well?"
I nodded.
"Very good." he said, as he handed my ticket back and continued up the aisle.
What a country.
No comments:
Post a Comment