(Mont Saint) Michele, ma belle

Day 18
Thursday June, 2

The pilgrimage up to Mont St. Michele

We wake up in Normandy...too early...but we cannot miss the hotel's continental breakfast. We steal a lot of baguette and fruit. duh. Anyway, load up the bus, off to Mont Saint Michele, a giant abbey/castle/monument about an hour outside Normandy. Unfortunately, we chose to come to this national monument on a national holiday (Ascension), so the place was swimming with (mostly French) tourists. Also, its situated at the top of a very steep hill, so we must cool our jets as the devout elderly ladies make the long and treacherous trek through the crowds. It took awhile, but Mont St. Michele is incredible. We got to tour the grounds and the castle, where I took a thousand gorgeous pictures of various medieval looking arches and whatnot. Then we were set loose to explore on our own--we found the cemeteries, monks' quarters, chapels, and the most delish crepes (crispy with too much french butter, which of course is better than american butter).

from the bottom...

After Mont St. Michele, Cecelia and our ISA coordinator surprised us again with a visit to a cookie factory. We descended upon them like locusts--crazed sampling and purchase of Madelines ensued. Clearly these people know the way to our hearts: first cider, now cookies. Yum. Our treats kept us busy on the long (yet beautiful) five hour trip home. Side note: we stopped at a truck stop for a break in the equivalent of the French boondocks. The truck stop smelled nice. There was no grime. The bathrooms are clean. AND you can get delicious hot soup from a vending machine. Again, France for the win.

Moving on. Upon our arrival back in Paris, Diana and I hurried home to meet Kelsey, a friend from USC that came to visit and will be staying with us until we leave next Saturday. Together, we celebrated her arrival and our return the Parisian way. No clarification needed (right?). We headed to Cafe La Perle, and while we generally prefer to meet french people, the assortment of Americans we met were a hoot. So we continued our night with them until it was time to go home.

one of the many gorgeous pics I took inside

A couple of over-eager dudes on our street corner decided to follow us home, however...Here's the thing with the French: what we would consider creepy or "over the line" is pretty standard romantique behavior here. I think they mean well...now DON'T WORRY. Living in south central Los Angeles has taught me a thing or two about stranger danger, so I do not automatically assume all the people on the street are safe. It is reassuring though that, unlike LA, no one here is armed--guns do not exist in Paris (nice). Just to clarify--I WILL NOT TRUST RANDOM STRANGERS THAT FOLLOW ME IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. I'm just sayin--I haven't felt truly sketched out yet. Whatever the case, we shut our very heavy door very tightly (and quickly) and headed up to bed.

Voila, (a very long) Day 18