I’m in France for almost three weeks. Today with my Father and Aunt I visited Mont Saint Michel about 90 minutes outside of Granville France. It’s important to understand my first exposure to Mont Saint Michel to truly grasp the significance of today’s events.
The first excursion I took overseas that I was old enough to begin to appreciate was to Europe with my father and sister when I was 9 years old and my father was close to the age I am now, he was 38. At that time we visited many locations but for some reason Grandville plays a central role in my memories. Perhaps it was watching my drunk 13 year old sister attempt to throw our passports into the ocean while yelling “it went boom in Granville” (FYI the boom was referencing a bird that was hit by a car in the road. I know, its complicated). I guess it could have been our departure from Granville when everyone on the little boat (including crew) got violently ill. Well everyone except me and one other boy my age. We spent the trip ducking and dodging projectile vomit shooting across the deck. (sorry for that visual Yo). It was like a game. Maybe it was this magnificent monastery (looks like a castle) set on an island, that is only an island at high tide.
I remember this place was so cool to a 9 year old boy. You walk up stone covered pathways to visit large pillared rooms. The Monastery looks like a castle
build with an eclectic mixture of Gothic , classic, and a bunch of other architecture. Before you ask I don’t think 9 year old me knew the word eclectic maybe Gothic, but he is not writing this, I am, so deal with it. To a 9 year old this
place looks like a castle (I found out only today it was not actually ever a castle) so I will refer to it as a castle because, I like that better. The cool thing about this castle is during high tide the place is completely surrounded by water. I imagine it is probably brackish tidal water. During low tide the water recedes and you are left with a wet sandy plain that stretches for miles. All around the castle there are signs posted about the dangers of the quicksand on the sandy plains.
After touring the castle I remember looking down on the plains and out about 2 miles was this other tiny little island. Then I saw something that stayed with me since that day. Even to this moment I can still picture this image clearly in my mind. As I peered over the edge I saw a woman walking. She was the only person out there and she was just walking across this quicksand field of death all by herself. Immediately I wanted to join her.
Did I mention I was 9 years old? Being 9 means sometimes other people get to make decisions for you, even if they are silly decisions based on their own fears and mortali
ty. What I am trying to say is both my dad and my sister were able to restrain me from running down through the castle and onto the quicksand field to join her. Instead I resigned myself to be the last witness to her imminent demise. I found out today it is only 4 miles round trip to the second island. Her sojourn could not have taken more than an hour and a half. To a 9 year old though, I sat and watched her face death with confidence at every step for hours and hours. I remember thinking that some day when I was older I would be brave enough to venture out into the unknown as this lone brave warrior woman did. (Actually, I think she was British with the funny hat and walking stick but warrior sounds more romantic here).
Back to present day. I woke up at 5:30 am (about an hour before my alarm went off) and decided to explore Granville by taking a run. We had walked the city last night when I arrived so this morning would be dedicated to the less touristy areas. I did a quick 5 miles and I think I got a feel for what the neighborhoods looks like. It is a quaint city with definite charm. It seems the entire city is just one big jumble of ups and downs on a cliff side. Makes for a great run.
We hopped on a bus to Mont Saint Michel. We had your typical bus driver who knows the secret spots and doubles as a tour guide on occasion. He gave us some good tips about the back way up to Mont Saint Michel to avoid the crowds. He gave good advice. Today there were a multitude of school children in workshops at the base of the castle on the sandy plains. For the most part they were remaining in close proximity to the castle (yes I still refuse to accept it is a monastery). I coaxed my dad and aunt into walking down to where the school children were playing (obviously it’s safe there because the kids are there). I could feel the urge to run, building in me despite the 5 miles I had done in the morning. I handed my phone and wallet to my dad and told him I would meet him at this spot in a few minutes. He began to raise objections but it was too late. I was off.
It’s hard to explain, unless you are a runner, the immediate feeling I felt of joy and exhilaration. My face split from ear to ear in a smile and laughter escaped my lips. The wide open space, the lack of boundaries, and the feel of my legs working effortlessly to propel me forward, were a rush to say the least. My plan was to run a few hundred yards then turn around, just to say I ran on a quicksand riddled plain. Then I saw a group or horses up a head about a mile. I had to check it out. When I reached the horses, I saw tour groups on the sand even further out, I had to check them out. After a while I had run past every group out there and I found myself at the island. The very same island my warrior woman of 26 years ago had walked to. What I felt was a quiet accomplishment of a life goal I’d not realized I had set, until this moment. I did jump around a bit in celebration. It may have looked odd but since I was the only one there, It was the normal thing to do as accepted by majority vote. Then I turned and ran back to the castle that’s not a castle.
I have a habit of just doing stuff like this that may seem dangerous to others but to me the risk seems minimal. Let’s look at it logically, I am still alive, therefore the perceived risk must be higher than the actual risk. I have to admit I have been previously entrapped by quicksand up to my waist but, I lived to tell about it. On this jaunt I avoided the stuff as much as possible. Unfortunately, my father has been witness to several of my excursions of this death defying nature. When I found him, he was staring out over the plain searching for me. Turns out he had me in his sights until I made it to the island, then he lost me and lost hope. Poor guy has not figured out yet, I am immortal.
The rest of the day was touring the Monastery and taking a train to Paris. After my accomplishment of the morning, everything else seemed to pale in comparison.
Cheers
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