Heaven to Hell - Part 1

Heaven to Hell - Part Un
Determined I was going to make a hit on the bucket list this weekend...and have.  Lots of pictures...lots of emotions.

Lots of ground...lots of things to see.

Pulled out about 9:00 am heading north toward Rennes.  (I defy anyone with a Texas accent to say the name of that city correctly.  I don't think it's ever going to happen for me.)

North on N137 toward Rennes.

Country road not far from Mont Saint Michel

Village (I believe Beauvoir)








The land flattens as I move toward the English Channel...all farmland...and even in the midst of that, history.

And then the first glimpse of something special rising out of the sea

According to legend, the Archangel Michael appeared before St. Aubert, the Bishop of Avranches in 708 instructing him to build a church on the precipice created by sea erosion at a rocky point called "monte tombe."  Story has it that Aubert repeatedly ignored the Archangel until St. Michael burned a hole in his skull with his finger (Mont Saint Michel). Read the story...it's amazing stuff.



This place was here, reaching toward heaven, when the Normans conquered Britain in 1066.  (That was the Battle of Hastings for those who don't remember their history. Remember, when you said, "Aw, man, that crap will never come up again.  Why do I have to remember it?"  Wrong again, study hall-breath.)





I drove in, paid my 5€ and was directed to a parking spot seemingly 12 kilometers from the site.  Walked for what seemed twenty minutes (but was probably no more than five) and saw this sign:

Missing Betsy here, folks.

Entered the main gate to find the place, after 1300 years had finally been captured and totally subjugated... by retail.

Plenty of neat little passage ways which lead off, and upward, always upward, toward the top of the spire of the church.



Some were open.







Some were guarded.

Once you rise above the commercialism, literally and figuratively, the place provided little surprises at each turn, at each level.

This was unexpected, at least by me.  But, judging from the traffic outside, I should have known people were dying to get in here.

Up about twenty steps from this burial site was a small chapel.

And looking up...still a long way to go.

And you're pretty well "up there" already.











And, looking up, more of more to go.
Was Robert Frost here?  (Okay...who gets that reference?)









Once up this high, you starting seeing doors marked "Private...No Entry," indicating, I think the habitations of some of the monks and caretakers.  I couldn't resist holding the camera up and over such a gate to see what views the residents had.

Finally, as an old Aunt once said, I had "put all in this trip I'm going to put into it," so I stopped and headed back down.  But what a view.

Took a moment to ponder the workmanship.  I don't know about you, but this looks to me like it was mortared about a month ago.

Reaching the parking level I saw this bunch of tourists all, lemming-like, following some tour guide carrying a large camera on a tripod out into the very, very muddy and slippery tidal area.
Sorry, but I have to say it: Only the English would traipse out into the mud on such a sojourn.






Have I mentioned I'm eating this stuff up?!!

Part Deux coming up.