Le Mont Saint-Michel: Eggstacy and agony

Egg-stacy and agony

Mixed blessings on mystical Mont Saint-Michel

The first time anyone sees the Mont Saint-Michel is a heart-stopping moment. No matter from where you approach this miracle of the mediaeval world, it's an unforgettable sight. Whether you see its spiked triangular shape in the haze across the bay from Avranches, or whether you see this gothic pyramid looming large in front of you after driving through the dreary ugliness of endless cheap motels and souvenir shops that make up the town of Pontorson, everyone falls silent.

And they dare to call the Middle Ages 'dark' ?!? How dark is a culture, that can build such a beautiful abbey in such an inaccessible place?

Le Mont Saint-Michel is truly a mystical junction of sea, land and sky. It floats on the horizon, caught between the tides and the clouds. And even the massive parking lot in front of it does not diminish your sense of wonder when you walk towards the sacred mount. Thick walls and squat round towers surround its base, and old houses with slate roofs cling to the rocky slopes of the half-island. and your gaze is drawn upward, past sheer cliffs and majestic buildings and battlements, upwards, ever upwards where the seagulls cry and circle around stone pinnacles, gargoyles and towers. Crowned by the gilded statue of the archangel Michael, glittering in the sun.

In peak season, it's wise to leave it at that, turn around, get in the car and drive to Dinan or Fougères or Cancale. Because the sad fact of the matter is that Jean Paul Sartre's saying absolutely holds true for Le Mont Saint-Michel. "L'enfer, c'est les autres". Hell is other people.

It is quite impossible to enjoy the narrow winding street that leads up to the Abbey. Not only because its venerable old houses and buildings are filled with tacky tourist shops and debatable restaurants, but because you have to share the cobbled slopes with thousands and thousands of tourists, huffing and puffing their way up and down its snail-like length. Even the serene abbey provides no solace. Despite the strenuous climb towards it and the hefty entrance fee, still way too many people squeeze their way in to make the visit enjoyable in any way. It's just too damn busy. It deserves to be, oh yes, but it's also a real shame.

As famous as the entire Mount is the restaurant of Mère Poulard, best known for its addictive butter biscuits that you can buy anywhere throughout France. The speciality here are omelets, and they truly are memorable. Whisked by hand for what seems like hours in large copper kettles, and then baked in cast-iron skillets with impossibly long handles over a blazing wood fire, these omelets must be the fluffiest in the world. They're like buttered clouds on a plate. I ate an 'omelette nature' there, and it didn't even contain any salt or pepper. And it cost about 30 euro's, which is really absurd for a few eggs. So really that was the memory that stuck: Mère Poulard must have been a savvy businesswoman to charge that much money for just 50 cents worth of eggs. But I felt cheated, and worse: still hungry after this overpriced egg-feast.

But do come back in october, or in march, or in midwinter and it's a totally different story. The Rue Saint-Michel takes on its true mediaeval splendor, the Abbey is vast and silent and echoes voices from the past. 'La Merveille' is what they call the cloisters, where impossibly thin pillars support the roof, and where you look out over vast floodplains, forever changing in the light, caleidoscopic and haunting. You feel connected to all the elements that surround you: the golden land, the shimmering sea and the aquamarine skies. There is no place more heavenly, more beautiful.

Just do not eat on the Mont Saint-Michel. Drive to Cancale instead.