The first gang stop over on the way to Bretagne from Fontainebleau was in a small tinny French village where the post office was fighting back the unique bar-restaurant on the 10 feet large central place. We were, all of us, the 12 monkeys, the attraction of the day, and probably the topic of next Monday free market. No explanations were given in exchange of our coffee and the break gave us enough strength to push the route to Cancale.
This village is attached to the rocky coast by a stream of habits and a rope of traditions. In all the name of honor and respect Cancale is as well-know for its oyster as Rome for its Vatican. I heard of people traveling half way through our planet to taste this tinny road along the bay, and visit the lighthouse for good karma and bad luck wish away. I do only believe in the religion of food and do my regular afflictions of wine to pave my road to oven. We all eate in a restaurant facing the port, and enjoyed the local sea food, floading crab and other sea snail with a dry Chablis. The night left us enough light to road back to Rennes on time for a heavy car washed, and a salvation beers at the local bars.The next morning was celebrated by a French breakfast on a terrasse, staring at people who stared back at us. After all, the best way to be local is to do local. In Rome do like the Egyptian. They stare, we stare!
We finish the breakfast on the way to the famous Mont, and arrive just on time between two sets of Japanese Buses. In my recollection, the Mont was bigger, wider, and wilder and less people friendly than what it is right now. But I was 11 and had no time, patience or interest in whatsoever resembling to an old stone. Today I do, that might be the years that gaining my personnel interest or the time that forces me to respect thing that I see changing in front of me.
Anyway, the Mont was there in front of us, the 5 millions tourists who were present this last sunny day of September. It did not matter for second to me that I had to share this moment with other foreign and un-respectful human being. I was happy to see smile in my 12 Monkeys friends and almost proud that such a place was present nowadays. I let them appreciate the good side of France, and they respected the way France behaved. No complain was said once during this journey, and smiles were on each and every faces.
The trip back was long and delightful, full of joke, sleep and sparks of glazes. We arrived all of us in one piece and tired of our escapade in the French country side. Tired but happy and thankful that we having such a good weekend in our hectic life.
I am sure that, that night all dreams in tha’ house were full of horses, king and old stones. The next morning I was happy to remember one of the dreams that I had that night. The magic of the Mont was on me, let it last as long as possible.