At the end of the Abbey tour I walked back through the gift shop and through the turnstiles and down the steps and out through the town and onto the bus. When I got off the bus I was hungry.

On the mainland side of the Mont Saint Michel bridge there are hotels and restaurants and gift shops and parking and a very expensive campsite. I decided to get a jambon roll and coffee and ponder my next step. If I started walking I could just make it back in time to the van for checkout. But was that what I really wanted to do?

I was all alone, no one to consult (by phone) no one who expected me to return (Denis knew I would stay as long as I needed). So I sat down took out my journal and talked to myself about the lovely day I was having. As I wrote, people passed doing their thing. The busses passed going to the Mont, coming from the Mont. I ate my roll and drank my coffee.

At some point I realised I could go back to the Mont again. Today. I could go there without a good reason. I could just go there for the pure joy of seeing something beautiful on an island out in the bay topped with a gold statue of Saint Michel (who by the way might possibly have been a little passive aggressive – when the bishop was long dead, someone discovered the skull of the bishop had a hole in it at the very spot the angel had placed his thumb…)

I got the bus again. I stood looking at the Mont for as long as I would have to take pictures but standing looking is different. Standing taking pictures means you have a big picture impression of what you’re taking a picture of and you don’t have to pay any detailed attention because the picture of the thing you’re standing in front of will be saved forever on your phone. Without a phone I pay more attention.

And with the very recent experience of the tour what I was looking at made more sense. I could see the church on top. I could see the town huddled to one side. I could see the opening to the big wheel where goods were winched up. I could see the buttresses supporting everything and I could see the ramparts going around the wall.

That’s where I went next. And there were less people on the ramparts , in no time I was back at the entrance to the Abbey where I could buy another ticket and do another tour… I didn’t. I looked out to the bay and imagined all the pilgrims who walking the dangerous route across this bay. The fog, the quicksand and the tides rising at 1000m a second (possibly the guide said different numbers but her tone and her eyes suggested the tide rose shockingly fast!)

When I came down from the ramparts I went to the post office and (with cash instead of phone) I bought stamps and postcards (which I couldn’t post in the very handy postbox on the mont because the addresses were on my dead phone, oh well). And after that I took the bus again and walked home.

Best day ever.