“Pour vous, la choucroute.” For you, the sauerkraut.

Our bespectacled waiter sly-talked this to me as he recapped our order and started to turn away. It took a moment to process his words before I looked up and caught the glint in his eye. He was kidding of course. Playfully testing to see if I was paying attention.

My dining companions, American residents of the French Riviera, joined in a chuckle as we found delight in this lancement of understated French humor. As we waited for our oysters to arrive, we sat and planned in earnest what we’d do during our weekend in Brittany.

We chose to visit the western fringe of France in this season because we knew that winter would best suit our sightseeing desires. Sure the weather would likely be lousy, but because our aim was to see one of the most storied places in France, Le Mont Saint Michel, avoiding the herds was a primary objective. As a good friend in Paris once told me, the crowd level at Le Mont can make or break your experience.

Of course, the island has loomed large in my mind since I was a kid and first learning French. From the moment I saw a photo in my first textbook, I knew I wanted to go. Especially when I got to learn badass vocab words like les sables mouvants (quicksand)— I couldn’t help but feel the intrigue. Now, three decades later, I’ve managed to see more than my fair share of grandeur in the world, but a big part of me still wondered if seeing Le Mont would be as magnificent as my 12 year old brain had imagined it to be.

The bones of our trip came together rather quickly. We didn’t obsess about tidal charts, weather patterns, or even gastronomic “can’t miss” highlights. All of that just gets to be too much commitment for our taste. We simply found a weekend in the off-season that mutually worked and then punted on tickets. At this stage in life, the three of us know that the best parts of an excursion usually come in smaller moments— like when you’re engaging with a waiter who’s been on the same job for 22 years. So in that spirit we made our train, hotel and rental car arrangements and agreed to converge in the Breton capital of Rennes.

I know that other folks are keen to visit Le Mont Saint Michel— and because I know that Future Megan will neither desire nor remember to recall the finer details of our trip, I’m listing how we did everything here. To wit, I fell in love with Brittany last September (click here for my wandering recount of the tides), but only six months later I find myself looking up town names that have already scurried from my memory banks. So, without further ado, here’s some maybe good information that may one day prove useful:

There are many ways to arrive, but for us we found it easiest to take the train. From Paris there’s a TGV to Rennes (and right now they are building a further service to Saint-Malo). If you’re taking a train to Paris like I did from London, in all likelihood you will need to hop the metro or RER in order to arrive at Gare de Montparnasse. This is not rocket science, so don’t be put off by a few up and down stairways in le metro.

Once in Rennes, we had a rental car waiting for us (80 euros for three days, scored as a part of of the SNCF rail booking). We arrived in Rennes on a Friday afternoon and then drove an hour until we reached the intramuros of Saint-Malo. The old walled city.

To go out and see Le Mont St Michel, I’d say it’s best to make it a solid day trip and instead use another town as a home base. For us, the book All The Light We Cannot See was fresh in our minds, and friends had told us good things about Saint-Malo — especially the old part that was nearly completely destroyed in World War II. The Malouins are a proud people (their motto is “Ni Français, ni Breton, Malouin suis”— not French, not Breton, but Malouin), so we wanted a chance to interact with these folks before the summer crowds poured on in.

The walled city is exactly what you’d expect out of an old French town on the English Channel. On Saturday morning we rose before sunrise and set out to walk the ramparts. Being the low season, there was scarcely another soul as we watched the sky go from a dim blue to a blazing pink that shimmered the shore and rocks with electric light. The 30 minute walk stoked our enthusiasm, and before we knew it we were hopping into the car and off to tackle Le Mont St Michel.

From Saint-Malo it takes just under an hour to arrive at the Mont. Because the Brittany region butts up against Normandy, you’ll quickly encounter plenty of War remembrances that you can visit as well (which makes the rental car all the more handy). But if you’re going to the Mont, you need to make sure that before you go, you consult the tidal charts. This wasn’t an issue for us, but I’ve been told that at other times of the year, it could have an impact on your holiday.

When you’re driving in, you can spot Le Mont St Michel from a distance, which makes the build up even more exciting than getting to Walley World. Following the final signs, you’ll pass Alligator Bay and come to a sign directing you to one of two big parking areas: one for buses, one for cars. The island itself might be tiny, but the associated logistics are constructed to support lots of traffic. Parking for cars is free for 30 minutes (if you just want a quick peek from a distance). It costs about 5€ for up to two hours, and then about 12€ for up to 24 hours.

Our visit took four hours from start to finish. While there are free shuttles that take you to the base of the Mont, we decided to do a round trip stroll. The walk each way is 2900m — about 40 minutes at a normal clip. If the weather and your body permit, I say walk because you can take photos along the way and get a closer look at les sables mouvants. Once you arrive at the island, there are a fair number of stairs and ramparts to traverse; for this reason, I wouldn’t call Le Mont St Michel friendly for the mobility impaired.

We arrived at the base around 12:30 and made a point to grab lunch first. On a tip from a French coworker, we sat on the terrace of La Mère Poulard Café and enjoyed passable crêpes, fine weather and an even finer view. The place filled up fast though, so I’d recommend eating upon arrival and then exploring.

At the top of the island you have the abbey, which you can visit for 10€. Honestly, you’re a clown if you come all this way and then cheap out on seeing the best part. The grounds are as long on history as they are views offering swirls of blue and shifting tides. More photos can be found here, taken by my talented friend Michèle.

Vive la mer. For three travelers who chose to visit in February, I should probably mention that we encountered nothing but shiny blue skies during our day out. We couldn’t have planned things better if we had tried. Rain or shine though, Le Mont St Michel really does impress. At the same time, the small streets made us imagine that this place is absolutely horrendous in the high season. Kind of like Cannes during the Film Festival or Cape Cod all summer long.

The next day, we decided to take a two hour drive to the town of Bayeux in neighboring Normandy. Again there are plenty of war memorials to be explored, but here we wanted to experience the famed Bayeux tapestry. It’s really a long embroidery that recounts the story of the Norman invasion and incredibly, it was crafted almost a millennia ago (hence, no photography permitted). I’m not much of a history buff, but I enjoyed a recap of the Battle of Hastings and the demise of Harold, the damn fool who went for an unsuccessful power grab against William the Conqueror.

We got back into Saint-Malo later that day and opted to wander around, taking in the low hum of winter foot traffic. Honestly, every local that we came across in the shops, hotels and restaurants was very friendly. At our evening meal in a place that resembled my grandmother’s sitting room, our appointed waiter once again was full of charm. We capped our menu order off with a bottle of white wine, and no sooner had we chosen did he make we knew what to expect:

“Le vin, c’est un peu florale,” he said. The taste of the wine is a little floral.

“Oui, oui. C’est bon,” we reassured him. Yes of course. It’s fine.

“C’est florale, le vin,” he said again, “peace and love.” It’s floral, the wine- peace and love.

Like our waiter from the first night, we paused for a moment to process his comment. The French people love word play, and his deviation into English took us a bit off-guard. We laughed, nodding an affirmative for our hippie wine before taking in one final dinner in Brittany.  And even though the seafood was again very good, I’d say that spending another day breaking bread with true friends was even better. Camaraderie and smart conversation are two of life’s moments that I truly value, and I couldn’t have asked for two better people to link up with while exploring the layers of Brittany.

Postscript:

On Monday morning we left early to return the rental car and get to the Rennes train station. As we made our way to platform 9, I glanced down at my SNCF ticket to verify my seat number. I scanned the oblong paper and noticed that the car number was completely different than what I anticipated. Then I realized that this way my ticket from Friday. Cue the next ten minutes of me and my friends beach combing frantically through my stuff while on the platform for the correct ticket. We opened books, pockets and even my suitcase. No luck. Finally, my friend looked up my seat number in her email and sent me on my way to the correct car. Ticketless.

For the next hour or so, I watched the countryside go by and half-wondered what kind of theatre I’d enact when the conductor came through to check my ticket. I’m notorious for being absent-minded, and decades of misplacing and replacing things have rendered me largely resigned to this lot. I refused to make myself crazy by continuing to leaf through my things in a panic- I just gave up and decided to deal with it when the time came. I read my book, thought about the colors of Saint-malo and reflected on how this trip had really surpassed the expectations I grew as a kid at Mashpee Middle School.

“Mesdames, Messieurs bonjour.”

The contrôleur came into the car and, reflexively, my blood pressure jumped just a little bit. The girl next to me flipped out her student railcard and I feigned an effort to retrieve my respective ticket. I flipped open my book, a 600 page tome entitled Inshallah, and no sooner had I put my thumb into the guts of the book did I find myself looking squarely at the words RENNES- MONT 1 et 2. It was my ticket. I blinked. I placed my fingernails under the corner of the thick cardstock and held it aloft. The contrôleur scanned it, looked at me and gave a quick merci before handing it back and moving on. I shook my head in a sort of half-surprise.

It’s funny. On this weekend we were prepared to encounter foul weather— and instead there was sun for our all of outdoor activities, complete with sunrises and sets that made me feel a bit homesick, or at least at home to be once again staring into the Atlantic. And sure, perhaps if our trip had been waterlogged and jammed with tourists, this review would not be quite so upbeat. But either way, it just goes to show that when managing life’s details, you simply can’t control everything. You just have to push forward and hope that things will turn out more or less on the plus side.

Misplacing my ticket and not freaking out— or opting to visit Brittany during a time of forecasted meteorological drudgery— all of these things were realities that I just accepted as they were. I’m lucky on both accounts that each worked out, but on the whole I find that living with a fairly loose outlook is an optimal way to be. You don’t lose sight of the most important things, but at the same you don’t lose sight of the smaller details that serve to make life on the larger scale truly enjoyable.

So I’m now finishing this up after having boarded connecting train, a Eurostar bound for the Chunnel in about twenty minutes or so. I’m secretly thrilled that I didn’t manage to misplace my onward journey ticket as well, because while I did have a fantastic time in Brittany, I don’t need any more mini-thrill rides within this lovely little thrill ride.

I don’t know what the next weekend will look like, but I do know that this will leave me dying to get back out to the ocean again really soon.