St. Malo

We struggled to find a suitable place to go to church on our first Sunday outside Paris.  It needed to be close enough to Amboise so that we wouldn't have to wake up at 5am to get there on time, directly on the route to St. Malo so we wouldn't be delayed getting to our new hotel, and with a small congregation in a large building so that an additional 50 people could fit inside without cramping everyone.  Wouldn't you know it?  The branch in Tours was the perfect fit.  So minutes before Sunday School started, we just pull up and crash their meetings.  They couldn't have been more delighted, and were all so incredibly gracious and welcoming.  Impromptu translations were insightful (and sometimes really funny).  Their congregational singing was exemplary!  And as luck would have it, there was an American lady in Primary who made sure the kids had a fun time there, too.  C and E learned two Primary songs in French!  It was the most spirit-filled, wonderful, familial church meeting I've been to in years.  We all wanted to linger and just bathe in the warmth of Christian charity and love, freely-given and gratefully felt.

And we did make it St. Malo on the Brittany coast, with enough time to take a quick look at this lovely old (and only slightly touristy) pirate town.  It was low tide, so there was a nice wide beach to walk on, and this magnificent old relic on a rocky promontory jutting out into the ocean.  A gorgeous evening in a lovely setting.

Part of the old city wall, with a palm tree making it appear more tropical than it actually was.

One of the city gates.

C and E enjoy the beach and the setting sun with one of our students

We so enjoyed that small taste of St. Malo that we decided to go back the next morning for a longer visit.  By then it was high tide, the beach had disappeared entirely, and that fortress that was easily accessible the previous evening was now a bona fide island.  The tide differential here is rather pronounced -- up to 35-40 feet difference between low tide and high tide -- which proved to be a significant part of the story when it comes to Mont St. Michel and Omaha Beach later in the week.

Walking on top of the ramparts that surround the old town of St. Malo.

It's not a terribly good photo, but we passed this store on the way through the town.  It struck me as the kind of store ("The House of Butter") that would appeal to E, who has been known to eat butter straight from the package.  (If E had her way, her diet would consist exclusively of  butter and white sugar cubes, with perhaps some salt packets on the side.)