I know I am a little late in writing about the second part of my France trip, but Paris was difficult for me and there was a lot to digest between getting into Dublin, dealing with Paris as a different person, Giverny and memories of a most beloved grandparent, and finally seeing an ocean again, I knew it was going to take me a while to sit down, collect my thoughts, as put fingers to keyboard. But here we go.
The last time I was in Normandy and Brittany the world was gray in that way only the end of winter/beginning of spring can be. March in both regions is a beautiful, but cold, and more than a little forbidding. Let's just say it is not exactly the best time to holiday there. What stuck in my mind now, especially as we headed towards the coast, was how warmer, more alive the region felt. But more on that later.
Less than two hours outside of Paris, Giverny seems to be a world away from the dirty, busy, hyperactive, insanity that is the French Capital. Despite it being the height of tourist season, there is still a sleepy, dreamy quality to this haven of Impressionism. Even just walking down the street, it is easy to understand why a painter so obsessed with light and greenery would chose to make his refuge from the grime of the Paris in this gem of a valley in Norman France. Then you enter the house and gardens. Now anyone who has ever listened to me talk about late 19th century art, (and that list is longer than it probably should be) knows I am not a huge Monet fan. I mean really, how many damn pictures of a haystack, cathedral, waterlily pond, etc etc etc does a person need to paint? Jeez. However, in respects to his ability to create a muse for himself, I stand in awe. He somehow managed to breathe life into a garden which is in bloom year round. While being the most spectacular in late spring/early summer, there is always something in bloom year round. It is truly breathtaking without being overwhelming. There is a simplicity in its over the topness of it. Beautiful and serene, almost blissfully quiet, even with gads of people milling about, marveling at the nearly divine like status of this highly orchestrated, yet a seemingly natural testament to a man's love of nature. I longed to lie down on one of the bridges, listen to the water babble around me and sleep in the summer breeze while waiting for sundown. Even his house, filled with its simple French country furnishings and Japanese wood prints, is beautiful and inspiring. I wanted to steal his kitchen and take it with me everywhere, creating recipes and cooking for those I love, in the perfection of French blue with brilliant touch of saffron yellow decorations. I imagine heaven looks like Claude Monet's kitchen.
The second best thing about Giverny, after the whole "holy crap, the Norman countryside is beautiful" thing, are the people. They are still delightfully French, rather reserved, but far more open than their Parisian counterparts. They seem to understand the powerful beauty which surrounds them day by day and this natural beauty warms them up a bit. They smile, laugh, get passionate, cook, talk to their friends in a way rarely seen (at least by me) as one travels more inland. It was delightful. Add to that, they are insanely proud of this gem they possess and seem to genuinely love watching visitors bask in its glory.
St. Malo is going to be a little more difficult for me to write about, probably because of the fear of not being able to do it justice. As much as I love Paris, as every good art lover should, I love Brittany more. It is some how French, Celtic and an entity all to itself, especially St. Malo, which seceded from not only France, but Brittany as well, to be its own self governing city-state. It was described by one British merchant as a town full of the depraved, thieving pirates of stories and even today there seems to be a local pride in this fact, despite the fact they seem to have settled down a bit and play up the pirate thing, mainly for tourists.
The Bretons are insanely proud of their Celtic heritage. You are far more likely to see the regional flag flying more often than the French one. They are Breton first and French second, reminding foreigners Brittany didn't become a part of France until 1532. Around every corner is some reminder of their Celtic origins, their role in the Arthurian Legends (Lancelot de Lac was Breton after all) and examples of their regional dialect, which isn't French, but rather a Gaelic language resembling Welsh or, even more closely, Manx.
Even the attitudes of the people here differ greatly to that of their French brethren. Far more comfortable in their own skin, they aren't afraid to show skin, no matter what their size. Women, ranging from far too skinny to perfectly Rubenesque, paraded around in bikinis with no fear. It made me ashamed of my own Americaness when it comes to my own body image. However, judging from the reaction of the men to this glorious self-assured nature, they are overjoyed to just sit back and enjoy the female form. Far more subtle (read: less skeazy) about it than their Parisian cousins, the men of St. Malo easily show their appreciation of the amount of skin shown and have no problem throwing fun, flirty glances at the women passing without feeling slightly predatory.
As for the town itself, it is charming in that walled fortress sort of way. In spite of height of the walls, the sea air envelopes everything, lending a subtle crispness to the already ever present fragrance of crepes and sea food, which wafts everywhere. The streets twist and turn, almost encouraging the lone tourist to get lost, with only the distant sound of waves as a guide. Everywhere you look there is a point of interest, whether it is an artist painting, a group of traditional dancers prancing about, or a group performing French sea chanties on top of all the interesting architecture. It is really charming. Tourists and locals seem to blend together, with the only way to tell the two apart is in shops and the wait staff. Much like the people of Bath England, the St. Maloians seem to understand how much of their prosperity comes from tourists and welcome them, with open arms to enjoy the delights of their city.
I could wax poetics about St. Malo forever. In my own way, I am not so quietly in love with it. From the constant bustle of the inner-city to the way the high tide comes all the way up to the ramparts and crash against them, I could see myself settling there for at least part of the year and actually being content to sit on the high walls, watch the sun set on the blue grey waters of the Atlantic and not move for hours.
The last time I was in Normandy and Brittany the world was gray in that way only the end of winter/beginning of spring can be. March in both regions is a beautiful, but cold, and more than a little forbidding. Let's just say it is not exactly the best time to holiday there. What stuck in my mind now, especially as we headed towards the coast, was how warmer, more alive the region felt. But more on that later.
The second best thing about Giverny, after the whole "holy crap, the Norman countryside is beautiful" thing, are the people. They are still delightfully French, rather reserved, but far more open than their Parisian counterparts. They seem to understand the powerful beauty which surrounds them day by day and this natural beauty warms them up a bit. They smile, laugh, get passionate, cook, talk to their friends in a way rarely seen (at least by me) as one travels more inland. It was delightful. Add to that, they are insanely proud of this gem they possess and seem to genuinely love watching visitors bask in its glory.
St. Malo is going to be a little more difficult for me to write about, probably because of the fear of not being able to do it justice. As much as I love Paris, as every good art lover should, I love Brittany more. It is some how French, Celtic and an entity all to itself, especially St. Malo, which seceded from not only France, but Brittany as well, to be its own self governing city-state. It was described by one British merchant as a town full of the depraved, thieving pirates of stories and even today there seems to be a local pride in this fact, despite the fact they seem to have settled down a bit and play up the pirate thing, mainly for tourists.
The Bretons are insanely proud of their Celtic heritage. You are far more likely to see the regional flag flying more often than the French one. They are Breton first and French second, reminding foreigners Brittany didn't become a part of France until 1532. Around every corner is some reminder of their Celtic origins, their role in the Arthurian Legends (Lancelot de Lac was Breton after all) and examples of their regional dialect, which isn't French, but rather a Gaelic language resembling Welsh or, even more closely, Manx.
Even the attitudes of the people here differ greatly to that of their French brethren. Far more comfortable in their own skin, they aren't afraid to show skin, no matter what their size. Women, ranging from far too skinny to perfectly Rubenesque, paraded around in bikinis with no fear. It made me ashamed of my own Americaness when it comes to my own body image. However, judging from the reaction of the men to this glorious self-assured nature, they are overjoyed to just sit back and enjoy the female form. Far more subtle (read: less skeazy) about it than their Parisian cousins, the men of St. Malo easily show their appreciation of the amount of skin shown and have no problem throwing fun, flirty glances at the women passing without feeling slightly predatory.
As for the town itself, it is charming in that walled fortress sort of way. In spite of height of the walls, the sea air envelopes everything, lending a subtle crispness to the already ever present fragrance of crepes and sea food, which wafts everywhere. The streets twist and turn, almost encouraging the lone tourist to get lost, with only the distant sound of waves as a guide. Everywhere you look there is a point of interest, whether it is an artist painting, a group of traditional dancers prancing about, or a group performing French sea chanties on top of all the interesting architecture. It is really charming. Tourists and locals seem to blend together, with the only way to tell the two apart is in shops and the wait staff. Much like the people of Bath England, the St. Maloians seem to understand how much of their prosperity comes from tourists and welcome them, with open arms to enjoy the delights of their city.
I could wax poetics about St. Malo forever. In my own way, I am not so quietly in love with it. From the constant bustle of the inner-city to the way the high tide comes all the way up to the ramparts and crash against them, I could see myself settling there for at least part of the year and actually being content to sit on the high walls, watch the sun set on the blue grey waters of the Atlantic and not move for hours.
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