|Leah, on a tidal flat near Mont St-Michel|
My grandfather was one of the 160,000 Allied troops to storm the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944. Although Gramps wielded the most influence on me in my formative years - I even lived with him for awhile - I know very little about what he experienced that day. In truth, he only spoke to me about it on one occasion; an off-handed remark that has burned itself into my memory and haunted me for over thirty years. I am sorry to say that what he did tell me is not available for public consumption. What I can tell you is that it left such a powerful, indelible mark on my psyche that when I visited Normandy all those years later, I felt a powerful connection with the place.
|Poulard Hotel, c. 1888|
At the urging of my mother, Mont Saint Michel was one of the first sites I visited during my tour of Normandy.
"You must spend the night at La Mère Poulard and order one of their omelets," she said, in that commanding tone that is unique to mothers and requires one, no matter the age, to obey.
Of course, at the time, I had never heard of La Mère Poulard and knew nothing of her world-famous, gravity defying omelets, but my mother said to go, and so...I went.
Mont Saint Michel is a rocky, tidal island located in the English Channel. The religiously inclined have been making pilgrimages to the island for hundreds of years. Today, tourists make pilgrimages there to tour the medieval Benedictine Abbey...and to have one of La Mère's fluffy omelettes.
|Charming Red Awnings|
|Courtyard of the Abbey|
After an arduous and steep climb to the monastery and then back down to the village, I was exhausted and absolutely ravenous.