A more relaxed day exploring the coastal town of Saint Malo.
It’s like the less attractive brother of the more famous Mont Saint Michel which is 38 kms to the East.
Dinner last night was more successful than lunch, once Simon executed his campaign to always ask for the menu in English. It’s funny how unattractive the meals sound when translated, but it does make comical mistakes less likely.
This morning we headed out early to catch le petit train, one of those little motorised tourist trains that seem especially beloved of the French. The website was frustratingly coy about starting times so we ended up half an hour early, so decided to take a little walk along the waterfront. Several hundred metres along we came across some barriers which we climbed over to continue walking, whereupon a little Frenchman in uniform came over and started shouting at Simon. I got flustered and decided to play dumb and pretend we were stupid tourists (‘pretend’). He looked at me oddly after I explained but I think it was because I said “I’m sorry we don’t speak English” in my panic. Anyway he guided us out, explaining there was filming going on and we weren’t allowed to be there. To be fair, the signs had been pretty obvious so I don’t blame him for being a bit cross.
I wonder what they were filming?
The tourist train was ten minutes late after all that but the guide/driver was very charming so we’ll forgive him. The 40 minute tour was actually quite good, better than I expected and a good introduction to the town “intra muros” (within the walls). I also spied lots of promising looking shoe shops, only to be disappointed by them later when I came back after lunch. Probably for the best. Sigh.
After the tourist train we had a look at a replica old pirate ship – sorry I don’t have much boating lingo in my repertoire, so I can’t describe it any better than that. (This in spite of recently being made a member of the Waikanae Boating Club, mostly due to their desperate need for more income from annual subscriptions as well as to replace all the retirees that must have quite a high mortality rate up there I imagine.)
Here is a picture of the boat with a grumpy German for scale.
This was followed by some hangry quarreling over a lunch venue precipitated by a lack of breakfast, and the cruel inflexibility of the local wait staff to seat anyone before the lunchtime golden hour, even if we promised just to have a drink before trying to order food. Once we’d eaten and drunken we felt much better, and decided to divide and conquer.
My shoe shopping was a bust, as previously described, but I did have the opportunity to try and help a troubled elderly American couple who were lost. They were pleased to find someone who could speak English, and if I’d still had my map on me instead of having given it to Simon, I might also have been useful. As it was, I could only commiserate with them, which wasn’t that helpful as it turned out.
From there I walked around the outside of the walled town, past the low tide swimming pool and back up to our hotel. On the way I heard a kerfuffle up ahead of me, and then came upon a newly married couple being hounded through the streets by a bagpiper and another chap playing the drum, both of whom were dressed up like Morris dancers. A whole bunch of well dressed people were bringing up the rear, and everyone was smiling and looking relaxed so I’m guessing this is a sort of local tradition.
We’ve booked dinner at a restaurant with a view of the sea, which probably means the food won’t be up to much, but I would like to get some more photos of the amazing tidal changes before we leave for Paris tomorrow.