The Mont by day is a whole different experience. The ghosts of ages past have slipped back into the ancient dungeons and caverns deep within the heart of the monolithic fortress, content to bide their time until darkness once again claims the keep.
Time to enter the castle itself. With commanding views like this, it's hard to imagine anyone managing to muster even a perfunctory assault on the island. Plus they've got Rock to keep watch.
Hidden in the heart of the foreboding structure is an oasis of tranquility - the abbey garden.
And hidden in the abbey garden is the reason it isn't an oasis of tranquility today.
Onwards and upwards. The spires that mark the pinnacle of the superstructure seem to stretch endlessly into the crisp spring sky.
Mei does her best to winch up today's breakfast. Alas, the wheel won't budge. Back in the day it apparently took two prisoners running in the wheel hamster style to pull up the day's supplies.
The quick way down for those who don't want to wait for the line of old timers to slowly stagger their way back down to the tour bus from whence they came.
The spiral staircase to the dungeon winds its way down into the very heart of the living rock that forms the foundation for the weighty stone above. With any luck, there's a dragon's lair down there.
It's not all battlements and gory torture chambers. Even the staunchest knights need somewhere to grab a hearty meal when their lonely vigil on the windswept towers comes to an end.
A maiden sneaks her way up a hidden alley. Such subterfuge can mean only one thing - she's trying to jump the queue to steal a coveted booking at La Mère Poulard, where they still cook up local specialties the same way they did way back in 1879 when the doors first opened.
Voila! Dinner is served. Actually, it's breakfast, but don't let that stop you tucking into a creamy Normandy lobster stew.
The lamb that grazes on the salt marshes that surround the island are famed for their unique flavor. Needless to say such subtleties are lost on Rock as he chows it down.
No way! A third jump is awarded in a single trip! Even condors soaring though rarefied Andean air and the epic ruins of Machu Picchu couldn't garner the coveted three jumps. Then again, the latter was at a distinct disadvantage - it's much easier to leap when your stomach is full of succulent Atlantic lobster rather than the dessicated carcass of some unfortunate llama.
But let's not dally folks, it's time to hit the road. A long day of driving ahead. Even with a sweet 130 kmh speed limit, getting around this country takes time. Especially with Rock at the wheel.Stop number one is the little town of Dinan, a left over relic from medieval times. Think winding cobble streets, timber framed houses, open sewers. Ok, the last one thankfully failed to make it out of the middle ages. Although they could make a comeback if Rock fails to find the toilettes publiques on his crumpled map.
An ancient viaduct soars over the working waterway that has long been the town's livelihood. Actually it's been converted to a road, but bridges are 10 euro cents a dozen, while aqueducts are something else.
Things change slowly in these parts. Which must explain why it's so darn hard to find a wifi hot spot.
Nothing beats sipping a brew in an outdoor cafe on a balmy spring day. There's something to be said for a country where work is what you do between cafe breaks. Assuming you're not on strike on said day.
I wonder if they stock quality Hallensteins apparel?
Road rules in France are a tad different. There aren't any. Except for the rule that cyclists always have right of way. This is, after all, the country to shuts down for an entire month in summer to follow Le Tour.
The quaint village of Quimper marks the half way point in the mad dash from the coast to the lush Loire Valley, and serves as a perfect place to overnight.
Quimper seems to have the highest creperie per capita count in all of France.
The simplest crepe is the best. Plain, with a dash of sugar. And washed down with a steaming cup of strong French roast.
Day two in the road trip sees a brief (ok it wasn't brief, it looked a lot closer on Google maps) detour to see the seaside town of Saint-Nazaire. As a general J00ster rule of thumb, the more photos you see of something or somewhere, the better it is. Case in point: Mei appears in on average 87.9% of all photos, hence she can claim J00ster awesomeness status. Saint-Nazaire on the other hand appears in... uhm... one photo. 'Nuff said.
Moving on, Angiers sees team J00ster right back on track. Marking the gateway to the fertile lands and fairytale Chateau of the famed Loire Valley, it's no wonder they build a big ass castle to keep the baddies out.
Seems this one somehow slipped through the defenses. There be magiks at work here.
Narrow lane-ways give way to spacious promenades. We are indeed approaching the playground of Kings.
One no longer needs to worry about vats of boiling oil making their way down from the castle walls that surround much of the town.
Mei proves she'd be short even in medieval times.
Aussie aussie aussie, oi oi oi! Unfortunately closer inspection reveals the pub has been long shuttered. That's the downside of trying to peddle Fosters in a land where you can get a velvet drop of Bordeaux for under 2 Euro.
The bank of the picturesque Maine river is the perfect place to enjoy a well deserved patisserie break. Ok, it's not really well deserved given the last one was only 20 minutes ago, but hey, it still tastes good.
Rock would gladly swap hair raising French motoring for a more leisurely form of transport. Mei, on the other hand, enjoys air conditioning and a booming stereo.
At last, the expansive waters of the mighty Loire. Not only is it France's longest river, it's also a World Heritage Area. As it winds its way through the verdant valley it meanders past fertile vineyards and spectacular chateau on its inexorable march towards the Atlantic.
Finally the little town of Saumur appears on the horizon. Or rather, the spectacular chateau that looms over the village does.
Best digs of the trip, a genuine 15th century chateau. You know you're a long way from New York when the most expedient way to get your baggage to the carriage house that doubles as your room is a little baggage wagon.
Whew, hauling 10 pairs of Mei's shoes is hard work. No wonder our little Fiat was huffing and puffing just to get up the last few hills.
One is a bit apprehensive about where to put the coke bottle when told that the table dates at least back to the 17th century. In fact, the whole room is older than the nation of J00ster's citizenship. Incredible.
Eve welcomes each new visitor to the chateau with a barking welcome. Promptly followed by trying to cajole them into a spot of belly scratching.
Somehow I don't think this part of the chateau can date back to the 15th century. But this is one anachronism Mei is more than happy to live with.
Nice! It's hard to feel rushed when the surrounds have been just hangin' for the past half century. Unless of course dinner is beckoning.
Time to hit the town. After a few photo stops that is.
The four towers of the Saumur chateau glow pink in the setting sun.
This is where the hedge fund managers of yesteryear lived.
Saumur by night. The quiet cobblestone streets are bathed in the light of the few creperies and bistros that cater for the night crowd. Which in France pretty much means those out after 9pm.
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