Le Mont St.-Michel

Long before I ever visited France, I was fascinated by it. At the top of the list of places I would have chosen to visit as a young teenager was le Mont St.-Michel in Normandy. One of my French teachers had a poster of it on our classroom wall. A rocky outcropping on the Atlantic shore, topped with a medieval abbey, le Mont St.-Michel is an island at high tide but attached to the mainland at low tide by a thin land bridge. Romantic, historical, beautiful.

Well, it used to be a tidal island. A causeway built in the nineteenth century, as well as canals and a dam on the nearby Couesnon River (the border between Normandy and Brittany) have caused silt to build up. Over the years coastal land has been reclaimed, Dutch-fashion, for pasture. Finally last year the French government decided that le Mont St.-Michel should be an island again, and began pumping out the accumulated silt. In another five years or so, the project should be completed.

Although I've visited France many times, and lived there at two points in my life, I'd never made it to le Mont St.-Michel. Till yesterday.

High tide was early in the morning, before I arrived, so I didn't get to watch it. It rushes in at the rate of one meter a second, which must be an impressive sight. But I was just happy to be there, and at a time--mid-week, mid-spring--when there weren't too many tourists. I guess I could pencil it in for 2012, when the de-silting project will be completed. Put it on my napkin, as it were.

Enseignes en Fer Forgé de Hautvilliers

A year ago last November, I was in France, visiting the Champagne region. Everything is beautiful there. Everything. It's the most picturesque place you can imagine, because the champagne grape has been cultivated there for centuries. Champagne families are often dynasties, passing on the land for generations. What's old is venerated, respected, lovingly preserved. The only industry I spotted there, besides wineries, was wine-related: a manufactory for making the special thick champagne bottles.

Of all the picturesque towns, Hautvilliers is perhaps king. This hilly little town is classed premier cru, along with neighboring Avenay and Ay. Dom Pérignon is buried here, in the abbey church of St. Sindulphe. He's the monk who accidentally made wine with those pesky little bubbles. The rest is champagne history.

Hautvilliers is also notable for its forged iron signage. You'll find these signs sprinkled throughout France and other European countries besides, but in Hautvilliers, it's really signs gone wild. Almost every doorway in town sports an iron sign hanging above it. These pictorial signs, of course, were originally designed for the illiterate majority, and gave a clue as to what was inside. Since champagne is the only business in town, the signs of Hautvilliers are an endless variation on the themes of grapes, vines, bottles, casks, flutes, and--occasionally--happy couples celebrating.

Last year's trip was all about champagne. I didn't have the time or money to figure out where all those signs came from. I didn't notice any businesses in Hautvilliers except dozens of viniculteurs and one café.

In nearby Montier-en-Der, I learned later, is a forge called Fer et Traditions where signs, weathervanes, and the like are made. It's run by a man named Richard Brouard. Next time I'm in the neighborhood, I plan to stop by. I wonder if he'd be willing to take a break from all those iron grapes and tendrils to make something for an American. Maybe a shelf of books with cockador rampant?