Mont Saint-Michel

Mont Saint Michel is perched on a rocky islet in the Gulf of Saint Malo, at the mouth of the Couesnon River which is the dividing line between Normandy and Brittany. Officially in Normandy, the islet lies in the midst of vast sandbanks exposed to powerful tides between the two regions. It is a Gothic-style abbey, built mostly of granite, dedicated to the archangel St. Michael, and designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Built between the 11th and 16th centuries, the abbey is a technical and artistic tour de force, having had to adapt to the problems posed by this unique natural site. Its master builders took advantage of the pyramidal rocks to wind the buildings around them. The church at the top rests on multiple levels, a series of chambers and crypts that support a church 260 feet long about 73 m (about 240 ft) above sea level.


I approached Mont Saint Michel around 9:00 am when the morning mist had not yet lifted. From the distance, the sight was magnificent. The approach is over a causeway, built over a thin stretch of land, connecting the islet to the mainland; mudflats lie on either side extending from the land less than a mile back. Before me lay a vast parking lot which is scheduled to be moved back to the mainland when the causeway is replaced to allow the high tide to isolate the island once again. This will limit access to the monument and enable photographers to capture a pristine view.

The history of Mont Saint Michel is as complicated as its construction. It is easy to date the founding of the monastery to 706 when the bishop of Avranches nearby built a sanctuary to honor Saint Michael. The mountain quickly became a pilgrimage site and in the 10th c. the Benedictines built an abbey; a village grew at its feet.

The village remains, but its only public street is a jungle of souvenir and snack shops mobbed by hordes of tourists passing through to reach the entrance to the consecrated grounds. Looking up, the view is better; it reveals the medieval village and hints of the monument at the top.



After its founding, the monastery quickly became a pilgrimage site and, in the 10th century, the Benedictines built an abbey. Over time, fire interrupted construction several times and more than once, parts of the buildings collapsed, the most serious one under the choir of the church. The church rests on four levels of buildings which support it and serve the functions of the monastery: a refectory, a reception room, a study hall, a cloister, a kitchen, and other rooms that are now open to visitors.


To protect the abbey, it was fortified with crenellated ramparts and towers ; a 14th century barbican protected the village, further reinforcing the abbey's own defenses so that when the English tried to invade, the monument resisted the attack . The monastery prospered until the Revolution when the religious community was expelled. The monument was used as a prison until the mid- 19th c. when its architectural value was recognized. Restoration began in 1874. The village is minuscule with only 41 residents (in 2006), but it has a Mayor, a Town Hall, and Post Office; another order of monks now occupies the abbey and maintains its religious functions.

I felt like a snake as I tried to reach the calm abbey grounds beyond the village. Then there were a few steps up to a small terrace. Then there were more steps, and more, and more. The stone steps continued around in a series of hairpin turns, with an occasional flat landing or a fork leading to the edge of the fortifications. I continued to climb and finally reached the summit. The visit was arranged from the top down. I followed a guide who took us through the winding structures, down stairs, into crypts, out to the cloister, through doors, and down more stairs. Although I had a booklet to follow, it was hard to correlate the rooms with it and to sort out their dates despite the obvious architectural clues.


At one point I saw a crowd looking over the parapet at the water directly below, so I joined it. I had planned my visit to coincide with a rapidly rising high tide. I had read that the waters advanced very quickly, as fast as a trotting horse, said Victor Hugo. One person explained that the rocks below had been 2 meters (about 6 feet) high “six minutes ago.”


Clearly, six minutes later, exactly at
9:40:43 , they were nearly covered with water; and at
9:44:34, they were completely covered.

I was astounded.

I then looked toward the coast I had seen and photographed a few minutes earlier on my way down the steps. That was at
9:29:23, then, the water began to split the edge of the coastline, leaving a square of land nearest the abbey. I watched the coastline as it receded and photographed it.



Now it was
9:45:10 water advanced into the coast and the square of land was cut off; small sandbars were visible in front of it
9:48:20 water carved an arc into the remaining land and more sandbars appeared
9:49:48 no trace of the square; it was a curved edge of land with even more sandbars
9:51:24 water had made the curve level with the rest of the coast; the sandbars were still there.

For me, this spectacle was just as extraordinary as the architectural achievement that had made the view possible. I was glad I came, even after I learned that I had climbed more than 250 steps. When I got to the top my legs hurt; at every opportunity I during the visit, I sat. I was barely able to walk down and I don’t know how I did it. I do know I will not do that again.