On a family holiday to Brittany some years ago, with the Sage, me, all three of our children, my sister and her husband (who is no longer alive), one of the highlights was the walk, with a guide, across the bay to Mont St Michel. One needed the guide because of quicksand and the incoming tide, both of which were dangerous. What we enjoyed most were the patches of quicksand, where we could wiggle our toes and sink in several inches. We rapidly learned to recognise them and joyous shrieks of “ooh look, there’s more mungo!!(!)” brought us all together giggling, to go into the muddy sand, ankle-deep. The French people on the walk looked at us tolerantly but did not join in. There weren’t any other children there, maybe that was it – although El and Al were both in their late teens then, it was only Ro who was actually a child.
Mont St Michel, spectacular though it was, was a bit of a disappointment in some ways, as it was so commercialised. Lots and lots of muck’n’tat shops.
St Michael’s Mount is quite different. It is managed by the National Trust, although the family who owned it still have apartments in the castle. It was lovely, tranquil and impressive and we had a perfect sunny day to enjoy it. The tide was so low that you could walk out on the sand or the causeway – it’s cut off by high tides and you can go by boat. It’s a stiff climb to the castle, but I was starting to cope with gradients by now and hardly complained at all.
I realise that I didn’t take any photos of the island while I was there, only of the sea and mainland. Sorry. The last village on the left of the bottom photo is Mousehole, across the bay.