Of course, Harry had to call attention to himself. “What, we had homework? Shucks… Oops, I forgot my folder at the hotel. Julia, gimme yours.”
“I don’t have one, Harry. We were given one to share, and you took it. I was only able to download some of the information on my cell phone during the bus ride.”
Without looking at Harry, Caroline reached for two on the seat next to her and handed one to him and one to Julia.
“’preciate it, hon!”
A throat-clearing sound came from Steve. It was only 8:30 on their second day, but Harry seemed to try everyone’s patience.
“Caroline, do you know what’s happening in the Paris catacombs?” Steve’s wife, Linda, asked after a while.
“I can only tell you what I read in the newspaper this morning. Someone entered the catacombs illegally yesterday morning and took three hostages. The names are still being withheld. And so far none of the usual terrorist groups have stepped up to claim responsibility. The authorities have been quiet. There’s supposed to be a press conference later.”
“Please keep us informed if you hear anything new,” Steve said. “You just don’t know when and where someone will blow a fuse these days.”
Caroline said, “I’ll certainly let you know as soon as there’s a new development.”
After they arrived in Saint-Malo, François dropped them off at a sheltered harbor, where Stella saw small and medium-sized boats bobbing on the water. She waved to a couple of boaters drinking coffee and tossing breadcrumbs to the hovering seagulls.
On one side of the harbor stood a massive stone wall which must have sheltered the town for centuries. It was a stark contrast to the picturesque coastal town of Arromanches. Instead of admiring rose hips and hollyhocks, they faced a fortress.
Caroline led them through a stone gate. “This is La Grand’ Porte, the Great Gate. It’s one of the two oldest gates of Saint-Malo and was built in the fifteenth century. The two round towers were added in the sixteenth century as reinforcement.” She pointed to the impenetrable walls. “The ramparts encircle the whole town. The loop is about two kilometers long, that’s a little over one mile, and you can leave or rejoin it at several locations. We’ll walk part of it together, but feel free to follow it all the way on your own later and enjoy the views over the bay, the rocky shore, and peek into small backyards.”
“How old is Saint-Malo?” Stella asked.
“Saint-Malo dates back to a monastic settlement founded in the sixth century. The city wall was built during the twelfth century, mainly to protect the city from pirates and other invaders. Like other regions of France, it has tried to maintain its independence throughout history and saw its share of fighting. Its unofficial motto is, Ni Français, ni Breton, Malouin suis, which translates to ‘Neither French, nor Breton, but Malouin.’”
“You said pirates. Any famous ones?” Steve asked.
“I believe most have more national than international fame. They weren’t called pirates, though. They were known as privateers, or corsairs. And, apparently, it was a very profitable business for many residents of Saint-Malo.”
John looked around. “The houses don’t look as old as the wall.”
“Good observation. Between 1940 and 1944, German forces occupied Saint-Malo. In 1944, the Allies bombarded it and destroyed most of the town.
“When the Nazis retreated, they set fire to the old buildings. What the bombs didn’t destroy, the fire did. Only 182 of the original 865 buildings within the walls survived, and all were damaged to different degrees. When the library burned down, thirty thousand old books and manuscripts were reduced to ashes. But the ramparts are authentic. They survived both the bombings and the fire.”
“How terrible. Imagine the treasures lost,” Stella mumbled.
“Saint-Malo was painstakingly rebuilt, stone for stone, over a period of twelve years between 1948 to 1960,” Caroline added.
“Okay! It’s 11 o’clock and we have four hours here. Because the tide is low, we’re beginning with a walk to Fort National, which was built in 1689 to protect the port of Saint-Malo. If you prefer to spend an hour or two on your own, we’ll meet for lunch at a quaint bistro with an adjoining cheese and butter shop at 1:30.” She handed out business cards. “Here is the address.”
Stella thought she heard a mumbled comment about brats and krauts, but decided it was best to disregard Harry’s babblings. She would’ve loved to ignore the man completely, but since they were part of the same tour, it didn’t seem possible.
Everyone except Harry decided to stay with Caroline, and together they walked through one of the many gates leading to the wide beach.
Stella looked over her shoulder toward the town and said, “Imagine how it must’ve looked when tall ships approached after having spent weeks and months out on the water. It’s so impressive.”
“The sea is pretty rough here, too. This area has the highest tides in Europe, over forty-three feet. At low tide, you can see endless ocean floor, but when the water moves in, it comes fast and furious,” Caroline said.
After returning to the town, they walked on the ramparts before Caroline guided them through narrow streets, when a blue facade caught Stella’s attention. Tall white letters announced La Maison du Beurre and the scent of cheese combined with garlic and spices teased her appetite.
She heard Naomi’s stomach rumble in agreement, and they both giggled.
Like the day before, the group was seated at one long table. Stella admired the harmony of the bistro’s interior, with its combination of modern black tables and chairs, sand-washed walls, and exposed wooden beams.
“I’m going to gain ten pounds this week,” Naomi said. “But every ounce is so worth it. This fresh baguette, with the cheeses—I think I’m in food heaven. Now if only there’d be a small piece of chocolate for dessert.”
“I agree a hundred percent,” Sarah said. “This bistro will go on my must-visit list of recommendations for my culinary tours.”
“I’m so glad
