Holding On to Summer

The temperatures have dropped and the days are shorter. Autumn has arrived. Yet, I find myself still holding on to summer. Holding on to those lazy walks beneath the shadows of palm trees. To frolicking in the warm salty waters and watching fish swim between my legs. To sunshine. To sandy beaches. To evenings where only the sound of the ocean permeates the stillness. 

Sigh. If only summer could last a bit longer.

My summer started in the Spanish island of Mallorca, where I spent most of my time at the beach. There wasn’t an itinerary. The plan was to not plan anything and the goal was to relax. To just wake up in the morning and let my current mood dictate my actions. It was utterly liberating. Whether to the sandy beaches or to a Moorish fortress, I followed my every whim and gave in to whatever my heart desired. Stargazing on a rooftop lounge, leisurely walking down a beachside promenade, and eating seafood to my heart’s content. It was a great start to my summer and it only got better. Now before you ready those trench coats and pull out those scarves, come with me. Let me take you to the shores of a small Mediterranean island. Think of warm sunny days and rolling ocean waves. Yes. Let’s still hold on to summer.

Thank you for reading!

Mont Saint-Michel

I cannot remember the time I first heard of Mont Saint-Michel, but the image of a dreamlike castle emerging from the depths of the ocean is seared into my memory. A picturesque island steeped in history and rich in culture beckoned to me. And I could not resist. 

A train and a bus ride from Paris brought me to Normandy on a crisp March afternoon. Clean country air and the looming island commune of Mont Saint-Michel greeted me the moment I stepped off the bus. I was ready to go exploring. Armed with several empty memory cards and a fresh roll of film, I felt like a child at the gates of Disneyland. 

Up close, Mont Saint-Michel was everything I thought it would be: a place forgotten in time. The narrow street lined with small houses, shops and restaurants wound its way round the rocky island. Upward it spiraled with small twisting alleys branching off into secret places. And I followed the cobbled path like Dorothy followed the yellow brick road leading me to a magnificently preserved abbey at the top. The view was mainly the ocean or the sandy expanse revealed at low tide. Yet, in all its bareness, I thought it was refreshingly beautiful in its simplicity. 

I watched the sun rise and set on Mont Saint-Michel; watched the tide rise and recede. I stood there watching as lights slowly flickered  into life to illuminate the island against the pressing darkness. I fought through throngs of tourists in its cobbled streets and then I walked the same streets at night, devoid of life, with my own footsteps echoing back its solitude. And I could not help but feel that life is too transient compared to Mont Saint-Michel, that if its walls could talk, it would tell of great men and greater stories. Mont Saint-Michel may not be a castle, but to me it is a place that gives birth to fairytales and fantasies. 

Thank you for reading! 

Happy New Year everyone!