Tours, Calcane & Mont Saint Michel, France

I Hang Out On Infinite Planes: Clearing The Queue Part Two

I have more need of France than it has of me.



In the demeanor of continued deliberate transgressions, here are a bunch more photos to tell you of where I've been, since I've heard that each of these is worth quite a few words.



Departing my friends and guides, I've ventured northward, again a lone traveler. My humbly acquired French is far from useless here, but I've been repeatedly told that I have a southern-France accent. Hmm.



Tours appears as a quilt of carpentry - houses that seem stitched together, all patchwork stripes and diagonals. Mornings here are quiet as a hushed thought, while the evenings bring absolute raucous revelry. There's a large pavilion filled with chairs and tables, where a dozen different bars fight for your patronage.

There's also a circle of Heaven that's been described as such.







Ever northward, until the sea halts my progress. The tiny port town of Calcane reminds me of my early days back in Iceland - except that the shores of Normandy all appear to be absurdly level, causing the waters to recede huge distances at low tide. This will be even more notable in a couple pictures...









A low tide that drags out its waters for numerous kilometers, until it slips entirely from view. Mont Saint Michel is a surrealist paradise - it really appears that a giant medieval castle has been listlessly dropped into the center of a soggy endless desert.

Life's just better on infinite planes. Ask anyone who's tried it.



Can you believe this place? I had no idea.

I love it when the world just looks wrong.