I love to scamper, at low tide, shoes in my hands, far from shore, across the mudflat in the vast Bay of Mont St-Michel. Splashing across black sand and through little puddles, I head for a dramatic abbey reaching to heaven from a rock surrounded by a vast and muddy solitude.
Since the sixth century, hermit monks in search of that solitude lived here. Location, location, location. The word “hermit” comes from an ancient Greek word meaning “desert.” The next best thing to a desert in this part of Europe was here.
Imagine the “desert” this bay provided as the first monk climbed the rock to get close to God. Mix in the mythic tide, which sends the surf speeding eight miles in and out with each tide cycle. Back then, before a causeway and later a bridge was built, Mont St-Michel was an island. Pilgrims would approach across this mudflat mindful of a tide that swept in “at the speed of a galloping horse” (well, maybe a trotting horse …12 mph, or about 17 feet per second)….