Une semaine avec Victoria

Victoria and I spent the last week being Americans in Paris, and I quite frankly like it better than being Parisian in Paris.  I've recharged, eaten good food, and done a lot of shopping.

Victoria arrived in Paris on Friday in the afternoon and when she arrived, I promptly headed out for ballet, leaving Victoria to her own devices.  (She bought toothpaste and Pringles and a pizza).  We finished the night with a lot of quiche and champagne.

Saturday was our first of many shopping days.  We headed out on Rue de Rennes, exploring the area and popping into little shops that we'd never heard of as well as all the ones we knew from stateside.  We amassed quite a bit of merchandise before we hopped back on the metro and I dragged her to my Saturday afternoon ballet class.

Sunday, I left Victoria in the morning so I could go to my ballet class and she could recover more fully from her jet lag.  After my class, we met at Place Monge in order to make it to La Comedie Saint Michel.  We walked out of the metro station and straight into a street market.  After buying samosas and Moroccan tajine, we started the trek to the theatre, which took longer and was more painful than we had previously anticipated.  After traipsing around the area for a while, we picked up our tickets, which were classic tear tickets stamped with my name--a cool bonus that happens when you reserve tickets through TickeTac (which you need to get on if you're going to be spending time in Paris).  We saw a production of Le Petit Prince that was intended for children and it was maybe one of the best plays I've ever seen.  I laughed wildly, joyfully engaged with the actors when prompted, and literally cried at the end.  At the curtain call, the actor playing le petit prince declared that that day was his 107th trip to earth, which was children's-theatre-actor-code for "I've been playing this role for 107 shows" which is incredible.

We walked from the comedie to le Jardin du Luxembourg and from there we found ourselves at Pierre Hermé, and we jumped at the chance to start our discovery of macarons in Paris (the famous Pierre Hermé vs. Ladurée debate/war).  We returned home and ate four pastries--the lemon tart, coffee tart, ispahan rose pastry, and baba rum cake as well as picking from the box of 24 macarons.  The rum cake was immediately our favorite.

Monday went without a lot of fuss or interesting events, but Tuesday I made reservations for lunch at Ladurée.

We met at the church just by the Saint-Germain-des-Prés metro stop and walked up the street to Ladurée, where we were seated in the mostly empty café before being swiftly moved to the little table bearing a card with my name on it (which I saved, of course, like everything else).  Lunch at Ladurée is delicious, but if you go for two courses it is a lot of food.  Victoria opted for the cauliflower soup and chicken club sandwich and I got the smoked salmon plate and the duck with artichokes.  Victoria couldn't finish her sandwich.  The waiter told her that she couldn't take it home in a box, but I guess after her dismayed look or the fact that there was 2/3 of a sandwich on her plate, he snuck us a box from the bakery and made her hid it in her purse.

After lunch, we walked into the bakery area, so that we could continue the Pierre Hermé vs Ladurée discovery.  We went home with macarons, the Ladurée version of the ispahan rose pastry, and a rose Saint-Honoré cake.  Here, we came to the conclusion that Ladurée macarons are superior (as is the packaging--Laudrée is just cuter, all in pastel etc., while Pierre Hermé seems to be designed so that men don't feel weird shopping for sweets there).

Wednesday we started our day rather late and headed out to the local pharmacy (well, one of them).  After all of the Youtube videos and the Buzzfeed articles, we decided we needed to stock up on the cult beauty products.  While I only walked out with two things, it was only the beginning.  After the pharmacy run, we swung by the pizzeria and picked up a ham and egg pizza and a calzone.

We had reservations at Le Petit Medicis restaurant to have the foie gras and other lovely things that night, but in the middle of the day, we both realized how much we didn't want to do that.  So instead we met up at a park after my class at 7pm and haunted the Bon Marché as it started to close up, just touching pretty things and looking at interesting books and expensive juices.  After that, we didn't stop and go home; oh no.  We went out to late night at the Louvre, where the Louvre closes at 9:45pm and stayed until the announcement came over the speakers that it was time to get out.  The museum is very empty at night, and we ran around through the Napoleon apartments before almost getting locked in the basement when the metro station closed.  After that, we ate the rest of the pizza and calzone, more quiche, and drank red wine.  Quite frankly, I think the cheap food and the wine and homemade quiche and Louvre time made us happier than Le Petit Medicis would have.

Thursday was pretty great because my law class was cancelled and so we went out shopping--our favorite shops and then also more pharmacies, where we picked up the famous homeoplasmine, which is supposed to be a miracle product.  I had to leave Victoria for two hours during my security class before we met up again because she said that she'd found some good white sneakers for me.

White sneakers for Megan was one of Victoria's quests apparently, for her week and she'd found the Bensimon store near Sciences Po, where we spent some time.  I eventually got navy blue sneakers (sorry Victoria) before we walked back to the metro and headed home.

On Friday, I put all of my ballet gear into my purse and we ran off to the Louvre.  We fortunately got there before the enormous, enormous crowds and we popped up there and discovered the Dutch paintings and a lot of iconography and a whole bunch of stuff that Victoria knew very well and I had literally never ever seen before.  We finished our trip with a long stay on a marble bench in the Babylonian area of the museum, overlooking the statue garden.  After grabbing sandwiches at the Louvre's Paul bakery, we headed off to the Opera area to discover Rue Saint-Honoré and popped into all interesting stores.  I had told myself that I didn't need to get to ballet but at 6:18 I suddenly decided I did, and so I dragged Victoria back to the studio, tossed her the keys, and got back to the apartment at 10pm, promising Victoria I would make Shakshuka for her, but that was a long time to go before dinner, so she had bought a calzone, and when I got back I ate the rest of it.  I however, still needed to get the baking bug out of my system, so we made a grapefruit meringue pie, right then and there.  Victoria discovered the secret to stiff meringues (not the soupy stuff I've been dealing with) and it consists of no cornstarch, whipping the eggs like you're starting a fire with a stick, and adding the sugar very, very slowly.  We made that, stayed awake enough to eat a slice, and then went to bed.

Saturday was Victoria's last day in Paris and we decided to make it our last-minute shopping trip.  We walked down Rue de Rennes again, then found ourselves by Pierre Hermé where we bought pastries (the rum cake included) and ate them in the Saint Sulplice church courtyard.  After that, we made it to CityPharma (the discounts there are not quite worth the anxiety-inducing environment), which had been taken over by firefighters last time we were in the area.  After abandoning our choices when confronted with the lines, we continued to Ladurée for macrons and more pastries. We ate sandwiches in a sidewalk café, bought more sneakers at Bensimon, and raided another pharmacy for all of the recommended products.

That evening I finally did make shakshuka and we ate it with pierogi and mangos and pie and washed it all down with a bottle of champagne that I accidentally spilled all over the kitchen.

And then that Sunday morning at 4am, Victoria hauled her suitcase, backpack, bag of macarons, and two pirozhi wrapped in foil out the door to the waiting airport shuttle.

This past week, I learned that Victoria sees Paris as I've finally realized I should see it and experiences the city like it should be experienced--shamelessly and with a brave smile and an eagerness to see everything.  Who cares if you  aren't wearing great street style?  Who cares if your dress is too fancy?  Who cares if you're speaking English loudly on the street or in a shop or in the Louvre?  Show salespeople pictures of what you're looking for, grin widely, point at dresses you want to try on, touch expensive clothes in high-end stores.  Who cares?  It's Paris.  Be brave and unashamed.  I am trying my best to do this, but I've also realized that Paris is only like this when I'm with an old friend.

Un week-end à Paris

I spent the weekend in Paris.

It was supposed to be a sort of quiet adventure and I was supposed to find the Sciences Po campus and talk a lot with Ashley, who would be meeting me there after a flight from Madrid.  It half-turned out that way.

The week before, I received the most casual Facebook message from Jennifer:

"Coming to visit you and Ash in Paris"

So we haphazardly planned to meet but didn't come to a real conclusion, but despite the vague nature of our plans, I made a dark chocolate fudge red wine cake and an apple tarte tatin and when Friday rolled around, I packed my backpack, wrapped the baked goods in foil, and got on a TGV to Paris.  I navigated the Paris metro in the very basic way--by riding lines to the end and transferring at large hubs.  The hostel that I'd booked for myself and Ashley was close to the Bastille stop, and I passed the opera house and an enormous pillar of a monument before I reached the side street of the hostel.  I'd booked a room for two so that we could sleep when wanted and also make as much noise laughing and watching TV or what have you as well as eliminate most of the creepy factor that scares me away from hostels.  I checked in and sat on the top bunk for about an hour before Ashley appeared.  I stuffed apple pie down her throat, hugged her, and then we headed back out to explore.

Our Friday evening consisted of a sort of lazy wandering up and down the street, scouting out stores and cafes to check out the next day and catching up on everything that had happened in our lives since she headed off to New Zealand and I went to Morocco.  It was a lot to talk about and we bought sandwiches and a bottle of cider and talked some more back at the hostel.

The next day, we rolled out of bed and went shopping.  After heading immediately to a sort of vintage pin-up shop at which we tried on all the dresses and chatted with the amiable storekeeper, we just sort of headed down the street and popped into every store that we took a liking to, all the while continuing to talk.  We bought more sandwiches for lunch and after dropping our purchases off at the hostel, we decided to get on the metro and see more of central Paris, or what we always thought Paris was--the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees, the Louvre.

We rode the metro to the Champs Elysees stop, fully expecting to wander down the street to the Louvre perhaps, or l'Arc de Triomphe, but instead when we emerged from the station, we looked past the statue of Charles de Gaulle and were greeted by an expansive, sparking, and crowded Christmas market.

We immediately got ourselves cups of hot wine, and then set out to take in as much of the market as we possibly could.  There were jewelry stands, leather bound journals, all sorts of foods and candies and silly looking hoods from Canada and it was incredible.  We reached the Louvre, turned around, and then went though the other side of the market, munching on crepes and merveilleux and marveling at everything we laid our eyes on.

The next morning, we found breakfast in a cafe close to the hostel: pain au chocolat, orange juice, a hot drink--and then proceeded to browse the bookstores that happened to be open on a Sunday before returning to the hostel to meet Jennifer.

We ate and then went straight back to the Champs Elysees metro stop, where we returned to the Christmas market and then to the Louvre.

I have only been to Paris once before, and it was for one day, and it was a Tuesday, and so the Louvre was closed.  This time, however, it was definitely not closed, and the line was nearly non-existent, and so we went.

The Louvre is breathtaking, from the vaulted ceilings to the famous art pieces that you've studied in classes from middle school to university, to the sculptures that figure into the glossy coffee table books that you find at bookstores.  Michelangelo's slaves, Winged Victory, Venus de Milo...we must have seen 10% of the museum before becoming achy and hungry.  It will be a goal for me during the semester there to see the rest of the place.  We returned to the Christmas market for dinner (baked potatoes and crepes and mushroom-chicken pastry), wine (I convinced them to try Chinon red, from the Loire valley), and more talking.

The weekend was a much needed pick-me-up--I got to see some of my favorite people, I got to explore the city that will be my hope for five months, and I experienced the beautiful Paris Christmas market.  Also, I didn't touch a fork the whole weekend, sustaining myself on pastries and crepes and apple pie and chocolate cake and waffles and one cheeseburger.

Un long week-end à Londres

So I spent the weekend in London with Jess after arriving in Victoria station on the British Pullman.  On the first night, we went with two of her friends to a real pub, so I checked that off the list.  I wanted some Irish coffee, but they were out of coffee, so I just stole sips of Jess's beer and shared pulled pork quesadillas with her.  After, we did some awkward grocery shopping: lemon cakes and yogurt and wine.

The next morning we caught the tube to Camden Market, where we ate pierogis, browsed a bookstore, and then got lattes and shopped more.  I acquired two items of clothing, both of which feature an owl pattern.  I also talked Jess into getting an enormous leather journal with a scary engraved pentagram on the cover.

We dropped our things off at her flat, put on tights, did our hair, and rushed off to tea at the Swan at Shakespeare's Globe.  On the way there, we found a man clicking away at a typewriter alongside the river, next to street performers.  The sign in front of his mint green typewriter read:

Literature While You Wait: short stories, poems, suicide notes.  Pay what you goddamn like.

I would not shut up about it as we reached the restaurant.

Tea was the usual tiny sandwiches, scones, and little sweets including a citrusy custard we couldn't identify (pineapple) and the darkest chocolate cake bite.  It was so rich it almost made me sick.  It took a while to get the check, but then once we did, we walked back along the river and I pestered Jess enough that we finally went back to the literature-while-you-wait guy.  After he explained it, I asked for a poem and we were told to wait for ten to fifteen minutes.  We walked around, passed several of London's floating chair people, and one accordion player playing right under a No Busking sign.  The typist eventually found us and told us that my poem was done, so I bought a poem for three pounds about missed connections in an art gallery.

We ordered Chinese food that night, popped the Orient Express champagne, and started our new novels.

The next morning, we woke up with every intention of doing tourist things in London!  Yes, we declared.  Today we will see Saint Paul's Cathedral and also maybe the British Museum.  Yes, good.  We debated for all of five minutes before we agreed that we did not in fact want to take a tour and instead we wanted food, so we made a quick reservation at the Swan, pulled our clothes on, and ran over for breakfast.  I had my first full English breakfast, Jess had eggs Benedict, and we both had mimosas, which masquerade under the name "Bucks Fizz" in the UK, apparently.  We returned to her flat after food, changed back into pajamas, and wrote.

That night, Leah showed up and we ordered Chinese food and wrote and discussed politics and it all felt very West Hall from last year.

I ended my weekend with another writing sprint the next morning and then I got on the last train of the weekend, which took me to Heathrow Airport.  The last exciting aspect of the trip was that I had the whole row to myself on the plane to Madrid and that I set foot in Spain, but it was only for two hours.

And next weekend is vacation too.

Que les week-ends sont belles!

Last weekend, after the mad dash around Nantes with Jess, I left at 7am the next morning to meet with the IES crew to explore Les Chateaux de la Loire, or four of the many castles that line the Loire river.  The bus ride was long and mostly during sunrise, which meant sun in our faces, but at least it woke me up enough in time to experience the castles.

Our first stop was Azay-le-Rideau, a relatively small castle tucked into the middle of a little town of winding roads that didn't necessarily facilitate the large bus that we were taking, but our driver managed beautifully.  Azay-le-Rideau is mostly characterized by its open, Italian style staircase.  It's an Italian staircase because it's one of the early examples in France of a straight staircase with little landings between floors and not just a spiral staircase.  The castle is surrounded by water mirrors-- a sort of decorative moat, and mostly park-like gardens.  There was a chapel at the back but we weren't allowed in there.  Our tour was audio guided and we all wandered through the hallways and skinny staircases and high attics with those little radio devices pressed uncomfortably to our ears.  One of the audio track inexplicably held nothing but a Renaissance love poem read by an Irish woman.

Our next stop was the castle, but more importantly the gardens at Villandry.  These gardens are perfectly pruned--with square hedges and labyrinths and gorgeous blooms.  We tried to get into the castle but we were unfortunately right behind a large group and were directed to the gardens instead.  At the tail end of our visit, my group of friends dashed back to the castle and zipped through the rooms in record time, taking a handful of pictures and getting back to the bus early, ready to continue on to Tours.

Tours was where we were sleeping that night, and we had about three hours to explore it between check in and dinner, which we used to exclaim over the Star Wars-esque tram lights, to search for batteries, and to explore a very beautiful cathedral.

The next morning, we popped over to Amboise, where we had a guided tour of the castle and free time in the gardens and the surrounding town.  No one had bothered to mention to us that not only did Nantes's favorite, Anne de Bretagne, live in the castle for a period, but that Leonardo da Vinci was casually buried in the tiny chapel.

Our last castle for the weekend was Chenonceau, which I'm pretty sure was the largest of the four.  There was the castle, the enormous gardens, the river, the 17th century farm, the labyrinth, the flower garden, and the donkey park.  Sydney was most intrigued by the donkey park because she wasn't exactly sure if there were donkeys there.  Spoiler alert: the donkeys were there and they were adorable.

This weekend, I stayed in Nantes.  This Friday, I headed to the IES center to learn how to make soufflés and then had breakfast on Saturday at Tabl'o Gourmand, which is fast becoming my go-to place for breakfast/snack/coffee/atmosphere.  It's just so unhurried and welcoming, with stacks of books and games which give the general idea that you should be in no hurry to leave your table, so just kick back and take your time.

After that, Miel and I walked up alongside tram ligne 3 until we found Place Viarme, where the Nantes flea market is located.  This is the sort of flea market mostly full of antiques, shattered bits of violins, old ivory-handled canes, creepy dolls, and boxes of books.  Miel and I sifted through boxes of ancient post-cards and I had to be talked out of buying a book on economics because the book happened to be in Greek.  As I learned, while haggling in Morocco can be aggressive and harrowing (and haggling in Senegal can be traumatizing), haggling in Nantes consisted mostly of acting skeptical of the price and being hesitant to buy.  In the end, I walked away with two old post cards and no books in Greek.

Yesterday I had a cooking class with one of the IES program host families; four students in one little kitchen making a three course lunch.  We ended up with goat cheese and sausage and grapefruit-rose wine cocktails for an aperitif, goat cheese samosas for appetizers, then mushroom risotto and sausages for lunch, followed by four types of cheese and then an apple and banana cake.  We ate and ate and then talked politics and drank coffee as the host father smoked about five cigarettes in the course of an hour.  It all felt very, very French, and I'm going to have to make that cake again.

En jouant l'hotesse

Sometime at the beginning of my stay here in Nantes, Jess emailed me and said she was coming to visit on the 16th of October and that she would stay for the weekend. Unfortunately, I was going on a weekend trip with IES that weekend; one of those excursions included in tuition, so I was clearly obligated to go.

That meant I had one day to show Jess Nantes.

I asked around that Tuesday at conversation club, demanding of all the native Nantes students:

"If you had one day to show someone Nantes, what would you do?"

To which they all responded.

"That's not enough time."

Nevertheless, I penciled in the castle, and then decided to hope for the best.

On Thursday, the 16th, Jess arrived at the train station at 9:30pm and once we were home I shoved quiche, pain au chocolat, and the rest of the cream puffs in her direction.

The next morning saw us getting up early and heading to Tabl'o Gourmand, which has become mostly my go-to breakfast joint. This time, I was wise enough not to choose the enormous brunch and instead had a bowl of granola. After this, we crossed town to the castle, moseyed around there for a few moments before deciding not to spend the five euro for the museum. Le Select, a cafe-bar-restaurant happens to be right across the street from the castle, so we stopped for a coffee and tea.

We crossed town again to the bakery near the opera house at Place Graslin, where Jess got the tiny chocolate mousse dessert that she'd been coveting since my Facebook post of it and I got what was essentially a piece of French toast covered in sugar and chocolate chips. After this, we decided to hit up the museum of natural history, because if there's one thing you want to do on a Friday afternoon, it's spend time in a huge building of dead things. As it turned out, we were literally the only people in the museum. This clearly allowed us to commandeer the children's room, where we spent a good chunk of time coloring.

The end of our visit to the museum saw us cross town yet again to find lunch at a creperie and then a snack at Sophie Bakery.

That evening, Dany made us ham, cheese, and egg galettes.

It was a very food-oriented day in Nantes.

I left early the next morning and Jess was gone an hour later. Dany told me afterwards that she was very alarmed, because she woke up and no one was home.

My adventures with Jess will continue in less than a week for the beginning of NaNo, where our kick off will be on her turf in London.

Un gout du Maroc et un grand brunch à Nantes

I didn't end up writing a post on the fifth week, and that's mostly because nothing unusual happened on the fifth week.  I went to classes without interruption from strikes.  I chatted at conversation club hour.  I ate a lot of bread.

On Friday the 10th, I went shopping with Sydney, because we sort of needed things and we also mostly wanted things.  We poked our heads into Kiabi, which advertises "fashion at a small price."  We found many small prices, and we also found sweatshirts supporting the fifty-two states of America.  Whether this is a simple mistake or some sort of misguided campaign for the statehood of Puerto Rico and Washington DC, we aren't completely certain.  H&M and Zara seem to be the same everywhere.  We walked around a little more before Sydney brought up my earlier plans to find a bakery called Al Rayan.  I'd told her that I was going to find it on Saturday, but since we had little else to do, we hopped on the tram, rode it just one stop, and found the bakery easily.

Al Rayan is a Middle-Eastern bakery.  Every plate of pastries has a small sign stuck into it with the name of the pastry, its country of origin, and the name in Arabic script.  I have been craving chebakia ever since I left Morocco, and I had some of them the night I left.  Chebakia are fried twists of saffron dough, soaked in honey and coated in sesame seeds.  I love them especially because I learned how to make them with Ouafae and Lima in Rabat and two-year-old Lina learned alongside me.  I beelined past the marzipan fruits and the almond cookies and the honeycomb pancakes and pointed at the chebakia right when I laid eyes on them.

"I would like the chebakia," I told the proprietor.  "I would like six of them."

I ate two of them right there and the other four were gone before Sunday.

That Sunday, Sydney, Audrey, and I met for brunch at Tabl'o Gourmand, which I mentioned in the scavenger hunt post.  This time we headed for the other location, as we were worried that the large location in the center of town would be crowded.  Therefore, we found ourselves at the slightly smaller location close to the IES center, a cozy cafe tucked into a side street.  It was raining and it was also ten in the morning on a Sunday and we were essentially alone. We shared the basket of bread--still warm and soft and spread with violet jelly and cherry jam and Ovamaltine, the crunchy nutella, essentially.  I decided to go all in for the Tabl'o Gourmand signature brunch, which came in waves.

First thing was a chocolate chip muffin and a coffee, followed by plain yogurt with honey, scrambled eggs with fried bacon, and then the brunch salad.  At Tabl'o Gourmand, the brunch salad is a cup or so of salad surrounded by three different cured meats and three literal bricks of cheese.  Warning:  if you eat the whole Tabl'o brunch like I did, you might not eat anything else for the rest of the day.

After the brunch, Sydney reminded us that it was Fete de la Science in Nantes, which meant that the natural history museum was free.  If a museum that you normally pay for is free, you should go see it.  I really do love the natural history museum at Nantes--it is structured in levels, from geology to mammals and sea-creatures, and then birds and seashells on the loft level.

And so that weekend was much more exciting than the week that preceded it.

Le weekend: Un Séjour à Saint-Malo et Mont Saint Michel

So on Friday, we had a scavenger hunt.  Quite frankly, I had no intention of participating, but then again, I also had literally no other plans, so I ended up going, and I also ended up going an hour early to have lunch with Sydney.  After a good couple minutes wandering around, looking for a bakery that wasn't Paul, we finally settled for little savory tarts.  Mine was tomato, which translates just to a flaky crust full of tomato puree.  It wasn't terrible, but next time I'll find something else.  I also got a tiny chocolate mousse square and have decided that I need to get more of those things.  Not to say that cakes are underrated, but I could definitely use a couple more of them in my life.

The scavenger hunt sent us all over Nantes, buying baguettes and post cards and finding the old names of monuments and searching for dates of events.  My team got most everything done, even though a few of the required things on the list didn't exist, even after we asked staff members.  We were sent to the Fnac to get a "cultural agenda" and I had to ask three different employees, none of whom knew what the heck that was.

After the scavenger hunt, several of us ended up at the Tabl'o Gourmand, a cafe that provides something called a "quatre-heure," or a gouter.  We were told that it consisted of some bread, some jam, and a hot drink.  It did indeed include a hot drink, but the bread was brought to us in baskets and there were about a dozen different jams and butters, from crunchy chocolate Nutella-style spread to cookie butters to milk jam to green tomato preserves.  All of it was delicious and I essentially ate bread and sweet spreads for dinner.  In fact, I spent so much time there that I unfortunately missed ballet class and could only eat about a cup of broccoli for my actual dinner.

Yesterday, I woke up with a terribly sore throat at 3am and slipped in and out of sleep until 6am, when I dragged myself out of bed and to the bus stop so I could get to IES by 7:45.  We all stood there in the middle of the totally empty street, the whole IES group, before we were packed up in a large tour bus and headed off to Mont Saint-Michel and Saint Malo.  I've seen Mont Saint Michel before, with Meije and Jean-Philippe, although not as in depth as yesterday.  Mont Saint-Michel is gorgeous; the abbey there is awe-inspiring and free yesterday, thanks to the journées du patrimoine and we (Sydney, Miel, and I) spent a good amount of time standing at the abbey courtyard, looking off towards the sea.  The views are incredible and the novelty of the location itself is awesome in every sense of the word, but the food and food service was not very good (Sydney ordered vegetable soup that ended up apparently tasting like rotten vegetables/Windex) and there are tourists everywhere (all signs are in French, English, German, and Japanese).  I noticed a lot of French tourists brought their own little picnics to eat at the gardens, and if I ever come back I would definitely do the same and I would recommend others do the same.

While I'd seen Mont Saint-Michel before, the only thing I knew of Saint Malo was from a line in Santiano, and therefore all I knew was that it probably had a connection to trade and sailing.  It definitely does; the beach and port are right there and there's a close relationship to Quebec and its trade lines.  I did find Saint Malo a little more interesting than Mont Saint-Michel; at least, to me.  It belongs to the genre of town that I call "cute French towns that are surrounded by walls because once they were juicy targets for attacks."  It's a bit of a mouthful, but Saint Malo is indeed adorable and indeed surrounded by battlements.  After spending a while circling the town and looking out at the sea, we got ice cream (my dinner) and then spent some time in a bookstore, where we found an amazing amount of locally published mystery thriller books centered around cities in Bretagne and Normandie that had titles like Barbeque Mortel à Saint-Malo.  I did not end up buying any, but I did take pictures.

I searched for a cute mug for several minutes in five different stores before it was time to head back to Nantes, and while I didn't find what I was looking for, I can probably find something here in the city.