Finally, I was Abbey bound! The bus driver, an obvious aficionado of blues and impromptu drummer took delight in pumping up the volume while beating the side of his chair to the rhythm of the music.
A rather strange musical accompaniment cruising towards Saint Jacut de la Mer Abbey. The territory of Saint Jacut de la Mer looks like a jagged arrowhead jutting out into the sea.
As soon as I crossed through the gates of the Abbey, marvelous scents of sea pine and rosemary dazzled my nose. Then the sweet smells coming from some honeysuckle.
I welcomed the immediate quietness and serenity after the bluesy bus ride. From the 5th century on there has been a monastery there named after Saint Jacut!
I had thought about going there for several years, mainly for the location. Like me, monks of old loved having rooms with a view!
I like staying in abbeys not only for the beauty and tranquility they offer but also for the ease of participating in services. My only reluctance stemmed from my culinary desires, which I know is really petty. Mea Culpa.
In Brittany, I want to enjoy the bounty of the sea! I chose half pension over full, as having lunch would be too much for me.
Don’t think you have to be a pious Catholic or even Christian to go. All are welcome. I met several who dismissed the church entirely with even some hostility, yet had come for the hiking, reasonable accommodations, and various workshops offered.
The most recent monastics are the Congrégation de L’Immaculée Conception, having bought the property in 1875. Only a few nuns are there, with the rest in the motherhouse nearby in Saint Meen.
The grounds are beautiful inviting contemplating or just meandering around.
A recent sculpture carved from a tree by David Puech 2016.
There are beaches right out the gate to explore or swim depending on the tides.
After settling in my single room in the Saint Christophe wing overlooking trees, roses, and the village church, I headed out again for the 4 pm “le gouter”, the French tradition of tea time offered by the Sisters.
Several herbal and regular teas were offered but my favourite was the “infusion maison,” or house tea. A Sister with a beatific face poured the steaming pink-hued brew in my cup, saying it was made from rosemary, thyme, anise, and red sage from the Abbey gardens.
Nibbling on some butter cookies, I started to reread one of my very favorite spiritual books. The Sacrament of The Present Moment by Father Jean Pierre Caussade.
Father Caussade was a Jesuit priest circa 1725 who was born in the southwest region of France near Cahors.
A composite of his writings was rediscovered 150 years ago, having been preserved by the nuns at a convent in Nancy where he had been sent to be their spiritual director.
Every phrase of the book is pregnant with rich meanings that when I read, I often stop to contemplate his written words to allow the nuances of his thoughts to steep and resonate within.
Afterward, I headed out to walk around the vast and beautiful gardens that surround the Abbey. The vegetable garden showed signs of neglect from lack of care during the Covid confinement closure, but the rhubarb patch looked like it was still going strong.
The orchard had plump green pears and unripe apples dangling from branches. I didn’t stay long to 
check out the other fruit trees due to a warning about our friends, the bees, who might not appreciate sharing their territory with a curious stranger.
The back gate leads to pathways to walk along the coast in both directions. It was 5 pm and the tide had receded well beyond a kilometer from the sea wall.
The soft cafe au lait sand was still creviced with a few long rivulets of seawater running back to join the open sea.
Several people were out on the dunes bent over digging here and there, with a pail in hand, looking for the little, but delicious shellfish called coques.
There were some tractors hauling in cases of clams, or oysters and pulling back some boats across the sand.
Around 6:oo pm, it was aperitif time! Yes, yes! Even at the Abbey, one could enjoy a predinner drink of a few selected still or sparkling wines.
I was absolutely astonished to see the price list! All of two euros for a full flute of sparking and 4 euros for Champagne! Bottles of wine for 10 or so! Alleluia, Praise Jesus! as we say back “home”.
I don’t think though they are going to have a run at their invisible “bar”, as only a trickle of guests were enjoying the apero time. Wine is served at lunch too and one guy said he had already his fill of wine for the day.
I chose a flute of Cremant de la Loire(sparkling) over the Champagne. I prefer to have a decent Cremant rather than an inexpensive Champagne.
Some folks at the next table had up their own portable bar with bottles of wines, rum, and gin for mixing 
their own drinks.
I sat in the pretty glassed-in atrium overlooking the garden to enjoy my aperitif. I slipped back reading Father Caussade, indulging in every word between occasional sips of my sparkling. Before long it was dinner time at 7 pm.
Meals at the Abbey are served family-style at a communal table that I was assigned to. Social distancing was respected at the tables. Lovely menus are written on blackboards at the entrance.
First night, the entree(first course) was a good rendition of rillettes of mackerel on warm dark walnut bread. Le plat(main course) was moist baked cod steaks only a tad overcooked with a mild curry of fennel.
Dessert was just a simple bowl of plump red cherries. A liter bottle of red wine was set on each table to serve yourself in the traditional squat wine glasses, still sometimes seen on farm tables.
I was surprised the wine was as good as it was, not expecting much along those lines. It was well flavored and I would guess a red from the Loire.
Table mates are the luck of the draw. The first night I was seated next to a fellow American. Out of politeness for the two French ladies, we both carried on the entire conversation in French otherwise it would be the height of pretentiousness!
As a therapist who spends a lot of time observing, the table was a perfect example of the cultural difference between the French and Americans.
With Americans, you usually can count on knowing all the basics of their life within the first 15 minutes! The French being much more discreet and reserved with strangers, are pretty closed off.
They don’t volunteer much about themselves, preferring to stick to polite chitchat. Whereas Americans are totally open and ready to share just about everything!
My fellow American tablemate dominated the conversation, eagerly announcing within about 20 minutes practically his whole life history! He had lived in more states than I had ever visited and several other countries too. He had had 3 careers, 3 passports, an American wife, and had lived in France for a long time.
He was a prolific hiker, currently writing a guidebook on hiking the GR 34 along the coast of Britanny, with plans to walk to Mont Saint Michel the next day!
The GR is the old custom officers trails started in 1791 and patroled to catch smugglers of goods who hoped to avoid taxation. They literally hug every nook and cranny along French coasts offering fabulous ocean views for walkers. The department of Brittany(34) was voted last year the most scenic.
We quibbled a bit over my liking the red wine of Savoie, the smoky Mondeuse, but both of us were dyed in the wool Francophiles, who loved France and never would want to live anywhere else!
In stark contrast, and with only gentle probing I found out that one woman was a secretary, liked to hike, and her preferred marché in Paris! Only on the last day, I learned the name of one and that she likes to write about astrology! Whew, what a difference!
The last two nights, there was a couple with one extremely opinionated and dominating wife to the point of aggressivity. Her lifeless husband never uttered a word and stared off into space. He reminded me so much of a rag doll with his expressionless face that I questioned his intelligence. Poor guy!
The following night’s menus were very nice ranging from bruschettas, excellent vegetable lasagne, and a very good panna cotta with blackberries.
My last night there was pork paté, St. Jacques(bay scallops) a la creme and a good poached pear in vanilla sauce. All dinners were well made using regional specialties. Breakfasts on the other hand could use improvement.
Afterward, I enjoyed just walking along the coastal paths listening to the surf pounding the sea wall. By 9 pm the tide had completely covered the sands, and the sun was still high in the sky and bright enough to make me squint!
I sat on a bench admiring a few brave souls swimming in the much too cool water. I am always amazed by the extreme tides that go out so far and rapidly come in, happening twice a day.
The tremendous powerful pull of the moon does it all as it certainly affects us too in many ways not totally yet discovered. 
High and low tides mimic the ever-changing seasons of our lives. I like to remember that when the tide is out in our lives, there is also an opportunity to discover some jewels not seen before.
Charts of the tides are posted on beaches so as not to be caught stranded on the rocks or an island! Here is a panel of various shellfish likely to be seen and caught along the Brittany coast.
After Mass in the chapel one morning, I ventured out on the sands and walked a little in the surf looking for shells. True, after a while my feet accommodated to the cold water, it would be too cold for a swim.
With my bum foot, I wasn’t able to hike around as much as I would like and wished that I had taken the car to drive around to other villages, as Saint Jacut village didn’t have much to see other than a church.
At least I had plenty of quiet time to contemplate and pray. My grief was never far away, and at times, rushed in like the surging tide.
I found that I had periods of intense inspiration too, in part from Father’s Caussade timeless writings. I took note of ideas that popped in my head for future contemplation.
Nightfall comes very late, close to 11 pm. There is still some blue sky seen in this photo taken out of my window at 10:30. Birds took advantage of the last rays of light to keep up their charming birdsong.
I definitely would like to return to Saint Jacut, perhaps in the early Automne. The accommodations are excellent and the new chef did a wonderful job with meals.
Another night in Saint-Malo would be enjoyable too for more culinary adventures.
After returning to Saint-Malo, I went back into the old city to pick up some food articles to take home and have lunch. First stop was the Patisserie Gaillard to take home some Kouign Amman, one regular and other apple caramel salted butter.
Then I picked up a kilo of Sarrasin(buckwheat) flour at the Maison de Sarrassin. I decided not to try to attempt to bring back butter from Mr. Bordier’s shop as it might melt and I know I can buy it in Paris as well.
The delicious soup aux poissons at Cafe de L’ Ouest called me back to indulge in another bowl. I tucked the huge portion of bread and little pot of Bordier’s butter that accompanied it in my sack before leaving for the train.
A little drama occurred when a very inebriated man who could hardly walk tried to board without a mask. The agent finally let him in ranting and all, but the poor man forgot to get off his stop and once again found himself in a pickle with agents when he got off in Rennes not knowing where he was!
Paris was still in the midst of a hot spell when I arrived back at 7. Despite the noise, and pushing through crowds at Montparnasse station, it always feels good to be back in Paris!