Tuesday, March 1, 2011

St. Honorat, France

The only bumps encountered at the start of the day was the fairy running over waves on the way to see the historic island of St. Honorat, which houses one of the most ancient monasteries, and also a functioning monastery.
After seeing historic bunkers, chapels and landmarks throughout the island, I was lost in time. I soon arrived at the old monastery and walked up the spiral staircase and peered through a carved window out to the sea. I thought back to the year when this was built. The craftsmanship and resourcefulness showed as the structure is still in a solid stance.
I headed to the still functioning modern monastery just as the rain started to come down. Monks were pacing quickly through the showers with their solid white robes and hoods.
My curious spirit took me pass the monks and through a gate that led to a field of flowers. After the walk I turned around with just enough time to make the last ferry back to Cannes at 5:00 p.m. As I approached the gate I noticed it was closed. My nerves started to pick up and raced to the gate assuring myself there was no way it was locked! But there was a way, my fear confirmed.
As I was deciding on how big of a pickle I was in, a massive gust of wind swept behind me and turned my umbrella inside out. I ran up and down the wired fence looking for an opening accompanied with my now useless mangled umbrella.
When I was ready to accept the fact that I was going to have to explain to the monks what had gone wrong, if one even walked by the fence, I saw an opening in the gate that looked like it had been cute with wire cutters. Someone traveled smartly. I threw myself threw the hole sprinting towards the loading dock where the ferry was.
I made it with .36 seconds to spare and ran right onto the ferryboat waving my smeared yellow ticket stub in the air. I gasped for a breath of rain soaked air and sat in my seat vowing I would be forever grateful to whoever cut the whole in the fence, and also that I would pick up a set of wire cutters in Cannes. This way, I wouldn’t have to bunk with a monk.

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