Mont-Saint-Michel is a marvel of medieval architecture perched on top of a really, really big rock off the coast of Normandy, France. St. Michael, the Archangel, appeared three times to Bishop Aubert of Avranches in what was then the Scissy Forest. St. Michael wanted a sanctuary built there to honor him and was rather insistent about it. The bishop stalled.

A year later a tidal wave wiped out the forest and left a huge rocky island jutting out of the ocean. On his third visit, St. Michael pushed his finger into the bishop's forehead, leaving a hole in the skull. The good bishop finally got the message that it is not a good idea to cross an Archangel! Building began in 709 AD and continued off and on for over a thousand years. By then Bishop Aubert of Avranches was long gone.

At high tide, the ocean waves lap at the walls of the granite ramparts and barbicans of the abbey. At low tide, salt water meadows, slimy sea-sand and quicksand surround the island. Over time all kinds of romantic stories have been woven about fugitives, both criminal and political, trying to race across western France to reach sanctuary at the Benedictine monastery. With determined authorities and baying hounds at their heels, the good guy made it. The bad guys were either swallowed up by the quicksand or in the jaws of the dogs. Just desserts.

The dimensions of Mont-Saint-Michel are mind-boggling. The circumference of the island is less than 300 feet so the only way to build was up the steep slope of the pyramidal rock. How they ever got all those stone pillars and other solid materials up there, well, St. Michael must have had a hand in it. The Abbey Church is 330 feet above sea level; a gazillion precipitous stone flights of stairs to climb. The spire with the statue of, who else?, St. Michael, the Archangel, on top is at 510 feet.

The heavy-duty building began around 966 AD when Richard II brought in the Benedictine Monks. Besides building, their primary duties were the preservation and enhancement of knowledge in the "scriptorium", laboriously hand copying and illuminating manuscript after manuscript. The arched windows, a number of feet thick, are amazing in the amount of daylight allowed to filter in. No electric light possible then, nor any needed. Originally the architecture was Romanesque and later Flamboyant Gothic.

Along the way the church chancel collapsed, lightning struck a number of times and there were a bunch of fires. Perhaps St. Michael, the Archangel, was not pleased with the plan or progress. At any rate, the end result is a magnificent edifice of gigantic proportions, a labyrinth of steps and passageways. A person could be lost up there indefinitely without a guide.

The monks must have anticipated the One Hundred Years War because they turned the base of Mont-Saint-Michel into a fortress that withstood a number of sieges, one launched by the English that lasted for twenty years. Honest. After that the monks left for some reason. Louis XI already had kept some of his famous iron cages in the dungeons and so under Napoleon, Mont-Saint-Michel became a prison, not exactly a haven for either criminal or political fugitives anymore.

In 1863 Napoleon III abolished the prison, the monks returned to worship and work, and a one-hundred-year restoration began. A causeway was built from the mainland so that a train could bring pilgrims and visitors to Mont-Saint-Michel. Now cars and buses travel frequently to this unique site.

Upon arrival where once there was a drawbridge, we went through the King's Tower and Gate to the village Grande-Rue, the main street. We climbed up the winding, narrow cobblestone road past a tangle of houses, mostly restaurants and souvenir shops on the ground floors. From there we stepped centuries back in time to the Middle Ages as we began the ascent up stone steps to the abbey. Would you believe that within the cloister there is a beautiful garden up there; grass, flowers and trees. Red granite columns support the Gothic arches giving a light airy touch to the quiet retreat.

Walking around the ramparts, from a breathtaking height we viewed the bay and the shore of Normandy only fourteen miles away. And then, out to the ocean, we could see forever.

Descending the stairs back into the twentieth century, it became necessary for me to find a rest room. I stood in line only to find that a lady was collecting one franc for the privilege of using the facilities. This was before the Euro. Now, in our travels I have found that trying to juggle different currencies is a bother. My husband is a whiz at it so he is in charge of the money. Fortunately, I found him in the crowd.

I didn't want to stand in that line again and my husband had noticed other rest rooms further down so we pressed on. The second set of rest rooms also had lines but the cost was two francs. I figured we had better stop there. No telling what the price would be on down if we pushed our luck to go further.

One hundred twenty miles east of Mont-Saint-Michel is a charming city, Paris. Everybody knows all the lovely things to see and do there. The Food, the Louvre, The Arc de Triumphe, The Food, The Champs-Elysee, The Cathedrale de Notre Dame, The Food and The Eiffel Tower to name a few.

I want to put to rest a common misconception right here and now. It is thought that Parisians are rude, nasty and condescending. Au contraire! The trick is to speak the language or at least try. My husband is fluent in French and I have a smattering. I smattered all over France and found the people falling all over themselves to be kind, friendly and helpful, from hotel desk clerks to taxicab drivers to waiters.

A visit to the Eiffel Tower turned out to be an adventure. It is pretty big, 1050 feet high, and rests on four huge pilons embedded in concrete. The tower was built for the 1889 World's Fair. We took the elevator from the west pilon up to the top. Fortunately, they do have elevators there even though they are sort of clangy and absolutely jam-packed before they are allowed to ascend or descend. Lots of people visit the Eiffel Tower.

Once at the top there are 360 degrees of massive windows for panoramic vistas of the city. They say you can see forty-five miles from that vantage point. Beneath the windows are large aerial photographs with legends showing what the various places and buildings are. It was a perfect day and we spent quite a bit of time taking it all in.

By this time I had learned to scout out where rest rooms were for future reference. The base of the west pilon had them. However, without knowing it, we came down the elevator to the east pilon, which turned out to be roughly four city blocks diagonally from the west pilon. I sprinted across the vast area only to find that the rest rooms had a booth similar to that of a movie theater. Five francs! But the good news is that you get a receipt! Sprinting back, miraculously, I found my husband and extracted some francs from him.

Moving along to the Cote d'Azur and Monte Carlo. Technically not a part of France, French is the language spoken most frequently in Monte Carlo. Although I heard many other tongues there, I do not know what the countries of origin might have been.

The casino at Monte Carlo is exquisite. Ornate and lavish, it looks more like a palace. American casinos generally have slot machines, blackjack and crap tables one after the other in huge noisy spaces with perhaps the baccarat high rollers fenced off. Not so Monte Carlo. There is one room off the entrance filled with slot machines for the general public. To gain entry to the main casino costs you fifty francs. With a hushed high ceiling, lush carpet and soft lights, one room after another contains a single roulette table.

My husband was doing well gambling so I wandered around from room to room admiring the décor. I was getting pretty cocky by now with my French so I thought I would try out a well-rehearsed question on the attendant in the change cage. My accent was perfect. I asked him if there were any brochures of the Casino. I outsmarted myself.

He must have thought I was a native Frenchwoman. He rattled off his answer in French as he waved his hand around. I did catch the word, guache which I know, means "left" in the direction of his gesture. So politely and with great dignity I said merci and moved on without any notion of what he had told me.

About that time I stumbled onto the Ladies' Room, the most elegantly appointed I have ever seen. All marble and polished brass with fresh flowers and discrete little objects d'art. In the stall was a fixture sumptuous to behold. There was a soft bluish-green light emanating from it that denoted a sanitizing effect. A discrete little sign on the wall in several languages described how to use it. One waves one's hand, not touches, but waves over a button on top of the tank to the right. A humming sound begins and the seat slowly lowers at the same time it is being automatically wrapped with covering paper. On completion, one waves one's hand over the button on the left and the seat slowly returns to its full and upright position to be sanitized once again by the bluish-green light.

I was so impressed that I came back the next day with the camera and paid my fifty francs admission to the casino from my currency cache that I will never be without again! I took pictures of the Ladies' Room in all its glorious stages of operation.

We have a souvenir picture album of our journey to Mont-Saint-Michel, Paris and the Cote d'Azur to say nothing of the charming Ladies' Room at the casino of Monte Carlo.