Mud, sand fleas, laughs, and a game of tag; the perfect concoction for a lifelong memory. Although the tour guide laid out the land in kilometers squared, one thing was for certain: this marsh was vast. Simply, I couldn’t help but gawk at the marvel of it all. Knowing that it took generations of people over one millennium of construction to build this heritage site imbued a sense of incomparable grandeur in the entire experience. This was it: closing on Sunday for the sabbath, Edith Piaf billowing in from the cuisine, manifestations leaving the bus schedule in flux—the patrimoine français—on a damp, Breton morning. Nonetheless, this grand spirit here was not in the least somber, but renewing and sacred (not sacred enough to deter a game of tag, but I digress). Here, behind the high walls and in the low mud, I felt that I could truly bond with my fellow students and experience a sense of true wonder and childlike excitement together.
Blog post and photos by Rylan C.