I glimpse Saint-Malo from the sea just as Jacques Cartier did on his three voyages home from the New World. Cartier, who claimed Canada for France at Gaspé Bay on July 24, 1534, and explored the St. Lawrence River, was a native son of Saint-Malo, the town that has bred explorers and seafarers for over 500 years. The walled town I admire has tall granite mansions rising above the ramparts and a graceful spire reaching to the clouds.

I’m on the early morning ferry from Dinard sailing across the Rance estuary dotted with hundreds of sailboats tugging at their buoys and the small catamarans of the sailing schools awaiting their young students. On this visit, my husband James decides we should stay in Dinard outside Saint-Malo, as the old town is crowded in August and the hotels intra muros, within the walls, can be noisy.

Facing the English Channel, I spy outer islands; the fortified Petit-Bé and Grand Bé, which soon will be accessible on foot as the tide ebbs. Saint-Malo has the biggest tides in Europe with a range of just over 12 metres that exposes the islands’ causeways and the sandy beaches, which spread around the town’s seaward side like skirts. The sea breeze cools me but the forecast is for 28C, so I’m dressed in layers and wear stout walking shoes for my quest. I plan to find out how revered Cartier is in his hometown. The ferry slips inside the long breakwater, Môle des Noires, and we dock opposite the Porte de Dinan, a gate in the ramparts, which leads to Saint-Malo’s main street.

I kiss James farewell and head around the town’s perimeter inside the ramparts to the Musée d’histoire de la ville. The mansions rise high on my left - from the upper floors merchants of old kept watch with telescopes for their heavy-laden ships returning from the Indies and Peru. The museum is in the Great Keep of Saint-Malo’s castle built in 1424, which is now city hall. I visit one of two sections: this one commemorates Saint-Malo in its heyday, the 1600 and 1700s, when the sea reigned supreme; so did the corsairs or privateers for which the town is famous. The King of France sponsored these vessels to exact tribute from passing British merchantmen and to plunder enemy ships. Sadly, I find little of Jacques Cartier here.

Centuries before Cartier was born, Saint-Malo was a rocky island called Aaron after the hermit who inhabited it. In about 500 CE, a Welsh monk called Mac Low joined him and later became the head of a small religious community. After he was canonized, the island became Saint-Malo. Today, every inch of this rock is built on and it’s joined to the mainland by reclaimed land. Between the walls, Saint-Malo is compact, and six rampart gates allow visitors to enter. It can easily be seen on foot in a day, but two provide more in-depth exploration and three will allow visits outside the walls. Shops, galleries, bistros, and hotels crowd the narrow streets - many are pedestrian-only.
 
This August, on my way to the cathedral, the streets seethe with tourists, buskers entertain at every crossroad, delicious aromas waft from cafés and bakeries, and boutiques beckon. As I climb, the spire leads me onward. I know the history I seek will be there. Cathedrals were the heart of their communities in the Renaissance and tell stories of their celebrations and calamities the world over. 

St-Vincent’s does not disappoint. On the south wall, I gaze at a huge stained glass window backlit by the sun. It depicts the Bishop of Saint-Malo blessing Cartier before his first voyage to the New World. It is not the original but a replica dedicated in 1958 after the destruction of the cathedral during the Second World War. Cartier kneels in his armour with a scarlet cloak rippling from his shoulders. His crew and small ship, and the ramparts and towers of Saint-Malo form the backdrop; the bishop in his mitre raises a hand in benediction. A plaque in the stone floor marks the exact spot where Cartier knelt to receive this blessing. The premier of Québec, Honoré Mercier, presented this to the cathedral on a visit in 1891.

Jacques Cartier’s simple tomb, rediscovered beneath the rubble of war, lies behind and to the left of the modern altar. Someone obviously cares - fresh flowers adorn it today. Cartier died at 66 in his own bed at his manor house, Limoëlou, which is a museum northeast of Saint-Malo well worth visiting. Before leaving the cathedral, I light a candle to his memory for all Canadians.
                               
James is outside the West Door and we hunt for a crêperie for lunch: we love the paper-thin Breton pancakes, both sweet and savoury. It doesn’t take long and we choose a table outside in a small, tree-shaded square.
“They have a Crêpe Jacques Cartier!” I exclaim. “That’s my dessert, for sure. And to start, I’ll have a fresh calamari crêpe and salad.”

I visit the chef making the crêpes and try my hand at swirling the runny whole-wheat batter on the griddle with a wooden scraper. It’s not easy to spread it tissue-thin before it cooks, and the first attempt goes in the garbage pail. My Crêpe Cartier arrives smothered in flaked almonds and maple syrup, and we share it. I want to lick the plate.
“Now we should walk it off,” my husband decides.

We climb one of the many stone staircases to the wide top of the ramparts and enjoy a circuit of the town. The views are magnificent. On the western rampart I find a statue of Cartier - no one knows what he looked like so the statues and paintings of him are guesswork. In 1905, French and Canadian subscriptions erected this memorial that towers above me. Larger than life, Cartier leans into the wind and waves, his hand on a wooden tiller, his eyes on the horizon.

A replica, donated by Saint-Malo’s mayor in 1971, graces Québec’s Place Jacques Cartier. A new plaque on the original here tells me that Pierre Trudeau unveiled it in 1984 to celebrate the 450th anniversary of Cartier’s discovery of Canada, but it does not mention it was in the name of France.

In the stiff sea breeze, I look to the horizon and imagine the contrast between Cartier’s top-heavy carrack, La Grande Hermine, with all sails set bobbing like a cork into the channel and the ultra-sleek catamarans knifing through the swells at the start of today’s round-the-world yacht races. Saint-Malo has seen them all. Next year, the tall ships race from here to Lisbon.
Canadians may claim Jacques Cartier, but I’m delighted that we also share him with the citizens of Saint-Malo, who honour their intrepid seafarers today as much as they did in 1534.

IF YOU GO:
* Best months to visit: May, June, and September. July and August are overcrowded.
* Weather - unpredictable, even in summer.
* Transportation to Saint-Malo: Fly into Paris and take the high-speed SNCF train (Train Grande Vitesse) from Charles de Gaulle Airport to Saint-Malo.
* Ferries from U.K. and Channel Islands sail to Saint-Malo. Brittany Ferries: www.brittanyferries.com Condor Ferries: www.condorferries.co.uk
* SNCF trains: Start at www.raileurope.com Senior: 3 days/month pass $279US 
* Car rentals at Saint-Malo’s TGV station and ferry terminal.
* Saint-Malo within the walls is not readily accessible for those with mobility issues.
* Tourist office: www.saint-malo-tourisme.com has all you need to know about accommodation, restaurants, tours, museums, activities, etc.

DECEMBER 2011 SENIOR LIVING MAGAZINE VANCOUVER & LOWER MAINLAND