Since the castle was closed on Monday and Fougères was such a neat little town a return spur of the moment trip was planned. It still had that eerie feeling with no one about except a few old ladies who gave us odd looks as we walked through their neighborhood taking quick snapshots of their quaint little cottages. The doors had a je ne sais quoi beauty about them that I couldn’t help but photograph.

The weather was beautiful this time. Overcast. Tiny droplets hovering in the air to be caught by the lenses on my glasses.

The castle was shrouded in a thin layer of fog. Old. Covered in moss. We were given a little electronic thing we held up to our ears to hear the history of the castle. Voices with unknown accents. Each voice served a role; dull history, military history, high pitched feminine. We would laugh unsyncronized at word choice. About halfway through the different things to listen to we gave up. The knowledge of the thickness of each of the towers was not exactly thrilling.

We walked among the houses finding tiny streets to walk down. We talk about how this town would be great for those people who become older and wish to escape the bustle of the city. But yet with the proximity of everything in France it wouldn’t be like the people who do the same in Montana and then have to spend entire days driving just to get to a city. We walk paths that seemed hidden and would lead to other new places. A hidden stream going between houses where the houses have their own little back porches set up to sit next to the water and have some outside dining.
We get some sticks from the nearby bushes and play Pooh Sticks. Mine was too waterlogged from the rain already and sinks to the bottom as soon as it hits the water.