February at the château has been doing what February does best: cold, wet, gray, and committed to the bit.
It’s been the kind of weather that makes you look out the window and think, We live in France. Why does it feel like we’ve moved into a damp swamp?
So for my birthday, we did the only sensible thing.
We ran away to the sea.
Partly because I needed a reset. Partly because our kids did, too. Both of them were born in Santa Monica and spent their earliest years in that very California way of life: salty hair, sandy feet, and the ocean as a regular character in the story. They love France, but they miss the sea with the seriousness of tiny people who know what they like.
St. Malo was our fix.
And it delivered.
A place that makes you stand up straighter
St. Malo has that rare quality of feeling both dramatic and calm at the same time. The stonework alone is enough to take your breath away. Everything looks like it’s been built by people who thought, If we’re going to make a wall, let’s make a wall that outlives us.
Even the houses along the cliffs have “castle energy.” Not in a touristy way. In a most historic and authentic way.
We’ve been craving inspiration lately, especially stone inspiration, and St. Malo is essentially one long masterclass in how to make something sturdy and beautiful at the same time. Which, if you’re living inside a renovation, is oddly comforting.
We actually rested (shocking)
We did very little, on purpose.
We played games with the kids. We walked. We stared at the horizon like people trying to remember that we are but a speck in this vast universe. I did some writing with a sea view, which makes even the most basic sentence feel like it has better posture.
One day the wind was quite intense, so we took out a kite.
I haven’t flown a kite in years. I’d forgotten how satisfying it is to watch something simple lift into the air and just…stay there. No notifications. No forms to translate. No “could you please follow up with the heater guy again and tell him it’s still broken.” Just wind and string and a bright little triangle reminding you that your brain is allowed to unclench.
There’s something about the ocean horizon that reorders your priorities without you having to try. It’s like your thoughts become muted because the sea is subtly making you forget your endless to-do list, even if just for a moment.
The cliff walk: Plage de Saint Énogat to Plage de L’Écluse
One of our favorite parts was the coastal walk from Plage de Saint Énogat to Plage de L’Écluse.
It’s absurdly beautiful.
You’re on the cliffs with the ocean beside you, and every few minutes there’s another fortress-like house tucked into the rock, more walls, more stone, more gothic arches, more “how is this even real.” You can feel your shoulders drop as you walk, which is how I measure whether a trip is actually working.
The kids were happy in that specific way kids get when they’re outside and their bodies can finally match their energy.
Sushi, carousel, ice cream: a perfectly chaotic trilogy
We went into St. Malo for sushi, which feels like something you’re required to do when you’re near the sea, regardless of country.
Then we did what we always do when we’re in a place that’s even mildly charming: we wandered. Window shopped. Let the kids ride a carousel. Bought ice cream that was far too cold for February and ate it anyway because happiness has its own logic.
Low tide magic
At low tide, St. Malo turns into an entirely different world.
We walked out onto the tidal flats, poked around tide pools, collected shells, studied stones, and watched the kids become tiny marine biologists. There were sea anemones, little creatures tucked into the rocks, and that satisfying feeling of discovering something that’s been there the whole time, just hidden by the water.
And yes, we walked out to one of the nearby islands that you can only reach at low tide, which made the kids feel like we were doing something slightly rebellious and extremely important.
At one point my daughter, overcome by the fact that she was standing on a real sandy beach again, dropped onto the sand and made what she announced as a “sand angel.”
Fully clothed.
It was heartfelt. It was iconic. It was a problem later.
I have never spent so much time removing sand from hair.
Why February is the secret
We love going in February because it’s quieter. You get the beauty without the crowds. You can actually hear the sea. You can walk without weaving around a thousand other families with matching backpacks.
It’s a trip that fills your cup instead of emptying it in a different location.
And this February, we needed that.
The sun came out. The sky went blue. The kids got their ocean fix. I felt like myself again, not just the woman who owns seventeen tabs titled “garden plan” and one tab titled “how the hell am I going to do this.”
We’ll probably keep coming every year, not because we’re disciplined tradition people, but because this is the kind that sticks. Nobody has to campaign for it. We just all feel better after.
France is full of beautiful places, and the fact that so many are within a reasonable drive or a quick train ride feels like a small miracle.
St. Malo, merci. We needed you.
À bientôt,
Kamille
A note for new readers: we’re an American family living in rural France, restoring a small château, and writing it all down here.
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Delightful as ever Kamille. Happy you got away for a bit and now get to share your family experience with the world. It truly looks like a special place at a special time of the year. One of our favorite lines in your telling: "The kids were happy in that specific way kids get when they’re outside and their bodies can finally match their energy." but also: "You can feel your shoulders drop as you walk, which is how I measure whether a trip is actually working." I could go on....but will stop here. Good write.
It sounds like a wonderful time
Of year to be there. I haven’t been but I love off season travel.