This was the day I had been waiting for the entire trip, the day we would ride through the Camargue. When I first booked this trip, I knew that Avignon was where the papacy had been headquartered, as it were, for part of the Middle Ages and that there were flamingos in this great marshy area by the Mediterranean. And strangely for me, it was actually the second of these two things that excited me the most.
Once again, we knew it was going to be a hot day, so we left well before breakfast, about two hours or so before the other folks. I have pretty much figured out how to follow those direction on the little flip book they give us, but I wish I had been as smart as Zöe and had brought along my Garmin bike computer. That would have made it even easier to navigate. I could use my cell phone for this, but it runs out of battery power too quickly for a day of cycling. And I have discovered that it is just not a good idea to be somewhere with no charge in your phone!
As we rode along in the early morning, we went through some lovely farming areas. Yet what we saw most often in the fields were black cattle. The Camargue is a rich agricultural area, and frankly I think just about anything will grow in this alluvial soil. So it seemed odd to me that raising cattle, something that in the United States is often reserved for agriculturally marginal areas, seems to be the most important activity here.
The other thing we saw as we rode through the area were the famous white horses.
I had already read a bit about these horses. The Camargue horse is one of the oldest breeds in the world, and they appear to be indigenous to this region. They are born brown, but turn their hair turns white as they grow older. They generally live outdoors; indeed, to be properly registered as a Camargue horse, the foal must be born in a pasture, not in a barn.
We came continued on into the village of Le Cailar. Just about every street in this town was being torn up, and it was difficult to follow the directions here. John and I became separated at some point here. I found my way to the center of town, but he was having incredible trouble getting there following Google Maps on his phone. We had a number of phone calls back and forth until he finally made it. I was so relieved. I bought a couple pastries from a nearby boulangerie, and we ordered a couple of coffees at the Cafè de l’Avenir just by the old parish church and the Mairie. We could not believe how French these people were! They were all kissing each other on the cheek and I think every last one of them was smoking.
We rode on a bit more through the countryside. After a few kilometers, we came to the town of Marsillargues. This was a little bigger than Le Cailar and not quite as cute. We parked our bikes for a bit by the police station and this church
and walked about. I was a bit surprised to see this street sign
and wondered if this town was a stronghold of the French Socialist Party. John was taken with a flower arrangement.
There really was not all that much of interest in this town, so we pushed on fairly quickly. On the way, we saw lots and lots of lavender.
John could not resist becoming part of the Van Gogh scene
until he noticed all the bees that were buzzing about!
Our next stop by the town of Saint-Laurent-d’Aigouze. I’ll just call it Saint Laurent for short. It is the main town of this part of the countryside, and it unlike Marsillargues it was humming with activity. The was a charming town center with several cafes and a medieval parish church. We would have been interested in taking some pictures of the church, but there was a funeral taking place and that would hardly have been appropriate. Right next to the church, strangely enough, was a bullring.
We saw some interpretive material by the arena in Saint Laurent that told us a little more about the cattle we have been seeing and why they are so important in this part of the world. Camargue cattle are best known by their name in Provençal, this historic language of this part of France, as Raço di Biòu. Although the beef is prized in this part of Europe, the cattle are actually raised for the Course Camarguaise, a bloodless bull fighting that has been practiced in Provence and Languedoc for centuries.
It begins with the bulls running through the streets of the town while the young men of the town try to outrun them. After the bulls have been herded in this way into an arena, the course begins. The bulls have had a rosette placed on their foreheads prior to entering the ring. The raseteurs, as the men are called, with try to pull the rosette off the bull’s horns. This proves their bravery.
Now while the bull is not harmed in anyway during this spot, the animal is clearly not happy about humans lunging at him. So the danger to the raseteur can be equal to that faced by a Spanish matador.
We could have stayed longer in Saint Laurent, but it was becoming hot and we wanted to get back to the ship before the temperature was well into the triple digits.
We encountered the marshes of the Camargue for the first time as we were leaving Saint Laurent.
The wetland were filled with herons and egrets.
There was a long causeway through the marsh, and in the middle of the road was this enormous medieval tower.
This is the Tour Carbonnière. We learned that it was built in the fourteenth century to assess tolls on goods shipped between Saint Laurent and Aigues Mortes. John hates heights, so I climbed up to the top for him.
From here it was a fairly short trip back to the canal mostly retracing the route we had taken earlier along the canal.
We decided to explore the city a bit. Aigues Morte is one of the few cities where the ancient walls and other fortifications are still almost completely intact. Most of the streets are blocked off to traffic. The buildings have all been meticulously restored. And yet … there is no town left here. There are only restaurants and tchotchke shops catering mostly to fairly affluent tourists. You have at least a half dozen choices of places to buy gelato. There is not a single place where you could buy a screwdriver. John was determined to find someplace cool and quiet lunch, and we walked every street in the town.
We kept returning to the village square. This is dominated by a huge statue of Saint King Louis.
There is also a small medieval church there dedicated to the saint. It has been restored recently and now has a fairly pleasing combination of old and new furnishings.
In the end, we did not really find the kind of place John wanted for lunch, and we had some mediocre fare at a small cafe.
Later in the afternoon, we decided to head towards the beach. It was not so much that I wanted to go to the beach, but that I heard that midway to the Mediterranean coast I could see a flock of flamingos. I had felt cheated that so far I had not seen the most famous residents of the Camargue, so off we went. Jill joined us on this part of the adventure. After we had followed the main highway for a couple of kilometers I spotted them.
It looked like a small island in this shallow salt pond served as a nesting area.
I was totally thrilled and would happily have spent the rest of the day there. But I figured having come this far I should make it all the way to the Mediterranean. Just before you come to the beach, there is another town right along the strand. I what the “Beautiful View of England” hotel was like and if it had ever been a stylist resort for English tourists.
We finally made it to the beach. We did not bother to go swimming, but we all waded in about as far as our knees. The water was quite warm, and this is still early in the season.
Back on the sand, some Welsh man actually tried to pick up Jill. She played along with him for fun until he told her that he was a big fan of Donald Trump. At that point, she just turned and jumped on her bike to get back to the ship as fast as possible!
This marks the end of our journey. Tomorrow we catch a flight to London.
