I and A Mag Dec19

Camargue
PROVENCE ON THE
WILD SIDE
As the river Rhône approaches the Mediterranean,
it splits into the Grand Rhône and the Petit Rhône
to form one of the largest deltas in Europe. This is
the ‘Camargue’, an enticing place unlike anywhere
else in France, where marshlands and lagoons
glisten in the sun, fringed by broad windswept
sands to the south while paddies, orchards and
wheat spread on the fertile plain.
But the deeper you head into the delta, the wilder the land
strung with lakes and dunes, deserted beaches, sand bars,
meadows and ponds festooned in tamarisks and yellow irises
– and at the heart of it all, the saltwater lagoon of Vaccarès,
which looks almost like a sea. Orchids and forget-me-nots
splash colour here and there and along the coast delicate
sand lilies, golden immortelles and sea lavender flutter in the
breeze. With just ten inhabitants per square kilometre, these
vast open spaces almost feel like the end of the earth, and
although there are a few roads around the more isolated areas
are easier to reach on horseback, as the locals do. There are
guesthouses and stables where anyone can learn to ride or
join a guided trek to enjoy a landscape with no boundaries.
Scenery aside, the Camargue has a character all of its own,
steeped in age-old culture and traditions. There may be few
humans about but you’re sure to come across a paddock where
white Camargue horses gallop semi-wild, manes flying in the
wind, or you might find a whitewashed traditional cottage
thatched with reeds and shaped like a prow to withstand
storms, a saltpan, a stretch of barren land or a ranch called
‘manade’ where black bulls are bred for the game of ‘cocarde’.
The protected wetlands and coast attract around 350 bird
species, from raptors and waterfowls to song and sea birds.
Magpies and jackdaws are common but it’s always a treat
to spot a colourful bee-eater, a crested hoopoe or a roller
pirouetting in the air on a spectacular courtship dance. Yet,
above all others, pink flamingos are the icon of the Camargue,
wading in shallow lagoons, amazingly peaceful until something
disturbs the peace and the whole colony takes flight, shrieking
through a magnificent cloud of flaming colours. In the spring,
thousands of chicks are born in the Regional Park, all fluffy
and white, for it will take several years for them to turn pink.
Some will stay in the Camargue throughout the winter; others
take off across the sea in search of warmer climes.
But when you reach the coast don’t expect glittering resorts,
for this is still the wild ‘cowboy land’. Just look out for the
lonely walled village of Aigues-Mortes, once a sea port, now
inland, and Les-Saintes-Maries de la Mer, 8,000 residents and
capital of the Camargue where gypsies from far and wide
honour their patron saint on an annual pilgrimage. As visitors
like to say, wherever you come from, ‘there is no place like the
Camargue’.
by Solange Hando
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