Camargue

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Having finally mentally chained myself to my chair, I think I'm finally prepared to (relatively) accurately recount the complete insanity, hilarity, wonder, excitement and ultimately even sadness that has colored one of the most memorable weeks of my life. On some accounts, time and alcohol have blurred my memory slightly, but I will do my best. As a side note, I'd like to mention that I'm writing this from the desk of my new home for the remainder of summer. I'll be living with an elderly mere d'accueil called Michele Abonnel - she's an extremely sprightly old woman whose energy and uncanny ability to hear the slightest of door slams definitely belies her age, which I take to be around 70+. This is judging from her description of having 3 kids nearing the age of 40 and countless number of grandchildren. Her apartment is located about 15 minutes north of centre ville up an irritatingly steep hill - especially since its become so uncomfortably hot here, even at night! It's come to the point where I actualy need to take two showers a day because I just sweat so much walking around! This is indeed a minor setback after becoming accustomed to being a stone's throw from the Cour Mirabeau! However, the benefits include my own room, 4 course dinner five times a week, wireless internet and of course, the opportunity to practice my French even more with Michele. The rule is that even Brian and I are both meant to speak French to each other the second we step foot in the apartment. Needless to say, we haven't been very successful! By the way, in spite of the fact that my windows are wide open and I'm sitting here in just my boxers, I'm still sweating balls - even my balls are sweating balls. I'm disgusted that I've become acclimatised to US weather after braving Dubai summers for 18 years! Anyways, moving on.

Friday and Saturday, 21st - 22nd June

This weekend was largely taken up by a CEA and Abroadco joint excursion to the Camargue region, located just south of Arles. Interestingly, it lies right at the delta formed by the two arms of the Rhone river and the Mediterranean Sea, technically making it an island. It is an extremely flat region known for its rice paddies, salt plains, horses and bull rearing, more on which I shall explain later. Just getting to the bus in time at 9 in the morning was an adventure in itself! The previous night ended for me at around 7 in the morning, after having celebrated Dina
s 21st birthday, done the rounds around the local dives with the crew and finally finding myself with David and Gwynne, wandering around aimlessly looking for food. Eventually we find this highly shady kebab store that had a grill, of all things, in front of it and would only serve food and accept money through a slit between the bars! It was however one of the best kebabs I have had here but try as I might, I still haven't found the place again. I have since convinced myself that it is in fact the manifestation of a benign mythic being who answers the cries of feeble humans plagued with the terrible affliction known as the drunken munchies, and can only be accessed again under similar conditions of inebriation and hunger.

So we stumble onto the pass, still full from the kebab, still tipsy from the alcohol and still exhausted from the extreme lack of sleep that has been my modus operandi for the past week. Obviously, I pass out hard as soon as I sit down and two and a half hours later, we roll into Arles, the 'capital' of the region. As usual, the heat is quite unbearable and was not a good addition to my dehydration! After splitting an entire roast chicken and a huge hunk of bread with Brian (brilliant combination by the way), we embark on a walking tour of Arles. The city is rich in history and brimming with the thousands of cultural contributions made by the different peoples that each had a finger in shaping Arles into what it is today. Initially founded by the Greeks under the name Theline, it was then occupied by the Romans (who could never resist building their theaters and coliseums wherever they went) and finally became a stronghold for the Catholic church. The Church of St. Trophine was among our stops and one of thing I have remarked is that even though I blame religion for many of our problems, I do have to concede that I have never seen anything that has provided as much inspiration to man, to create some of the finest and incredulous examples of his artistic capability, than his love of a greater being. The beauty and intricacy that is so prevalent in the frescoes, columns, pulpits, atriums etc. in all the cathedrals I have seen so far in France really is breathtaking.

Also among our stops was the Alyscamps, or Roman necropolis - a morbidly interesting promenade lined with heavy stone coffins dating back thousands of years. Of course, hardly any are in condition, having been ravaged by the hands of nature and grave robbers, leaving many of them irreparably cracked and broken. What was more far more interesting was that the Alyscamps provided the inspiration for Van Gogh's aptly monikered 'Les Alyscamps'. Seeing this and the actual cafe / square that inspired him to paint "Cafe Terrace at Night" was quite a mind trip trying to picture the great artist sitting there probably in the exact same place I was standing!

After a few more hours of wandering around, we got back on the bus and made our way to one of the few other mildly populated places in the Camargue, Saintes-Maries-de la Mer, a small beach side town with a heavy Spanish influence. There was a horse riding trip planned but by this point I was so exhausted I figured I would probably have fallen asleep on the horse and quietly drowned in the salty marshes, among the pink flamingos and swarms of mosquitoes. So instead, I crashed for 3 hours at the hotel and unfortunately, everyone was also still tired afterward so it proved to be a pretty uneventful night!

The next morning, after a delicious free breakfast consisting of coffee and an assortment of pain au chocolats , jams, butter and bread, we headed down to the bull ranch of a woman of German origin, who had come to the Camargue region some 20 years ago and fallen in love with a local guardien , to whom she is still married and now have a little 8 year old daughter who can not only professionally ride a horse but also takes part in the daily task of herding full grown bulls! Riding lame and useless on the back of a hay truck while she galloped alongside definitely made me feel a little envious! This ranch in particular is famed around the region for rearing some champion fighting bulls (their main purpose in the region) and was even chosen by Sarkozy himself to visit and stage photo-ops with the commoners during his campaign. These were prominently and proudly displayed in the attached tavern, where we were served a delicious bull stew with rice and copious amounts of wine - a few of the girls were definitely a little drunk at the end!

Thankfully, we were able to work off the midday booze with a quick swim at the beach - yet another beautiful beach with water at the just the right temperature. Finally, at around 4, we headed down to the arena to watch a much anticipated bull fight! Unfortunately, this particular type of fight would be gore-less, where the goal of the 'fighters', or raseteurs , is to snatch different colored ribbons that are tied the horns of the bull. Each ribbon is actually worth some money, where the ante rises with each passing moment that the bull retains its ribbons - the highest it got to was about 180 euros, which really isn't a bad days work, although when you consider the possibility of getting gored for that amount some may beg to differ.

I will say one thing: the sight of a bull chasing down a man is absolutely terrifying, even from a spectators point of view! I can't even imagine what it must be like running purely on adrenaline with hundreds of kilos of muscle driving a horn that is a second away from carving you a new orifice. Although, there is definitely a method to their madness. One person will begin on one side of the ring by shouting, yelling and generally being obnoxious to the bull to get its attention. Once succesful and the bull makes its move, the raseteur will try to intersect its path and snatch off a tassel - the younger fighters are given metal hooks that attach to their hand while the veterans brave it barehanded. Then, a fighter from the other side of the ring will come and try to catch the bull offguard but they are surprisingly alert, so success probably occurs one in every 20 tries. In the even that the bull runs a fighter to the edge of the ring, he escapes with an astonishing display of athletism by directly leaping over a 5 foot high fence and then launching himself onto the wall another 5 or 6 feet up, hanging their safely outside the confines of the ring. Of course, the real fun happens when the bull itself jumps OUT of the ring and into the enclosure between the fence and the stands. Like i said, it is absolutely terrifying, but hilarious at the same time, to watch a bull chase down 15 grown men round and round in a circle until it is diverted back in! All in all, an extremely fun experience and weekend in general. Hopefully when I go Pamplona in a couple of weeks I'll see a real bullfight where they execute the beast - the ultimate macabre display of man's supposed triumph over savageness.

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