Wild horses couldn't drag me away...
This morning to Aix-en-Provence on the TGV and then on to Marseille airport to pick up a rental car. The sun was shining and so I stuck a pin in the map and set out for somewhere in the middle of the Camargue National Park, a massive area of wetlands formed where the Rhône finally meets the sea—Europe’s largest river delta—famous for its birds and for an ancient breed of semi-wild horses, the Camarguais. Even in winter the wetlands were full of life: grey herons gathering material for their haystack nests, buzzards surveying the scenery from high perches, and all manner of wading birds. I stopped several times when I came across some horses that were near to the road. And then something truly unexpected happened—occasionally, one sees something so bizarre that you think you must be hallucinating (I once encountered an emu nearby Monet’s house at Giverny, near Paris!)—stopping to look at the map, I gazed absent mildly out of the window at the marshes to find myself in the midst of a flock of flamingos, bright pink and grazing happily on the algae in the murky waters. Only later did I find out that this was quite normal in the Camargue!
My bed for the night was in the ancient and truly beautiful city of Arles, once home to Romans, and later Vincent van Gogh, and now fully of little artisanal shops and galleries. It was not late by the time I arrived, but it was already dark and, as it was winter, the streets were quiet and most places were already closing. The city had a warm, slow, Mediterranean feel - even though the cool breeze coming off the swollen Rhône put a chill in the night air. I went into the Cathedral, where vespers were being sung in the half light of candles and a few bulbs. I wound through the tiny alleyways and peered through the railings at the ancient arena and the ancient theatre and the baths of Constantine, all of them UNESCO World Heritage Sites.
Dinner: bread and cheese, brought from home in tupperware boxes.