La Camargue: French Cowboy Country

Bonne Journée!  First, an introduction to the Camargue: The Camargue is a delta of the Rhône river, where salt and rice are the main crops. There are hundreds of bull ranches and the native Camarguais ponies roam freely. The wild horses are fairly small - they almost never grow larger than 14 or 15 hands. Their coloring is black or brown until the age of 7, at which point they turn white. The bulls and the horses are wild in that they sleep outdoors year round and hide themselves when they give birth, but they are still fed and used on the ranches. There are also flamingoes (les flamants roses) in the marshlands. 


Our first stop, shortly after entering the Camargue, was our hotel in Saintes Maries de la Mer where we checked in before embarking on a two hour horseback ride through the marshes. 

Immediately we had a little trouble. Brittany's horse bolted away in a full gallop the moment we left the stables, then hairpin turned and launched Brittany into the mud. She injured her ankle and was covered in mud, but as an experienced horseback rider, it wasn't the first time she had been thrown. To her credit, as soon as a replacement horse was available she rejoined the group and we continued on the ride. Here she is showing off her muddy pants post-fall.

My horse's name was Avon, and he was slow and somewhat stubborn, but every time we fell behind we got to trot or canter back up to the group. 

Caitlin's horse decided - just after the photograph below was taken - that he wanted to roll around in the mud, and she had to quickly maneuver off his back or suffer the same muddy fate as Brittany. She had to walk a quarter mile through the mud and salt water in order to remount her horse. Her fiancé, Adam, dismounted and went over to carry her - mais, oui! It was chivalrous and so adorable. 

One of my friends from CEA, Laura, was asked on a date by one of the young instructors (un manadier - a French cowboy). She agreed, they danced all night, and then in the morning he gave her a lift home... riding bareback on a wild white Camargue horse... at sunrise... on the first day of Spring. I would love to say this is a typical experience for the young American girl studying abroad. It should be. 

On Saturday, the afternoon was ours to explore the village. Curious students that we are, we began our exploration by climbing out onto the stone jetties stretching into the sea. The wind whipped our hair and clothes violently, ultimately forcing Allison, Brittany and I into a restaurant in town. For my meal, I ordered fresh mussels (délicieuses), but Allison gets kudos for trying a regional favorite - a steak of bull meat (taureau). Afterwards, we ventured inland to see the 11th century church in town. 

The name of the town, Saintes Maries de la Mer, comes from an ancient story of which there are many versions. I'm not the most gifted raconteur, but I'll relay just one version for you here. According to Provencal tradition, the 'three Maries' - Mary Jacobé, the Blessed Virgin's sister, Mary Salomé, the mother of apostles James the Greater and John, and Mary Magdalen - were expelled from Jerusalem in the year 40A.D. They were placed, along with Lazarus, Martha, Maximin, and Sidon, on a boat without sails, oars, or provisions. The Maries' black servant was not allowed on board, but one of the women threw her coat on the water, where it turned into a raft, and Sara (the servant) was able to reach the boat and accompany them on their journey. The boat made several landings, though it was the  Camargue where Mary Jacobé, Mary Salomé, and Sara would stay on. Their graves have became a popular place of pilgrimage. For reasons which are obscure, the legend of Sara was adopted by the local chapel of Saintes Maries, although she was never conferred sainthood by the Catholic Church. In truth, no one knows who Sara really was. Every year the two Maries and Sara have individual days of celebration, and people still make pilgrimages to see their graves and the church. There is a statue of Sara the black in the church, and many people pray to her. She is the patron saint of the gypsies (Gitans). 

In the church, there are a series of paintings called Ex-Votos, which are very moving. If ever someone was sick or injured, their family could paint a picture of that person in their bed, or a picture of the accident itself, and send a prayer to the Saintes Maries for them to be healed. In this painting, the two Maries are always pictured in the sky, and occasionally in their boat. Many of the paintings that remain in the church date from the 1800s - the date is indicative of the date that the person was healed, along with a thank you to the Saintes. 

An example of someone in their sick bed, and the Maries in the sky:

An example of an accident: The painting says, "Offered by Jacques and Maria Lombard, in recognition of the miracle accorded to their son Charles by the Saintes Maries de la Mer, Arles, 18??". Their young son is shown being kicked in the face by a donkey. 

Many of the photos were extremely moving: there were paintings of children in bed being held by their parents, a town building with it's roof collapsing on villagers, a man being trampled by a horse drawn carriage: all survived and placed the Ex-Votos in the chapel of the Saintes Maries de la Mer, with the extreme gratitude of their families. An Ex-Voto can be an offering to a saint, or a testimony to later visitors of received help. 

At dusk, the girls and I walked back through town to our hotel to change for dinner. That night we had a great meal in town; seafood soup (a variant of Bouillabaisse), chicken provencal, and chocolate cake. With wine, bien sur. 

The following day, we toured a bull farm. We had the opportunity to watch the ranchers (Stephanie, a friend of our program director's, her husband, and their 9-year-old daughter) demonstrate the round-up of a herd of bulls. I've never been so close to a bull in my life! They even started to eat the bales of hay that we were using as seats on the tractor. 

Our hosts served lunch in their home on the ranch, and then everyone in the CEA program headed to the Paul Ricard estate to witness the bull fights. (If the name sounds familiar, its because Ricard invented pastis, the signature provencal drink). About 20 professional bull fighters would enter the ring, dressed in white, and try to grab ribbons that were tied to the horns of each bull to earn cash prizes. In order to do this, they would run directly in front of the bull, reach behind them to grab the ribbons, and then race to the edge of the ring, where they would get a foot up on the low white ring and LAUNCH themselves to a safe foothold on a wall five feet away! They moved so fast, they looked like they were doing parkour! It looked very dangerous, and the bulls were presented into the ring in order of difficulty. Most of then had Provencal names, which is a dialect of French that is rarely used. One bull was named Verdau, which means green in provencal (vert in French). My friends and I were fortunate enough to meet a charming 15-year-old girl named Sonya, who alternately taught us the rules of the game and shared with us her crush on one of the bull fighters. She also taught us some words and phrases in Provencal. Instead of saying je m'appelle Dylan, as you would in French, one would say me deeshoon Dylan - that's written how it sounds as opposed to how it's actually spelled, just to clarify!

Well, that's all I have time for. It's raining out so I have a wonderful indoor day planned. First, I'm heading into a café in town to do homework with some friends - the café is called Book in Bar, and they sell English and American Books. I go there often, and I always order a café allongé, which comes with a Speculoos cracker and a small piece of chocolate. Sometimes I order a fresh orange as a snack. Later on, I'm seeing a movie called An Education, which is supposed to be very good. Today and tomorrow, movies only cost 3,50 euros! Its a springtime promotion. :)

A bientot!