White horses, black bulls and pink flamingos
Trip Start
Feb 10, 2008
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20
43
Trip End
May 13, 2009
Les Saintes Maries de la Mer, Camargue,
France
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The story is they fled Judea during the Roman persecution and arrived in this place, along with Mary Magdalene and a number of apostles, and brought Christian belief to this area. While the others moved on further inland the two Saintes Maries remained in the coastal region and christianised the whole population, the Romans who occupied the country, and also a tribe of black-coloured people who is said to have live there. According to this legend, Sara, the family chief of the tribe (who became the patron saint of gypsies), welcomed them and was baptised along with all her people.
In 1448 King Rene ordered the excavation of the crypt beneath the church and bones were discovered there which are believed to be relics of the 2 saints. (This information is taken from a brochure at the tourist office).
Every year there are festivities in honour of them - 25th May for Saint Marie Jacobe, and the Sunday preceding the last weekend of October for Saint Marie Salome
Bi-lingual sign - French & Camarguois, Sts Maries
. For the May festival thousands of pilgrims, mainly gypsies (described by the tourist office as Roms, Manouches, and Tsiganes from all over Europe, and even from other continents), come to Les Saints Maries de la Mer to celebrate. I heard about it the day before I left Australia from my friend Kavisha at Antigone's wedding in February - she said I shouldn't miss it, so here I am.The Camargue is a flat, salty, marshy area buffeted by wind. As we drive in we pass many Mas, the local name for the estates and ranches in the region, which breed white horses and black bulls. The main agriculture is rice-growing (our accomodation is called Les Rizieres) - various varieties (round, long, red, rough, each used in different types of dishes), and wine, mainly white and rose. The Mas have low white buildings, with arched doorways and red-tiled roofs, and look Spanish.
As we drive into Saintes Maries the wind is blowing in strongly from the sea and there are thousands of gypsies - in their motor-homes and caravans by the seafront (cooking food, drinking beer, kids playing and dogs hanging around, etc), filling the church, congregating in the streets and plazas and catching up with friends, and playing music. There is no mistaking them, the majority having very distinctive features, dark skin and black hair. I have seen gypsies ocasionally in the past (an encampment outside Rome 30 years ago, around railway stations, etc) but this is altogether of a very different order.
On the Friday night we arrive there is a service in the church
Camargue Cross, Sts Maries de la Mer
. It is built entirely of stone, completely unadorned inside and outside and being inside gives the impression of being in a great cavern. Underneath is a crypt with a very low curved ceiling and it is amazingly atmospheric - it's dark, lit by hundreds of candles, crowded, and the air is a thick fug of damp, humans and candles. The statue of St Sara has a long line of people waiting to touch the saint and offer prayers - one woman holds a candle flame against her palm for a couple of minutes and everyone waits patiently while she mortifies her flesh. The statue of St Sara is surrounded by photographs and pictures of people who have attributed their survival of accidents or illnesses to her.The Sunday of the procession of the Saintes Maries is particularly blustery and cold. First there is a high mass - the Gardians, rustic but dignified old gentlemen dressed in brightly patterned shirts, ties, jackets and white riding pants, sit patiently on their white horses holding lances topped with either coloured pennants or a small trident (bull prod), waiting for the small boat with the statues of the Saints Maries to emerge from the church. They are accompanied by 'les Arlesiennes', the local ladies dressed in their traditional costume. After a long delay, when nobody seemed to know what was going on, the procession finally gets started and the crowd surges forward into the teeth of the wind, and soon it starts raining, but this doesn't dampen the enthusiasm of the devotees.
I plunge into the crowd, not far from the saints, and although, as I've mentioned before, I'm not what you would call religious, I can't help but be moved by the sight of all these people and their fervent belief
Crucifixion, Sts Maries
. It's a motley and colourful crowd consisting of real pilgrims, gypsies, hippies and would-be gypsies, les Saintes Maries devotees, assorted hangers-on and tourists, and lots of professional photographers, whose magazines will publish special features on the festival(I remember reading about the Camargue and this festival many many years ago in a National Geographic magazine).
We wind our way through the streets of the town and eventually reach the beach. Everybody is thoroughly wet and bedraggled and wind-blasted by now, but the excitement and the passion grow stronger as we walk across the wet beach to the waves, reaching a climax when the barque with the statues is carried into the water. It is a stirring sight - the Gardians with their horses are in the water, holding their lances at an angle and forming an honour guard, the devotees are milling around in the crashing waves and wind and rain and singing, the bishop is out in a local fishing boat in the sea and blessing all and sundry.
After the climax the procession turns round and streams back to the church, although only a small core of the faithful accompany it all the way.
The next day the focus turns to the folklore and traditions of the Camarguais. In the morning a group of the Gardians gives an exhibition of their skill by forming a tight cordon around three bulls with their horses and running them down the main street. After this everyone goes to the bull arena, where we are treated to a series of "cowboy party games"
Photographing the photographer, Sts Maries
. In one game women dressed in traditional costume stand around the perimeter of the arena holding an orange in their hand at arm's length, and the Gardians gallop around at full speed and snatch the oranges from them. Another game is musical chairs - the Gardians gallop around the edge of the arena and when the music stops they charge to the centre, dismount and sit on a chair. The final game is that one man is given a bunch of flowers and all the others try and get it off him. All good, clean, boisterous fun (and pretty rough at times), and the crowd laughs a lot and greatly enjoys it.For the final part of the day they go to the tomb of Marquis Folco de Baroncelli, situated in a large open space on his former property by the sea. A memorial service is held here with members of the family and other notables giving speeches - Baroncelli is regarded as a man who exemplified the character and traditions of the Camarguois and every year they hold this memorial service. He was a renegade aristocrat, who was born in Aix-en-Provence in 1869 (about 100 kms away), and was expelled by the Germans in WW2 from his property, le Mas de Simbou (the house of Symbol in the local language). He is remembered for the causes that he took up - the regeneration of the local bulls and horses, the status of their Gardians whom he elevated to dignity in their function, wildlife conservation and nature reserves, and the defence of gypsies and other minorities.
It is a very lovely scene - everybody is very dignified and heartfelt in their sentiments and it is obviously one of the main occasions when everybody in the area can catch up with friends and neighbours.
That evening we decide to venture a bit farther afield in the Camargue and drive over to the towns of Aigues-Mortes and le Grau-du-Roi
A test of faith, Sts Maries
. The drive is only about 20kms but the landscape changes substantially - here it is all vineyards, as opposed to rice-growing near Les Saintes Maries. The town of Aigues Mortes (Dead Waters) was founded about 100AD and sits on a completely flat area by a river and is surrounded by a fortified wall that virtually forms a square about 1.6 kms long. There are lagoons from which salt is produced nearby and wetlands with many flamingoes. I can't recall seeing flamingoes in the wild before and they are extraordinary birds. When they fly they look like a pencil with wings and when they come in to land their wings flap strongly, showing off a beautiful rich pink on the underside, and their long legs run on top of the water. We drive a little further on to Le Grau-du-Roi on the sea and take a stroll through the town and along the waterfront until night falls and it starts raining.We drive back to Aigues Mortes in the rain, park outside the walls and enter the town to find somewhere to eat. There is virtually no-one in the streets, nothing seems to be open and it is raining heavily. We finally find a restaurant, which has a plaque outside saying it is recommended in the Michelin Guide, and although the cost is likely to be high, our hunger, the rain and the experience of eating at such a place persuades us to eat here.
The waiter is young and inexperienced (and doesn't speak English) and falls to pieces when I ask him some questions in English and broken French about the menu and wine. It's fun having the experience but on this particular night in this restaurant the service was not very good (and very formal) and the food, although elaborately plated, was good, but not memorable or out of the ordinary.
During our time in the restaurant someone had got into my car (unfortunately I had forgotten to lock it) and stole several bottles of excellent grappa I had bought in Italy. It was depressing to think that even in a small town in rural France people are wandering the streets in heavy rain late at night looking for things to steal from people's cars. Seeing I was in gypsy territory I silently put a curse on them.
