Provence and Occitanie: Day 10
- lendroitheureux
- Aug 18
- 16 min read
Updated: Aug 30
A Walled City, Salted Corpses, Two Marys in a Boat, Saint Sara in a Basement, and a Grain Factory
Our final day of driving from Avignon to the south of Southern France was a bright blue Saturday. The lovely weather was a nice departure from the bleak rain we soldiered through the previous day in Nimes . The clear blue-water sky soothingly splayed above as we drove deep into an incredible Mediterranean world with Spanish, Italian, Roma, and North African influence all residing and rioting next to the sea. The Camargue was our destination. Bless us, Two Marys, give us grace, Saint Sara, for it was a joy!
I've mentioned the Camargue a few times throughout this Provence and Occitanie blog as a lowland estuary where the Rhone meets the Mediterranean. It's filled with pink salt ponds, pink flamingos, white horses, horned bulls, and two marvelous cities that we visited (there are others; we only stopped at two).
We stampeded south in our BMW rental on the A9, which has tolls. If you are even moderately familiar with highway toll booths, you will be able to handle these. Pay attention to the signage with images that let you know if the gate you are approaching is a fast pass or one that accepts cash. Do not go to the fast pass, have your coins or bills ready, and be on your way. The unstaffed kiosk gives change. It’s all quite simple.
We made it to our first destination, the walled city of Aigues-Mortes, in about an hour. The site of Aigues-Mortes (which means “dead water”) has been in use since antiquity, up through the reign of Charlemagne and King (Saint) Louis IX. It was really Louis IX who, in the 13th century, created what has become the walled city we know today. He did it to have a launching point for the Eighth Crusade. No need to dive into the history of the Crusades or French shenanigans in outremer other than to say Louis IX died of dysentery in Tunis during one of the crusades. Enough said.
Aigues-Mortes is a popular day stop for tourists and regional locals alike. As we were visiting at the low-tourist time of the year, we were able to find parking in one of the lots outside of Porte de la Gardette, the main arched entrance (a medieval “gate”) to the walled part of the city. There aren’t many spots available, and we were able to claw and scratch our way into one of the last remaining. I am certain that available parking is even more scarce in summer months. Much like Les Baux-de-Provence, a tour bus may be your best bet in busier months, since the place likely gets quite crowded. As it was, we were tickled that we found parking just strides away from the main gate, near the carousel. Always a carousel in French tourist areas. Each city we visited on this trip had a merry-go-round. Fun!
The walled portion of the city is an almost perfect square situated at the confluence of a couple of canals. The canals appear to be used almost exclusively as private marinas for local boat people. In fact, I was stricken by how universal it looked; like boat people from Florida could have walked up and down the canal docks, sipping their margaritas while singing any given Jimmy Buffet song and fit right in. I am not a boat person, so I may be mistaken. But despite the medieval walled city and French-style housing with Mediterranean tile roofs, it still seemed oddly familiar.
Just a few steps inside Porte de la Gardette, to the right, is the ticketing area for the city walls and ramparts. For a mere 8 euros (at the time of our visit), one can pass through a stone courtyard, climb up some stairs, and become the master (or mistress) of one’s domain, if being on top of the Aigue-Mortes walls means becoming a master. But first, a coffee. There are a number of cafes scattered about upon entering Aigues-Mortes, and we chose the one immediately inside, Cafe de la Bourse. That I was sitting a mere few strides from a medieval-era town wall and gate whilst sipping my expresso and enjoying my smoke is one of the pleasures and memories that will stick with me forever. And yes, in France it is called “expresso,” and yes I enjoy smoking at French cafes.
The walls and ramparts of Aigues-Mortes have an elevator lift, so they are accessible to those with mobility issues, but I am unsure whether access extends to the entire expanse of the walls. The immediate view is threefold: A rather stagnant pond with green slime directly next to the battlements greeted us, as did the aforementioned boat people canal, and of course the old city and rooftops within the walls. Many old-timey television antennae sprout on the Mediterranean tiled roofs, surely dating to the age of Loius IX. Across the way, the bell tower of Notre-Dame des Sablons stands with its six bells that we had the immense pleasure of hearing chime at noon on this perfect Saturday.
We started our walk on the city’s walls with a few other people in a couple of groups but soon, because we tend to linger a while in the splendor of things, we found ourselves quite alone. We had the entire span of the battlements, towers, and gate houses all to ourselves for the remainder of our tour. There are numerous informational placards letting the inquisitive tourist know all about the “Massacre of the Italians,” the various religious wars and persecutions of Protestants then Catholics, and the ghoulish fact that one of the Towers (“Tour des Bourguignons”) was used to keep dead enemy soldiers, covered in salt to preserve the bodies. History is full of ghastly truths.
Along the way, we also read a few placards not full of the awful truth, rather an informative bit of art history concerning the Montpellier-born, proto-impressionist artist Frederic Bazille. We would come across Bazille during our stay in Montpellier and subsequent visit to the Musee Fabre, but that is for a later post. In Aigues-Mortes, Bazille painted and sketched some marvelous pictures of the landscape while incorporating the walls. We weren't expecting to see so much about Bazille on this particular stop, so it was a very welcome and informative bit of ephemera.
Throughout the walk, we were treated to expansive views of the southern Camargue, the sea inlets, and some pastures with pretty horses. It was a splendid walk and a great way to spend an early afternoon. After we dismounted the ramparts, we strolled along Rue Jean Jaures, a crowded stretch of rue lined with shops and places to grab a nosh. A few blocks into the city stands a fine statue of King (Saint) Louis IX in his eponymous plaza. Although it was early March, the place was hopping with people obviously eager for a pleasant day to relax outside. We didn’t linger much longer than it took to snap a few photos. We had places to be and people to see. And by “people,” I mean flamingos.
We escaped from the walled city of Aigues-Mortes the way we came, but not without stopping first for some fine touristy brick-a-brac (I love my keychains, fridge magnets, and postcards) and a couple of sandwiches at a patisserie. We always seem to get one sandwich with mozzarella and tomato and one with salmon and split them. They are always so delicious, on fresh bread, and priced to fit any thrifty traveler’s budget. I cannot stress enough how great the omnipresent sandwicheries, with their opulent take-away treats, are throughout France and how you must take advantage when doing your French urban promenade.
We hopped in our Provence BMW carriage that carted us deeper into the Camargue to our next destination where we would finagle a frolic with a flamboyance of flamingos. I learned that a flock of flamingos is also referred to as a “flamboyance” while planning this trip, and that was well worth the time I spent researching a place to spy on the weird creatures. The Pont du Gau Ornithological Park is about 3 miles north of the coastal city of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, our next village destination, right off of highway D570. For a small entry fee (8 euros as of this writing), one can walk deep into the Camargue toward the banks of the lake Etang de Gines. While walking sodden paths and wooden plank gangways, scores of different species of birds (and other animals) can be observed. The real stars of the show are the flamingos. And they showed out on this day.
There’s a satirical meme/conspiracy theory that says, “Birds aren’t real.” It’s a joke. But when one gets up close and personal to the hundreds of chittering and chattering flamingos, one may be tempted to think that satire is dead and birds are, indeed, very fake. These things are dinosaurs. The way they walk, the way they stand on one leg, the way the mud is no impediment to their movement, and the actual, very real, pecking order that one discerns from just a short time observing the flamboyance are a joy and so utterly fascinating to behold. I do not think I had ever seen a flamingo up close and for real, and I definitely had never seen so many in the wild and in one place. I say “in the wild,” and I quite mean that.
The Camargue is the largest breeding ground for flamingos in Europe, and they are free to come and go as they please. The Greater Flamingo is found all over the Mediterranean basin and even as far afield as Iran, Iraq, the Arabian Peninsula, and Germany. One of the best places to get a look at them is right there in Southern France. This aspect of our trip was so different than all the rest and that, my dear friends, makes for a great bit of traveling. Variety as spice of life and all that. An entire day can be spent wandering the nearly 3 kilometers of trails and pathways that the park offers. It was obvious that some people, as per the gear we saw them toting about, planned on doing just that. people had cameras with telephoto lenses, camouflage jackets, coolers, and fancy folding chairs. There are plenty of places to hole-up and spy on the beasts. There is even a cafe where you can get some beverages and watch the fauna from the comforts of a patio.
Besides the wild birds (there are so many more than flamingos), there are also larger birds of prey kept in very large cages and aviaries. According to the website, Pont du Gau Ornithological Park helps rescue and save injured wild birds. If they are unable to be returned to the wild safely, they spend their days in a large human-made house. When we were there, a very large owl and an eagle were spending a peaceful time in their cage houses. There was even a free-roaming coypu (or nutria) running about, chewing grass, and having a splendid Saturday buffet. Coypu look like capybaras but are only distantly related to the famed and beloved South American rodent. The coypu is much smaller and a bit more rat/rodent/beaver looking than the capybara. It was a treat to see such a cute little waddler wandering about having a lunch of grass. Quite the pleasant surprise. We spent nearly an hour at the park and could have spent much more time (Lani said she could stay there all day), but we still had a few more really interesting places to visit, so we reluctantly hit the road once more.
Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer was our next destination. Situated at the southern portion of the Camargue where the lowland lies against the sea, this small village is astounding and unique with its Spanish and Italian-style architecture and Roma cultural influences. It felt as though we were not in France at all, but rather a place between places.
Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is fabled as the landing point of the two Marys, Mary Solomon and Mary Jacobe, who were followers of Jesus at the time of his crucifixion (or three if one includes Mary Magdelaine, as I have read in places). The Marys were cast to sea in a rudderless boat (supposedly belonging to Lazarus of Bethany, he who Jesus brought back from the dead) after the death of their messiah. Thus, after months tossing about at sea, the Marys landed in what is now Southern France at Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer (Saint Marys of the Sea). Another, extremely important, part of the myth states that Sara (Sara-la-Kali, or Sara the Black) was either on the boat with the Marys as a “servant” or was living in this part of the world already and welcomed them ashore. Regardless, Sara was a darker-skinned woman and she has been embraced by the Roma people in modern times as a patron saint. She is not canonized by the Roman Catholic church, for reasons I am sure are very ecumenical and intellectual and have nothing to do with marginalizing Roma people, but she is nevertheless referred to as “Sainte Sara” and has her own shrine in the basement of the local Eglise des Saintes Marie la Mer (or Church of Notre Dame de la Mer; I have seen it referred to as both). The church was our main attraction in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, but first we had to enjoy some seaside views.
Parking was easy to find directly along the seashore at a public parking lot. Mid-March is not high tourist season, and even with the wonderful weather, the lot had plenty of vacant spots. We were unsure whether we had to pay for our spot. Thus, we asked an elderly French couple, walking our way, if parking was free. They replied that it was free (I am not sure if you have to pay on other days or at the height of tourist time), and then the man asked if we were English. I shook my head and said, “Mais non. Nous sommes Americaines.” He shook his head in return and said, in English, “You are a friend of Donald Trump?” I assured him, adamantly, that I was no such friend. In retrospect, I should have asked him whether or not he was a friend of Marine la Pen. Ah well. My life is full of regrets.
Along the shore, where waves lap sand and stone, there are easels with images of paintings that Vincent Van Gogh created while inspired by Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Apparently, Vincent walked the 30 miles or so (yes, walked) from Arles to this spot and made some sketches and subsequent paintings of the sandy shore and sea, along with some boats. Van Gogh had been an ever-present figure during our trip, so it was nice to come across a few more easels, like the ones we saw in Arles and Saint-Remy.
Walking along the seashore and into town, one is greeted with a number of tree-lined streets, adobe-style buildings, numerous examples of the town crest (the two Marys in a boat), and the symbol of Camargue (an anchor with a cross and heart). In a centrally located park, some old-timers were playing boules, reminding us that yes, indeed, we were still in France. We made our way to the small but remarkable church that had been on my mind since I had read about Sainte Sara and seen some videos of the massive Roma celebration on her feast days (May 24 and 25). I knew that something special was in the crypt below the small church.
And special indeed. While you can climb to the top of the church and get a nice view of the rooftops and sea, for me, the highlight was the ex-votos in the main sanctuary and the crypt, with the captivating iconic statue of Sainte Sara. High above the altar, a small chapel fixed into the stone arch support near the ceiling holds the reliquary supposedly containing the remains of the Two Marys (Mary Salome and Mary Jacobe). This large box or chest (similar to how one might imagine the Ark of the Covenant) is lowered twice a year, in October and May, and brought to the sea. In May, the Sainte Sara statue is also brought into the azure waves of the Mediterranean.
The syncretism of the religious iconography and ceremonies, with Roma, Spanish, Roman Catholic, and North African influence abounding, reminds me of Afro-Carribean Santeria and Voodoo (the Americas' sibling of African Vodun) religious iconography and practices. The blending of indigenous and imported beliefs in iconography and artwork, coupled with physical offerings and ex-votos really had me thinking of the blended religious practices throughout the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico in the Americas. I am not saying that these Southern French instances of religion are closely connected to those in the Americas. Nevertheless, I was struck by the similarities and would not be surprised to discover that they are indeed related.
Much like in Notre Dame de la Garde, the main chapel in Notre Dame de la Mer contains a number of captivating ex-votos. This folksy, homemade imagery makes an appeal for help from—or gives praise and thanks to—a patron saint. TheTwo Marys are depicted as omnipotent skyward in their holy vessel as the wretched sinners of earth struggle with calamity, sickness, pain, and turmoil. I cannot get enough of ex-votos and will seek them out in any and all Catholic (and former Catholic) churches and chapels I visit until the end of my days.
Below the main altar, directly in front of the center aisle, a small flight of stairs takes one to the crypt. This is where, in 1448, remains of what were believed to be the Two Marys were found. It is now a shrine to Sainte Sara, and although small it contains multitudes. There are various ex-votos, photographs of Sara's devotees who have gone on their own journey away from the lands of the living, candles, an offering box, and a few interesting paintings depicting the two Marys and Sara on a boat.
The star of the room, set off to the side, is Sara herself. The life-sized statue is adorned in so many layers of clothes in pink, green, blue, and red with so many strands of beads and jewelry that her body is nary discernible. Her head is topped with a small crown and the only part of her body you can see is her face and jet-black hair. Standing in the crypt is quite a memorable and even haunting experience, taking into consideration the generations of people who have paid homage here and the power that the image of Sainte Sara has for the Roma people. I gave thanks and dropped a high denomination euro coin in the offering box which made a very loud "clunk, pling, clank" and echoed loudly, disturbing the peace within the crypt. I gave more thanks, said sorry for the cacophony, and exited the low-ceilinged room.
Eglise-Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer is small but contains an outsized amount of incredible and fascinating artifacts and reliquaries. There is small well inside the church that, at one point, was the only fresh water source in all of the Camargue and is now used to draw baptismal water. One wall stands, "L'Oreiller des Saintes" or "The Pillow of the Saints," a marble conglomeration that was discovered underneath the skulls of the Two Marys in 1448. There's a case with a few ex-votos, some gold and silver incense burners, and three "arm reliquaries," arm-shaped containers with small glass displays for the arm bone of a saint. These are not unique to Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer but quite a sight to behold.
Our time in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer was coming to a close. We walked past one more Van Gogh easel, saw a few more examples of the Camargue cross/anchor/heart symbol, and stopped into one shop to purchase a few tourist items that I simply love. Postcards, refrigerator magnets, and keychains are always in demand. By me. I demand them. And I procured them. I am currently using the Camargue keychain, in fact, and I love it! One more stroll along the very pleasant seashore, with the slow low-rolling waves and warming winter sun, and we were on our way to the final stop on this most amazing Saturday of Southern France exploration.
About 30 miles to the northeast and just outside of Arles lie the Roman are the remains of a grain factory and mill. The Barbegal ruins are quite a way out in the quiet, bucolic French countryside. Down a narrow section of highway D82 named Rte de l’Acqueduc, one will arrive at a section of a ruined Roman aqueduct. The road passes right through the Roman water sluice, and I mean it when I said “narrow!” Drive safe, it’s one lane with little visibility.
We found a small parking lot to the north side of D82 and walked a few hundred meters south along the stonework Roman wall next to a small olive grove. It really doesn’t get much more Mediterranean France than that.
After a short walk along the dirt path that at times passes right under the arches in the aqueduct, we came to a very dramatic narrow passage where water once flowed and emptied down a semi-steep slope toward what are now pastures and fields. The remains of the Roman grain mill are visible down the slope. I would not have been able to discern that this was the site of an ancient flour factory had I not read about it and seen models recreated based upon archeological study.
It was quite something to look down this hill and imagine a fully functioning grain mill that operated about 1800 years ago. I would say I was left speechless, but who am I kidding? I'm rarely speechless. We were talking in a somewhat subdued manner, as the late day and low sun seemed to require it. Also requiring a hushed tone was the fact that an old shepherd man was sitting on some stones, mere feet away from us, watching his large herd of sheep nestled together in a pasture. We could hear the distant “clang, clang” of the iron bells around the necks of the ovine as we basked in a most beautiful early Saturday evening. I'm not one to pronounce something as a “once in a lifetime” event, but if I am ever again at a Roman grain factory ruin next to an elderly French shepherd tending to yonder flock then I will be more than surprised.
Our meal back in Avignon was a hotel spread of cheese, bread, various dips, vegetables, and fruit. That evening, we decided to walk through the old town center one last time and found ourselves back at Place Pie where we wandered a few evenings earlier.
The plaza has a number of cafes with outdoor seating. Although it was a Saturday evening, there were plenty of vacant tables. We sidled up and ordered a couple of adult beverages and also received a complimentary bowl of thin, plain potato chips. That was a first for France. We like potato chips, so we had to order a second round to get another bowl. Of course. The looming Tour Saint-Jean stood guard and seemed to wave “bon voyage and goodbye.” The sun had set, and we left for the hotel in the street lamplights' luminescence. We really loved Avignon, and would return if the moment and urge strikes us. There is still so much to do and discover in this old city of old popes by the Rhone. Bon soirée, mon ami Avignon! Je t’aime!
As we leave Avignon, we embark on our next and final chapter of our grand tour of Southern France. Join us next episode as we take the SNCF to Montpellier, the capitol of the Herault Department in Occitania. On y vas!
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