Day Nineteen: Arles: The heart of Provence the edge of the Camargue

April 15, 2017

We had read that there is a market in Arles on Saturday, and that it is the premiere market in Provence. But we were worried that in honour of Easter it would not be on. No such thing! In fact the whole town was hopping and the market was going full blast.

This market really is something.We were trying to estimate its length in city blocks and came up with maybe six. Along that length on one side it is craft and textiles but the other side is a double row of food vendors.

This was the full on feast for all senses type of thing. It was all there: the gorgeous fruits and vegetables, the cheese trucks, the dry sausages, the butchers, the bakers, the chicken and pork rotiseries, the olives and tapenades, oh my. Something special in this special place was paella. Several vendors had giant woks or cauldrons going, with wonderful smelling spicy mixtures bubbling away. Only thing, in those mixtures were commonly spidery seafood items that we are not fond of, or at least we think that. The woks looked so good that I was more than willing to give it a try. As it happens, though, I ended with some super roast pork. There should be lots more chances to sample foods like paella in Spain.

Dodie bought a "sacristain" from a baker. It's our second shot at something with that seemingly religious name. In effect its a stick like sort of almond croissant.

We also took the opportunity to fill in any vitamin deficiencies we may have been courting, by buying and devouring bananas, strawberries, and mandarin oranges. The strawberries came from Nimes. Having grown strawberries for many years, we can say that what we got today could not have been better. It was just as good as a strawberry can every get. The oranges at this time of year came from Israel. and the vendor that sold them to us was Moroccan. Pretty darn exotic.

At a cafe beside the market, naturally many people were sitting out enjoying coffees. These were the typical miniature cups. But one couple seemed to have large cups. I walked over to them, knelt down beside their table and blithered at them in French, to the effect: " Hi, I'm Canadian so I hope you won't mind me intruding. All through France I have struggled to find a decent sized cup of coffee, but I only seem to get baby cups like all these people over here. Yet I see you have bigger cups. What did you say to the waiter to make these appear?"

Their reply: "Our French is not so good, do you speak English?" The lady was an archeologist from Vancouver. The man was from New Mexico.

And oh, they had asked for "Americano".

English speakers accosted by yellow clad cyclist gibbering in French about coffee.

We have been listening at night to a BBC documentary "DaVinci Code Secrets". It mentions a number of spots in the south of France, heightening our interest. One place mentioned is Montsegur. This was a Cathar stronghold about which Wiki says: In the Middle Ages the Montségur region was ruled by the Counts of Toulouse, the Viscounts of Carcassonne and finally the Counts of Foix. In 1243–44, at the end of the Albigensian Crusade, the Cathars (a religious sect considered heretical by the Catholic Church) who had sought refuge at the Montségur fortress were besieged by 10,000 troops, in what is now known as the siege of Montségur. In March 1244, the Cathars finally surrendered and approximately 244 were burned en masse in a bonfire at the foot of the pog when they refused to renounce their faith.

So we were surprised to find at the market two vendors selling nougat of Montsegur. I asked on if the Cathars had gone into candy production, in competition with Montelimar. No, it turned out there are (at least) two Montsegurs, and the nougat one is actually near Montelimar. We bought 10 euros worth (which amounts to four small squares!) though we had had no intention of buying nougat. Maybe we can mark that down as Dan Brown's fault.

Soon I will give this a try, but not one with too many little legs sticking out

French green beans are famous. If you look carefully you will see that these are organic

These are not just pretty faces. I tried the red one - tangy!

It takes work to clean and tie garlic this nicely

The warm climate here is ideal for melons

Our Moroccan orange seller. He tried speaking english but was not too successful

Yogurt in glass bottles tastes best, we think. Some of these in the photo are made from sheep's milk.

These were the roast pork bits I bought. The label seems to refer to mushrooms, but I did not notice that.

Andouillet sausage did not look that scary.

As long as nobody crawls out of that pot, I'm ok.

Monsegur is in the same vicinity as Montelimar

This is the actual cheese we bought. Dodie says it is too strong for her.

It was at the market that we first heard and hurried over to see the music of a brass band. The band featured mainly trumpets, trombones, saxophones, and drums and there music was the bold and brave themes of the bull ring. The one we first heard had entered the market area, but in fact there were many in town. They all came together later in a giant battle of the bands in the city hall square.

More on that later, but the first band set the tone as we made our way first to TI (great cranciale stamp) and then to the street that had been set up for a running of the bulls.

The street for about two blocks had been set up with sturdy steel fencing. A sign said don't cross the street when bulls are running. Ok, got it. But actually not quite, not quite at all. In fact the fence has vertical bars that a person can easily slip through. As the time of the bulls approached, the crowd grew and the people filtered easily on either side of the fence.

Finally, some riders came and cantered the full length of the enclosure. They were mounted on the white horses of Camargue. These are the horses that run wild just soth of here, and that are also ridden with the bulls. The horses are beautiful and romantic, and the subject of infinite postcards. For us they hold a special magic, as we encountered them in the wild when we passed through this area in 2013. We have never forgotten them. Though they are not unicorns, there is something magical about them. I took some shots of the riders in the enclosure and reviewed them in the camera. Magical! Dramatic! Captivating! I am absolutely sure you will agree when you look at the photos.

Finally about ten riders assembled at one end of the enclosure and a bull was released into their midst. Their job was to run the bull down to the other end, surrounded and controlled by horses, and to install the bull in a truck down there.

The horses and rider were obviously skilled at this, and frankly the bulls too seemed most interested in getting down there and into their truck. But the public, including many young boys, had other ideas. They ran after the bull, with its protective horses, and tried to grab its tail and bring it down. Clearly they had heard of running of the bulls, maybe in Pamplona, and that was the kind of thing they had in mind.

Generally the bulls made it through ok, though several got temporarily swarmed. Two people were injured. One right in front of us ended on the pavement with an injured foot. He dragged himself outside the fence and collapsed against a building. A lot of people gathered around, but unlike what would be in Canada, there were no paramedics around. It was a half hour before an ambulance arrived. Dodie went over and told them where the victim was lying.

This little bull riding event was a side show compared to the bullfight scheduled in the famous Arles Roman amphitheatre. We had started out planning to avoid the violence of this, but later (too late) we learned that in Arles the bulls are not killed. Rather the goal is to take a red ribbon from between their horns. Some bulls become famous stars equal to the matadors.

It was ok, because we had seen the horses!

The horses are guiding a bull between them

People gathered around the victim, but an ambulance only came 1/2 hour later

A bull gets swarmed. Dangerous situation as it will certainly bust out

This is not a mean looking or large bull

In the Place de la Republique stands the St Trophime Church. This is the first major pilgrim church on the Voie d'Arles, which actually starts some few hundred meters beyond. The church has an elaborately carved facade. There is a chain gang of sinners jumping through flames on their way to hell, or in hell. And there is St. Stephen being stoned, his soul leaving through his mouth and being helped up to heaven. One image I thought strange was someone maybe picking his nose, flanked by extremely ill looking lions or griffons.

Inside we found a lady who could stamp our creanciales. she did that and went one better, phoning a pilgrims' shelter in the next town of Saint Gilles and arranging a place for us for tomorrow. She also gave us a lot of Chemin St Jacques information and also a real coquille (shell).

This church takes the practice of collecting relics to the extreme. They have (at least) a whole chapel stuffed with them. Skulls, finger bones, of all kinds of saints and martyrs. In a clever revenue generating ploy, they have these mostly in the dark. A euro deposited turns on the lights for 4 minutes. Next chapel over, they had Saint Cesaire, the bishop of Arles from 502-542. Cesaire must be famous, because it took 2 euros to turn his lights on!

They even have two drops of blood from Jean Paul II

On the floor of the church, probably the grave of a pirate pilgrim.

The room of relics, with 1 euro worth of lighting

On a sarcophagus, heads were knocked off during the French revolution.

The church is very supportive of pilgrimages. This case contains generalized information about pilgrimages.

In the square, beyond the church, a stage had been set up and there all the bands that had been around the city converged and began to take the stage one by one. With a seat on some steps in the shade we could enjoy the show. So too did a large crowd, who really enjoyed the stirring music. I shot a lot of video with my pocket camera, to capture the sound, but there is likely not time or wifi enough here to post it. It was a great concert, that went on for a couple of hours. The instruments were basically the same for each band, and the type of music too. This is obviously a well established and big thing here. I felt like these bands were clubs, sort of like the marching clubs of the mardi gras.

We walked back toward the hotel, Dodie more hobbling on two canes. It had not made sense to bring the bikes into town, so she had hobbled quite some distance. As we made our way home we continued to absorb what we could: narrow streets, crowds sitting at outdoor cafes, a bakery with a table out front selling six varieties of fougasse ( a Provence flat bread), and finally a very long tour boat passing underneath our bridge over the Rhone. Where were they headed? Could they go all the way to Geneva?

Back at the Hotel Porte de Camargue we had to figure out where ourselves were headed. With the people at nearby Saint Gilles expecting us tomorrow, we know we need to be there in late afternoon. But we also want to see as much Camargue as possible. So we will swing out into the Camargue and loop back to Saint Gilles. But how far to go and by what route? We're working on it. We want to have the best chance of seeing flamingos and possibly wild white horses. Maybe 2013 was just a once in a lifetime dream, or maybe the place is stuffed with wild horses. The next few days will tell.

Photos still being organized and captioned...

Probably our favourite of the brass bands. We felt they were as good or better than anything we saw in New Orleans.

The Arles roman arena, still in regular use

Provence lavender. There were lots of perfume and soap stores here

AOP means that beef labelled Camargue must actually come from this region

There are many books and films about Camargue horses

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