MAI PUBBLICATI - NEVER PUBLISHED

C'è un po' di materiale dei vecchi tempi che è rimasto nel cassetto. Risale agli inizi, alla Scuola di Giornalismo presso l'Australian Academy of Journalism (1996-1997). Scrivevo in inglese e in italiano per i media locali ma quale che fosse l'idioma usato, alcuni miei articoli non furono mai considerati per la pubblicazione. Eccoli.

THE MAGIC SWAMP                                                                                          

The river Rhone, swollen by the melting snows from the Alps Mountains, is flowing down roaring its powerful song. We left Arles half an hour ago driving down the D 35 highway on a beautiful sunny morning refreshed by the Mistral, the local western wind.

At Bac de Barcarin we cross the river on a little ferry (only two semi-trailers and 4 cars can be carried) anchored to a steel cable to beat the water flow. One of the truckies offers us a strong Gitanes cigarette while welcoming us with a boisterous "Bonjour, Italiano!"  

While we cross the river, our attention is caught by the blue horizon outlined by several white hills which, we'll find out, are raw salt piles.

We decide to stop for a quick visit at the salt-works of Salin de Giraud where we politely refuse a voluminous souvenir from the guy in charge of the factory's shop, a 50 kg bag of fine washed salt, enough for the rest of our lives. 

A few kilometers further west we begin to feel uncomfortable when the asphalt road becomes a narrow strip surrounded by water. Swamps are everywhere and we keep going as we know around here tides are not a problem.

While we go ahead an increasing number of flamingos attract our attention and finally,   in the middle of l'Etang de Fangassier, we find out why. The artificial isle of Fangassier is the nesting spot for some 13,000 pairs of flamingos which between April and June every year come to breed here.

It was created in 1973 by WWF France in co-operation with C.S.M.E., the largest French salt producer and owner of the land, pardon, the swamp, and Carrefour (Supermarket chain) which donated the Camargue-style cabin used by researchers as a bird observation post. 

At La Gacholle there's a superb view of the Lighthouse, but we're informed our route plan is useless. Rushing this morning we didn't notice it on the map but definitely the only way west to Les Saintes Maries de la Mer from here, is a pedestrian and cycle path.

We need to go back on the D 36 and drive around L'Etang de Vaccares, the National Park of Camargue's largest swamp.  

Well, let's go then. The next village is Salin de Badon, a little oasis of land surrounded by water. We drive through it heading a few kilometers North to La Capeliere, on the eastern shore of the swamp. Here we absorb the aquatic habitat atmosphere that introduces us to the legend of Camargue. The flights of ducks, flamingoes, seagulls and other wild coastal birds cross the sky above us so to safely enjoy the panorama we decide to wear a hat!

Unfortunately we've got to keep going if we want to have a chance to get a spot at Les Saintes Maries de la Mer where we can rest tonight. Today is May the 23rd and we can expect to find the little Mediterranean town packed for the ongoing European Gypsy reunion to celebrate their patroness Sarah-la-Kali, and the Saints Mary Jacobe and Mary Salome'.

On our way north we stop at Villeneuve, another enchanting little pearl on the water, where we decide to have lunch.

We check the blackboard in a cafe'-brasserie where the fragrance of Pastis is floating in the air and our palatial requests is satisfied by a delicious Mules Brasucado (mussels in special cumin sauce) followed by Aubergines au Gratin (crunchy Eggplant in tomato sauce baked in the oven) which perfectly matches a nice bottle of Languedoc wine.

We could also have chosen Terrain de Camargue (seafood and shellfish combination) or Anchoiade (fresh chunks of vegetables dipped in marinate of olive oil, garlic, herbs and anchovies) as entree.

Canarde aux figues (duck stuffed with figs and cooked in the oven) or Anguilles au fur (oven roasted eels) or Boullabaisse (soup with chunks of fish, seafood and shellfish) completed with a local goat's cheese and a bottle of Vin de Sable or Valle du Rhone.

What a feast!

The meal definitely regenerates us. A short black expresso does the rest.

We hit the road again. At Mejanes a miniature train can be caught for a ride around the lake in search of birdwatching spots and spectacular views.

The landscape now offers a view of acres of flat land where Les Mas, the local farms, are overwhelmed by a sea of golden wheat and sunflowers whose different shades of yellow is outlined on a clear blue sky. Here and there, over fenced properties, herds of black bulls and white horses graze quietly, raising their heads only to watch our car passing.

Approaching highway D 570, at Albaron, the traffic is busier. A number of caravans, RVs and trailers of the widest range of sizes and shapes proceeding south, begin to introduce us to the atmosphere of the pilgrimage of Sarah and the Saint Marys of the sea.

The legend says around AD 40 a little boat was launched from Palestine and banked at this site (Les Saintes Maries de la Mer). The refugees in the boat were the two Saints as well as Mary Magdalene, Lazarus and his two sisters, St. Maximinus and their servant Sarah.

The disciples wandered off but Mary Jacobe, Mary Salome' and Sarah remained, built an oratory and spread the Gospel until their death when they were buried here. Since then their tombstone has became a site of cult and pilgrimage.

Gypsies celebrate Sarah's annual return to the shores of the Mediterranean sea. The "Original Dark Wanderer" with her dark skin, her restless nature and her Egyptian origins present striking parallels to them. Although she was never formally canonized, Gypsies adopted her as their patron saint. The return is also a tribute to music and dance and an opportunity for engagements, weddings and baptisms.

Traffic is slowing down and allows us to catch little slices of nomadic life as we approach the little town on the coast. Alongside the road Gypsies and gadjes, the non-gypsy, are already enjoying a cultural mixture between two often-divided segments of society. We're getting closer to water again and we decide to have a rest at Pioch-Badet to take a look at the open air Tzigane Museum about the culture and traditions of this people travelling restlessly around Europe for centuries.

Finally we are in town and despite knowing the celebrations officially begin tomorrow,   the party is well under way. Guitars,  palma handclapping and the click of flamenco heels gives an exciting background to our search for a room. It's a Babylon of languages.

Everywhere merchants peddle their wares from their caravans' trunks while mysterious fortune-tellers dispense advice like tunes from a jukebox. On every corner and in many bistros someone is improvising spontaneous performances. 

No way to get a room (next time we will be planning earlier) but it's not a worry: a quick walk to the Tourist Office (Rue VanGogh 5, Ph. 04.90.97.82.55) and we find there are plenty of camping areas to pitch our tent. We choose one a couple of  kilometres from the town's center which  borders onto a wild outback area.

The wind doesn't help but eventually the tent is up and we're ready to plunge into the fiesta. There's heaps of caravans and trailers from which cooking fragrances are floating into the air. The neighborhood is ok and Paco, the owner of the huge caravan next-door invites us for the aperitif, a homemade Pastis.

Inevitably conversation turns to his nomadic lifestyle. The man, in his late 50's, chief of the family, big white moustache, boots and cowboy hat, talks about the various aspects of this restless way of living.

"Gypsy means to live constantly on the edge, temporarily hosted on the outskirts of towns lived in by people we don't relate much with. This festival is the only annual occasion where most of us gather together and which positively blends the two different cultures in a celebration of the sacred and the profane" he says.   

Several pairs of children's eyes are watching curiously while women dressed in colorful outfits cook deliciously smelling Paella. Pouring a second drink, Paco invites us for dinner and then turns the conversation to what is going to happen tomorrow.

Late in the afternoon the statue of Saint Sarah will emerge from the church and be escorted by the Guardians, the Camargue cowboys on their white horses, while local women will be dressed in the original costumes of les Arlesienne.

Ceremoniously relics will be carried through town followed by Gypsy clans marching together and singing "Long live Saint Sarah! Long live the Gypsy". Spectators line each side of the street and their "support" propels the procession towards the sea.

Once there all formalities are abandoned: Gypsies and gadje dash for the water in a collective symbolic baptism while the Guardians load the statue onto a boat for her benediction at sea.

Originality, colors, chaos, folklore, performances, music and dance continues until the next day, the 25th, when the effigies of St. Mary Salome' and St. Mary Jacobe are honored in the same fashion. The church is booked with weddings and baptisms, celebrated with a dramatic and elaborate gypsy flair.

"Once the festival is over, their business is finished and religious obligations fulfilled, the Gypsies may stay another day or two but the open road awaits them" Paco says.

Dinner has been fantastic and a nice bottle of Vin de Sable has accompanied our gastronomical indulgence. We go for a walk. 

It is a peaceful, enchanting evening. The Mistral has settled, replaced by a soft breeze which gently waves bonfire flames down at the camp.

The sound of a guitar carried by the breeze, recalls Spanish visions while all we have seen and heard today blends in an enchanting, magic atmosphere.

The burning star hidden behind the last visible headland inflames the sky with a pinky red Impressionist brush stroke. It gradually turns to a darker purple which will be eventually swallowed by the darkness.  

Nimbus slow down their eternal sky-race while the mists begin to rise and a late pink flamingo lands in its swamp. 

Although the darkness is advancing, over the swamp we catch a glimpse of white horses settling for their night.

Paco's gentle pat on our shoulder brings us back to reality. He is urging us to hurry or we'll be late for "The Gypsy Kings" and "Negrita" performances, downtown.

Walking away we stunningly realize that it's not a paperback romance: it's Camargue. 

 And tomorrow, la fiesta.  

Qantas flies to Paris three times weekly on Monday, Wednesday and Friday

(Ph. 131211). Air France operates daily connections to Marseilles and Nimes, (Ph. 02  9244 2100). The TGV (4 hours journey) and others trains for Arles departs from Paris, Gare de Lyon, regularly.