It
was a serendipitous decision to spend a Sunday in St. Remy-de-Provence during
the annual festival in celebration of their saint’s day. The day began with the
running of a bull through the town. Most spectators stood behind temporary
barriers, but some were up trees or on walls or light poles. The true ‘crazies’
just stood about and scattered when the bull came down the street. It was hilarious to see them panic when the
bull turned and started back toward them.
A large group of Camarguaise horsemen, the Gardians, dressed in black and
carrying trident spears, trotted along behind on their white horses, generally
herding the lone bull in the same way they herd the semi-wild horses and bulls
of the region.
We
had been to St. Remy on their regular market day. Vendor stalls of every kind
radiated out from the town square into the side streets. Everything from bras to bananas to baskets
was available and attractively displayed: clothing, antiques, art work, jewelry,
fabric, and flowers. There were foods of all kinds, enough to make a serious
foodie weep for joy to see them, or for sorrow that so many of them are not
available at home. A few days later that square was jammed with carnival rides
and games. I don’t know how they wedged them all in there. We wandered around
town, entertained by a strolling brass band. Everywhere we looked there were
folks in Provençal costume, all very happy to pose for pictures. One lovely
woman, dressed like van Gogh’s L’ Arlésienne, chatted with us and
described the various parts of her costume.
For
lunch we went a bit south of town to Glanum, the site of an ancient Roman city.
Their restaurant offers lunch as the Romans would have enjoyed it. The dish of
the day was the Domitia Plate, four different things: a dish of mashed chick
peas with olive oil, pepper, and cumin; roast pork with an absolutely delicious
sauce of honey and - yes! - anchovies; duck pâté on toast; and melon chunks
tossed with olive oil, cumin and coriander. I don’t think the Romans lacked for
culinary delights if they ate a meal like that one.
Lunch
under our adjusted belts, we went back to the town arena to see the Camargue’s
version of the bullfight. Much to our surprise, it turned out to be the grand
re-opening of the arena, with all the local dignitaries on hand for some pomp
and circumstance. The speeches and entertainment were accompanied by the same
band, now in more elaborate uniforms. There was an amazing group of
whip-wielding men performing a rhythmic, snapping, routine. We wondered how they
kept their wrists in shape for such strenuous tricks. A few more speeches, and
then, to our delight, in came all of the Gardians on horseback, performing a
practiced quadrille, and the costumed folk we’d seen that morning. From little
girls to elegant gentlemen and ladies, including L’Arlésienne, they did a
measured promenade and a lively version of a May-pole dance.
Before
‘Inauguration’ we had located our ticketed seats and decided it was going to be
a tight squeeze. Some folks had already spread out into our numbered spaces, so
we hopped up and sat on the top wall where the view was unobstructed and perfect
for taking pictures. Our move delighted some of the locals already sitting up
there. They’d rarely seen tourists at such a local event. After the Inauguration
the ‘Course’ began. Despite the language barrier - I’m only a bit conversant in
French - they got over to us all about what would be happening.
This
is a bull fight where the bull has all the advantages. The ‘fight’ is called la
Course à la Cocarde, or the Course Camarguaise. Teams of agile men, dressed in
white, vie for the cockades or knots tied to the bulls horns. The ‘raseteurs’,
the ‘shavers’, wear a small rake-type device over their knuckles, and they dart
in to meet a charging bull, trying to rake or snatch the knotted string from the
bull’s horns. The team winning the most knots wins.
The
bulls are a small breed but their horns are wicked. They run the teams all over
the arena. You can bet those men are extremely quick. Twice we saw a bull jump
over the arena’s guard wall in pursuit of a raseteur. Many times they chased men who had to jump up
on the guard wall and then up onto the concrete wall of the stands in order to
evade those horns. But when the bull
starts to tire, when he starts to foam at the mouth, he is quickly retired and a
fresh bull enters the fray. Do the tired men get replaced? Mais non! Certainly
not! At the end we couldn’t tell which team won and which lost, but it can be
said, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that for several hours there was never a dull
moment.
Exhausted
and elated, we headed back to our château home-away-from-home to celebrate our
day with a bottle of good Rhone wine.
À votre santé!
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