Bulls, Bridges and Birds
Today we went to the 28th annual ‘Abrivado des Plages’ event. As far as I can tell, abrivado loosely means ‘bulls running in the street’. This abrivado however, takes place on a 4 mile stretch of beach in the town of Le Grau-du-Roi, the second biggest fishing village on the French Mediterranean coast. We had been told about this event a week ago and it sounded interesting so we extended our stay an extra day.
You may recall my full description of the Camargue horses and bulls from my blog post last April (Birds, Beast and Blustering Blows Read More). I don’t fully understand the French fascination with bulls but I was about to witness the perfect example of it.
The run was scheduled to begin at 11am so we left Meraki around 10am and rode our bikes as far as the canal, we then crossed the swing bridge and walked to the beach. Within minutes we were walking through throngs of people. There must have been thousands gathered there. Families and small groups huddled in the wind. Clusters of people had set-up tables along the back of the beach where they cheerfully handed out small oranges and cups of wine.
We stationed ourselves towards the end of the route simply because it was closer to where we had come from. It turned out to be the perfect location. At the beginning of the abrivado, men and women on horseback start the spectacle by riding in tandem. These “cowboys” proudly parade their white Camargue horses before an appreciative crowd. The ‘bandidos’ (bandits) ride beside and in front of the bulls to keep them herded together. Another rides behind with a wooden prod to insure the bulls keep moving. The first group of bandidos became visible above the crowd, racing up the beach with a couple of bulls squeezed in between them. Children ran shrieking and people jostled for the best spot to take photos - me among them. After a few minutes another group raced by, and then a few minutes later - another. And so it went. Now if that sounds boring, admittedly I was beginning to think the same thing.
I was taking a video when the next group of riders came bounding up the beach. As I watched them approach, the bandidos in the front of the pack moved slightly ahead of the bull and I caught a direct glimpse of him just as they veered away from the waters edge. I felt as if I had made eye contact with this specific bull. It began charging in a beeline directly towards us. People around us frantically started scattering and Tom and I too started to run. Unfortunately for us, it was too late. There was literally nowhere to go and we instinctively froze. In a flash, a raging bull and a troop of cowboys were upon us and we were completely surrounded as the herd parted and raced past us within reach on either side. I screamed a litany of profanities while cowering behind Tom’s back during the nanosecond that it lasted. The beast darted through the crowd as people ran frantically every which way, tripping over themselves and trying to avoid the bull as well as the stampeding horses. The bandidos galloped and darted, kicking up sand while trying to corral him, eventually confining the bull against a wall at the back of the beach as spectators attempted to scramble up the concrete.
It’s heading straight for us!
The worst of the profanities have been edited out of this video!
We caught our breath, stupidly grinning and both wondered aloud how many people actually get trampled at this crazy event. Maybe this actually isn’t boring, but rather immensely exhilarating!
We watched a few more squads run past and then decided we’d seen enough and went in search of lunch. We had planned to find a cafe near the bridge so that we could watch it in operation. It would be the first bridge of our inland crossing and we wanted to confirm the times it opened (posted hours don’t always reflect the winter schedule) and if we needed to call ahead. We were a bit unsure how to manage it as there was nowhere in the narrow channel for us to wait if we arrived too early.
As we sat eating our fish soup and octopus salad we noticed the bridge operator climb to his post as a fishing boat motor up the canal. The bridge opened and a few vessels carried on in each direction. When the bridge began to swing closed I muscled through the crowd towards the tower to catch the operator so that I could ask some questions.
I caught up with the bridge operator as he reached the bottom step. Let me just say that I do not speak French. I have been taking online tutoring lessons the past two weeks, and a little of my high school language study is coming back, but I am not conversant. I can form questions and phrases and occasionally I understand the response.
I explained I would be transiting upriver on our own boat next week and asked the times of the openings. He smiled reassuringly at my stammering French and informed me of the times. Encouraged, I asked if we needed to call ahead and he gave me a phone number (so thankful my language tutor had just explained how the French recite phone numbers in two digit pairs; 92, 74, etc.) I wrote it all in my phone and was about to walk away when I thought I’d ask about the second (lifting) bridge which is just a short distance further upstream. Apparently that one only opens once a day during the winter and not until late afternoon. This was most valuable information given there is also nowhere to stop between the bridges if we made the mistake of crossing under the first one in the morning. At least now we had a plan.
The next day was prep day. I cleaned the sump pump, filled the water tank, cleaned house and dropped off the recycling. Tom cleaned our heating fan improving it’s efficiency greatly, and repositioned our weather station on the roof so that it worked without being atop the mast which was no longer upright. The day flew by and before we knew it, it was 7pm and we hadn’t eaten. We strolled up the waterfront to the first restaurant which was just opening. It was close to home and we were tired so we went in. Despite no one else being there we were asked if we had reservations. Puzzled, I said no, and they offered us a table on the far wall. The menu consisted of a three course meal; salad, entree and dessert, for a set price. The dishes were described in detail and we had to use google translate but we made our best guesses when ordering; one shrimp and one octopus salad, a beef fillet and an octopus/cuttlefish entree, one tiramisu, one chocolate mousse ganache cake, and two glasses of wine. Slowly the restaurant began to fill up and within an hour nearly every seat was occupied. I played peek-a-boo with the small children at the table next to us while we waited for our meal. The dishes that came were beyond description - beautifully presented and hands down the best French cuisine I’ve ever tasted. It was not overly rich (no cream) and the depth of flavors was over the top delicious. I’m not sure I could even name all of what was on the plate. Suffice it to say it was divine!
The following day was departure day. We filled both fuel tanks at the marina before leaving as we wanted Meraki to be fully loaded when we started into the canal system. I’m not certain why this happens but it seems quite often when we are in transition, something goes wrong. We left the marina and entered the bay headed for the canal when we noticed our Garmin compass wasn’t working nor was our autopilot. Twice we tried to recalibrate them while in the open space of the broad bay, but we had no success. We were now running short on time if we were going to make it through the bridges today. We decided we could fix them later and headed into the Canal Maritime. I called the bridge operator and surmised that the bridge would open in 10 minutes. We arrived at the perfect time, the bridge opened and I waved a ‘thank you’ to the man in the tower as we passed by. He gestured questioningly if we would be heading through the next bridge and I confirmed, assuming he would phone the operator upstream (which was great because I did not have that phone number). As we continued on, another vessel came zipping up behind us out of nowhere. Just ahead of the second bridge they tied up at the only space on the waiting pontoon. We idled in the flow of the canal for a few minutes when I heard a shout. Turning, I saw the swing bridge operator waving and smiling at me as he cycled up to the lifting bridge. He stopped the traffic and raised the bridge while waving me on. How easy was that?
We idled along at a snails pace. I thought our ocean cruising speed was slow! But the sights alongside the canal and the bird life in the Camargue is truly delightful. What could be better than a sunny spring day pottering up a waterway.
We had a reserved mooring for a couple of nights in the town of Aigues-Mortes so I called the office. We were given instructions which I nearly understood. I had to call a second time though, as the place I thought he’d told us to go was already occupied. He signaled a different spot along the quay but there was no vacant buoy to tie the bow onto. As it was the only option left we decided to double up and use the same mooring ball as the boat already secured there. In order to back up to the shore of a canal or river you have to turn the boat 90° to the flow, which means the current immediately sweeps your bow downstream. Tom grappled with the current and squeezing us into our space while I fumbled to loop our bow line through the neighbors mooring ball before racing aft and trying to lasso a bollard that was about head height on the wall. It wasn’t pretty but we got ourselves situated. Just one more skill to develop and improve upon during this ever-changing lifestyle.
Tonights view