Hyéres

Fillet of Fish

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 17.30.

It was still pretty hot and sunny this morning, so as soon as Rohan was back with breakfast, I wolfed down a couple of slices of bread and cheese and hurried down to the saltmarsh.

Just like before, the flamingoes kept to the centre of the saltpans, far from the road, and there was next to nothing to see once I reached the public footpath – possibly because it was very busy today with families out enjoying the sunshine. I contented myself with observing the herd from a distance as, short of an organised tour into the reserve, this is probably the closest I am going to get.

I’ve spent a not insignificant part of my life in and around these great natural mirrors. Saltmarshes are blissful places, full of light and wonder when the sun is shining. Footprints in the mud can last well over a week, turning them into a tracker’s dream. I was looking for flamingo tracks, of course, but there were quite a few boot prints out in the mud, too. I wonder how they got there?

I didn’t see that many birds today, but there were fish everywhere. The mullets were especially active, lingering so close to the surface that their tail fins gave them away as they broke the water. Mullets are primarily marine fish, but they can be found in estuaries and brackish waterways like the channels that carve up the Étang des Pesquiers.

At work, mullets are synonymous with that god-awful hairstyle that seems to be all the rage with teenage boys at the moment. Fortunately, out here, they’ve taken on their original meaning once again.

The others had planned to go into Hyères to get some crêpes and check out the 11th century castle, but I was just too tempted by the sea to join them. I’ve come all this way, and as things stand, it may be quite some time before I see the sunlit waters of the Mediterranean again, so I voted to stay behind and go for another swim. Rafe had a few things to accomplish so he stuck around too, so after we’d tidied the place up a bit, we clambered back down the cliff to the not-so-secret beach. The GoPro did such a phenomenal job yesterday, so I put it back to work straight away.

It was a bit rougher today, the waves driven by an impressive bank of clouds heralding a front to the southwest. I still clocked plenty of two-banded sea bream, ornate wrasse and silvery saupe among the rocks. The light filtering down into the shimmering seagrass took my breath away just like it did yesterday, and every time before it. I could have spent hours just drifting with the current and taking it all in, if I could.

I also counted an astonishing number of octopuses over the course of my forty-minute swim. Once you get your eye in and know where to look, they are quite easy to find – just look for the yellow sheep-like eyes, as the rest of their bodies blend incredibly well into their surroundings. This one was ensconced in a tiny crevice just beneath the surface, watching the tide come in.

Well, that’s a wrap – nearly, anyway. This time tomorrow we’ll be coming in to land in the UK. It’s been bliss, getting away from it all for a bit, and I’ve been so happy to be back in Europe and speaking French again. I might try to get to Spain and see my cousins one last time before the move in February, but that, for now, must wait. I have an incredibly busy term to get through first – and somewhere amid the mayhem I’ll have to break the news to my kids. Not looking forward to that, but once the interviews begin, they’ll join the dots. So maybe I should head that off.

I’ll decide closer to the time. For now, I’m happy enjoying the final hours of this very spontaneous French holiday. BB x

Sealife Safari

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Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 19.30.

The original plan for today was to spend a leisurely five or six hours biking around the island of Porquerolles, a short ferry ride from Tour Fondue. It was already a quarter to eleven when I realised we weren’t going to make it: one of our group of five wasn’t feeling up to it, and we’d already lost at least an hour of the best part of the day.

In the end, it’s no great loss. The ferry to Porqerolles alone would have cost us 35€ each, which is quite a lot for an island that you could swim to if you really wanted. For context, it costs less to cross the English Channel by boat… but then, I’m not surprised. Tour Fondue is nakedly expensive in relation to the rest of the area. 4.80€ for a bottle of Coca Cola…! What planet are they living on?

Anxious not to let the day go to waste, I went on a cliff top hike with Rafe and Harry.

The Mediterranean has been pretty choppy since the day we arrived, so today’s clear waters and shimmering turquoise shoals were a sight worth waiting for. A few French families had found their way down to the various secret beaches for a morning swim. One of the local shags was fishing among the reefs of Baie du Niel, followed closely by three large mullets.

With the water so clear, it was very easy to follow the seabird as it powered through the water like a feathered harpoon. Every time it plunged below the surface, the mullets would accelerate to keep up, mirroring its pace and sharp turns. You don’t normally get to see their supreme aquatic acrobatics in England’s choppier seas, so I felt pretty lucky.

There were plenty of Sardinian warblers about, but they’ve been nigh-on impossible to capture on film, so I contented myself with one of the local robins singing his heart out by the cliffs.

Rafe suggested waiting out the midday sun before taking the kayak down to the beach. It took a little while to haul it out of the attic and pump it up, but we did stumble upon an Aladdin’s cave of supplies in the process: flippers, snorkels, life jackets and just about anything that might be useful for a seaside holiday.

Thank God I brought my GoPro. Today was a reminder that I made a huge blunder by not taking it with me to Chile (and, by proxy, the Galápagos), but at least it got some work!

The Mediterranean is quite spectacular from any angle, but it really does come to life in a whole new way beneath the waves. Sunlight filtering down onto a world of perfect blue and shimmering fish. For once, all the variables were in place: my mask fit like a glove, my breathing tube was the right height and my flippers worked like a dream. Snorkelling was heavenly! Maybe I just haven’t had the right gear before…

Wrasse, bream, combers, saupes and gobies darting across the rocks. Clouds of damselfish drifting in the sunlight. In some ways, it feels like being back in the Galapagos – a little less spectacular, perhaps, but every bit as enjoyable.

A whistle got my attention as I drifted across the bay. A Frenchwoman swimming over by the rocks asked me if I wanted to see un poulpe. I came paddling over. I confess I didn’t see it at first, despite her pointing to where it must have been. They are masters of disguise and can compress their bodies into even the tightest of crevices, so I swam off after a few minutes’ search turned up no sign.

I returned the way I had come and thought I’d give the rock another try. Sure enough… there it was.

I’ve seen a tiny octopus before on a rockpooling adventure many, many years ago, but I’ve never had any luck tracking one down since. They’re fascinating creatures to observe, with their slowly pulsating heads, the siphons on either side acting like exhaust pumps and their eight legs moving as though each had a mind of its own. They’ve been patrolling the rocky coasts of this planet for over 150 million years, so it’s quite a privilege to see such an ancient creature in the wild, and so close, too.

It feels good to have finally spent some time in the sea, especially when this place literally looks out across the Mediterranean. I also managed to track down my photos of the full moon from the other night, which really was a sight to remember.

Our last full day in France tomorrow. I believe crêpes are in order, but if the weather’s kind to us, I’ll try to get out early and see the flamingoes one more time before the others are up. Late risers as they are, that shouldn’t be too hard to achieve! BB x

Musing

/ Benjamin Barnabas / Leave a comment

Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 21.25.

Another day, another step into autumn. I’ve just finished the washing up and am reading about Enrique’s rebellion on the island of Hispaniola in Simon Park’s Wreckers. The others are downstairs watching a League of Legends championship (apparently that’s a thing). Work seems a long way away.

I wonder what the future holds? Where will I be in a few years’ time? It’ll take me a year or two to find my feet as an English teacher once I get to Santiago, but I have every confidence I’ll get there in the end. Where will I be? Will I have a flat of my own in trendy Providencia or Nuñoa, or will I find myself in some other part of the city? Who will I choose to spend my free time, as I’ll have so much more of it than I have ever known?

What worlds will my new friends introduce me to, when our paths cross? My friendships have taken me to the blossom forests of Prague – where I was told it was a shame they had no daughters left to bring me into the family – and the starlit streets of Athens, where I saw my dear friends tie the knot after a Cadillac ride through the city. One of my wildest relationships sent me across the ocean to the American South. Even this spontaneous adventure to Hyères is the fruit of a friendship. My friendships open up the world to me.

With any luck, She is over there, waiting. It does nobody any good to pin hopes on dreams, but I’m starting to really believe that. Hopefully she’s a Spanish speaker, because while I’m prepared to teach any children I’m lucky enough to have to speak Spanish, I’d rather they learned from somebody who grew up speaking it – not from a professional mimic. I may be 40% Iberian to 26% English, as the DNA test said, but I can’t help the fact I grew up in England. There’s a whole world I still need to learn: language, lifestyle and love. I hope there is space enough in my heart.

We’re running low on some of the smaller groceries. Five men get through a lot more food than I thought. Time for another trip to E. Leclerc, I think. BB x

Around the Cape

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Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 19.15.

Still no sign of the shearwaters. I suspect they’ve long since gone out into deeper waters. Still, a couple hours’ hike around Cap de l’Estérel and its crumbling WWII fortifications was a welcome change after another morning sheltering from the rain (though I did manage to pop down to the bakery before lunch to pick up some supplies).

The Sardinian warblers are proving to be just as elusive as ever, but the black restarts that live on the peninsula are charming enough in their feverish movements among the bushes in search of food.

One seabird that stays on the coast throughout the year is the Mediterranean shag (phalacrocorax aristotelis desmarestii), a leaner, paler cousin of the bottle-green bird that we have back home. In the UK – discounting the Farne Islands – I’ve only ever seen these birds at a distance, but in the Mediterranean I’ve had quite a few close encounters.

I’ve always been really struck by how fiercely green their eyes are. So many Pacific seabirds I encountered in Peru and Chile had strikingly red eyes, which I believe is an evolutionary adaptation that helps them to see better in the murky waters of the Humboldt current. I think the vivid green eyes of cormorants and shags share a similar function, but they’re no less impressive for the colour swap.

The sentier littoral (coastal path) that rounds the cape was a lot easier to follow than the one that supposedly laps the lagoon. I imagine it’s a lot busier in the summer months, but I still ran into a few French families and joggers along the way.

The weather is proving to be quite erratic here. The forecast rarely matches the reality: today was supposed to be a washout, but the rain all came down within the space of twenty minutes this morning. With any luck, it’ll be warm enough to go for a sea swim tomorrow. It won’t be quite as warm as the Aegean back in August, but it’d be nice to get a bit of sea swimming in before we go. BB x

Saltmarsh and Sunset

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Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 19.35.

The sun graced us with its presence once again, so I set out early today. It usually takes me a few days to properly get my bearings, and I was eager to explore the saltmarshes between Giens and Hyères, so I grabbed my camera and a bite to eat and was out the door by half past eight. At least at this time of year, that’s not too long after sunrise.

My first hurdle was the path around the Étang des Pesquiers. The maps will tell you there’s a footpath you can follow that laps the lagoon. The maps are wrong. What might have been an access point to the inner ring is fenced off and within private property, and the other bridge – a further three kilometres to the north – allows you no closer unless you are with a guided tour, which departs once a week on Wednesdays or Thursdays. There is a wildlife trail that eventually leaves the main road, but the saltpans are almost empty from there on out. The animals aren’t dumb, and they stick to the reserve.

At least there’s plenty to see from the road, even if you can’t get all that close. It’s also quite a nice walk, when there isn’t that much traffic (for a relatively small peninsula there was a lot of movement for a Thursday morning).

I found a small mound just beyond the sluice gates and took up a stakeout to see what I could see and hear. A Chinese family of three were close behind me and spooked most of the local wildlife with their chatter, but after they had moved on the birds slowly began to reappear. I recognised a few old Mediterranean favourites from my childhood among the scrub lining the dyke: Sardinian warblers, Cetti’s warblers, firecrests and the ever-characterful zitting cisticola. It’s a little late in the year for the bouncing flight call that gave them their S-tier name, but I’m a lot better at identifying them on sight than I used to be, so I don’t need to rely on their call so much.

There are all sorts of waders to see at this time of year as the autumn migration kicks off. I counted redshanks, greenshanks, grey plovers, bar-tailed godwits, curlews and the always elegant avocet, but I’m sure I’d have found more if I’d found a path into the marshes. I even saw a young ringtail Hen Harrier quartering the edge of the saltmarsh as I arrived, though I never did track it down again. I had similar luck with the water rails that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, though I must have been close enough to stepping on one at one point.

The real draw of the Étang des Pesquiers is its wintering herd of flamingoes. I’ve seen Greater Flamingoes before and in greater numbers, too – Doñana always delivered plenty, not to mention the enormous breeding colony at Antequera’s Fuente de Piedra lagoon – but these are the fifth flamingo species I’ve seen this year alone. To see the last of the six, the Lesser Flamingo, I’d have to travel to East Africa or India. I’m not quite mad enough for that, but it’s pretty awesome to have seen nearly all of the flamingoes of the world in a single year.

The others were not yet out of bed by the time I got back around eleven, so I needn’t have hastened home. They’d already had breakfast, but I think the fresh supply of baguettes from the lakeside bakery was appreciated.

We had lunch outside with the mistral blowing. Some generous soul left a decent pair of binoculars here, so I scanned the sea for shearwaters. I didn’t find any, but I did spot a single fisherman reeling in his net just offshore.

We had a game of tennis in the afternoon – or as close to a game of tennis as one decent player and four academics could manage. It was fun, even though I’m about as good at tennis now as I was when I was fourteen – which is to say, laughably bad. I did manage to hit the ball a few times though, which is a small improvement.

The sunsets here are rather special. I think we’re due another thunderstorm. The red sky certainly seemed to imply that the rain will return, so I’m glad to have got out and done some exploring today.

I certainly wouldn’t begrudge another lightning storm. The last one was pretty spectacular.

Tomorrow, Toulon. Raffi needs to track down a luthier, first and foremost, and there’s more to see in the south of France beyond the Giens Peninsula. BB x

Into the Mistral

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Giens Peninsula, Hyères, Côte d’Azur. 21.02.

The Giens Peninsula is very much at the mercy of the Mistral, a cold north wind that batters the coast of southern France. My image of the Côte d’Azur was always one of quiet sandy beaches under stone-pine trees, so this wind-borne strip of sand is something new.

In the summer months, I imagine this place must be teeming with tourists. For now, the holidaymakers are almost entirely French – either locals or Parisians down for the weekend. There’s a good range of southern and metropolitan accents about. Almost all of them are here for the watersports: windsurfing, kitesurfing and hydrofoils are the order of the day, given the superb conditions along the Plage de l’Almanarre.

They’re quite fun to watch. For every surfer that crashes face-first into the waves, there are at least two more that manage to leap clear of the water into the air. I’m keeping a keen eye out for shearwaters, though I’m sure they’re almost all gone by now, bound for the richer waters of the South Atlantic as Europe has pitches into winter. For the time being, I’ll content myself with the aerial acrobatics of my own species, aping the mastery of the shearwaters in their absence.

BIRDA tells me I’m up to an incredible 499 birds this year, the highest number of species I’ve ever seen in a single year. It’s been fun keeping a tally for a change. I’m not out for any particular total, though it’d be nice to cross the half-century mark. No sign of the redwings or fieldfares yet, though I’m sure they’ll have made it back to the UK by the time I’m home. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can’t track down at least one shearwater before I have to return to England in a week’s time.

France is lovely, but it’s no Spain! BB x

Too Long

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Gare de Toulon, Côte d’Azur. 18.30.

The train to Hyéres is delayed by forty minutes, so I’ve stepped outside the station to get some fresh air. The Côte d’Azur is still in the grip of Storm Adam and the skies are the colour of steel, though they look almost blue beyond the sickly glow of the streetlights.

Clouds of cigarette smoke. Black and green olives rolling across the pavement from the trees standing outside the gare. The cheery sing-song jingle of the SNCF echoing over the rush of the wind and the casual drawl of the Provençale accent. Effortlessly chic Toulonnaise girls talking into earpieces, Eastern European sans-abri moving their blankets out of the rain, a Hispanic couple chatting away in slow, heavily accented English and a number of other accurate but overused cliches.

It’s good to be out of England, though. Two weeks without work would have driven me mad with boredom.

The train was delayed by around fifty minutes in the end. At least one of my companions was getting extremely jittery by the lack of signage on the notice boards, even as the train’s departure was seemingly imminent. Thank goodness I’ve been trained on Spain’s AVE and the last-minute-madness. After the rush for the subway in New York this spring and the gauntlet of flights going to and coming back from the Galapagos this summer, it will take a lot more than a ghost train to get under my skin.

France hasn’t ever grabbed me the way Spain has since the start, though I daresay I haven’t ever given it the chance. This is probably my eighth or ninth trip to France, if you include at least three day trips to Calais (and you leave out any holidays where France was simply a staging post), all of which add up to a little over a month on French soil. I’ve lost count of the amount of time I’ve spent in Spain, but it’s almost certainly closer to four years than it is to three.

The Côte d’Azur gets a lot of attention of the summer variety, but it’s quite beautiful under the iron skies of autumn. I’ve packed for the cold, but I wouldn’t begrudge the odd day of sunshine so I can enjoy the Mediterranean once again – it was so blissfully warm back in the summer. There’s talk of curfews because of the violent protests erupted across France right now, so I might not be going for any 3am swims, but I’m looking forward to being (relatively) tech free for a week or so.

If it weren’t for the comms-heavy side of my day job, I’d quite happily sack off the WiFi and go off grid. I miss those blissful evenings back in my year abroad days – before data became a universal thing – where leaving work meant leaving the internet behind. The amount of reading I managed to get done! There’s just no comparison.

I’ve made it to Hyéres. My final destination is the Giens Peninsula, some four kilometres to the south. It’s late and the sky is threatening rain, so I don’t quite fancy walking it. The taxis here are expensive at 40-50€ a throw and the three or four Uber drivers in town are reluctant to accept what is probably not a very cost-effective return journey. But I’m not that bothered. I’m confident we’ll get there somehow. BB x