saltmarsh

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

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