Today, we’re continuing down Memory Lane with a gallery of pictures I took when I was at home, in December last year.
Camargue is the region defined by the delta of the Rhône river, in southern France. It’s a region of wetlands and fields, where nature and human activty often meld; specific breeds of bulls and horses are raised there, in partial liberty. I saw a few cows, but no horse. Anyway, cattle was not what had allured me there.
My first birding trip, with the LPO (the French bird protection society), had led me there. That was in 2004, and I had never returned before this winter.
From Grenoble, it’s a 3-hour drive to Le Sambuc, a quiet but windswept village in the Natural Regional Park. I had not left early, so I arrived in Camargue only a couple of hours before sunset.
In April, a few weeks after this Norwegian escape, I went to Paris. While the main point of this visit was to meet friends from another life, I also had time on my own to explore known and less known places. At dawn or even before, at sunset and after, or during the day, I enjoyed the city at every possible time of day.
Grenoble is not a beautiful city. Partially destroyed during World War 2, it has few historical sights, and many ugly buildings. Sure, new constructions look very nice, but the beauty of Grenoble lies somewhere else.
Flashback. October 9, this is my last week-end in France before long. My dad and I have decided to climb the Dent de Crolles, an imposing mountain overlooking the Grésivaudan valley, not far from Grenoble. As a matter of fact, it’s right above the Plateau des Petites Roches, and its funicular…
09.00, the car’s thermometer reads 3ºC. Quickly, we get out of the car. Click, the bag is closed, clac, the camera is set at my side, we are ready.
Hello, I’m writing this article in Munich Airport. I’m waiting for my plane to Helsinki, where I have found a software developer job. I’m looking forward to this third living experience in Finland, and I’m already dreaming of snow, owls and nordic lights. However, that’s not my main topic today, because I still have tales of heat and sun to share (by the way, the weather forecast in Helsinki, for the coming week, says cloudy, 3ºC… brrrr!).
Before we start, though, I suggest you put this song, taken from the Pirates of the Caribbean OST, on:
One afternoon, I went with my mom to Lumbin, in the Grésivaudan valley. Some shopping was on the table (gloves and waterproof clothes, you know), but we also decided to go to Saint-Hilaire du Touvet via the funicular. This cable car system was opened in 1924, mainly to serve the sanitariums built on the Plateau des Petites Roches to house tuberculosis patients. I don’t remember when I was there for the last time, but it was ages ago, it seemed.
After the visit to the museum, I felt the urge to walk in the wilderness. I had in store an early wake-up call, so early I was the first one active in the house and still the only one awake when I left. My destination was the Petite Camargue Alsacienne, a wetland area I introduced you last winter. Located on the side of the Rhine, it is fed by the river’s water but also by some subterranean resurgences. I was there at sunrise, but there was no sun in the sky, only large and threatening clouds that soon brought light rain. I was adequately equipped, and it didn’t spoil my fun.
I spent the last week-end in Alsace, visiting family with my parents. All my close relatives live there, so we usually spend time with them, seldom going out to visit this beautiful region. This time was different though, as we went to the Unterlinden Museum, in Colmar. It was the first time my cousin and I visited this place, but although my parents, uncle and aunt had been there when they were kids, the recent renovation made it feel all new for them as well.
The highlight of the visit is the Retable d’Issenheim, a majestic painting from the 16th century, which contains several layers that unfold like a book. It’s a piece of religious art, made for sick people to pray. It was originally located in the Monastery of St Anthony (Couvent des Antonins), but was moved during the Revolution. Read more about it here.
It’s migration time again, and “migration in Grenoble” rhymes with “Col du Fau”, the pass at the end of the valley, to the south, where all migrating birds have to go in the autumn. On a sunny Sunday morning, I arrived there at 8, shortly after sunrise. The light, low and warm, was beautiful, and a constant flow of swallows, mainly Barn swallows (Hirundo rustica), was crossing the pass. Four or five European stonechats (Saxicola rubicola) and a Whinchat (Saxicola rubetra) took a break along the fence, looking for insects then plunging to the ground to catch them. From time to time, a Yellowhammer (Emberiza citrinella) and a Common redstart (Phoenicurus phoenicurus) joined them.