In France, Roam With Flamingos and Cowboys in a Land of Pink Marshes

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In France, Roam With Flamingos and Cowboys in a Land of Pink Marshes

A flamboyance of flamingos was feeding on plankton in a reed-lined marsh. The water reflected their lithe bodies beneath clouds the ****** of their plumage, blushed by the setting sun. Suddenly, my guide told me to grab my binoculars: ****** silhouettes of cows waded through the marsh like hippos in the Serengeti. I had never seen cattle so graceful in the water. This aquatic ballet perfectly summed up the Camargue.

Set in the largest delta in Western Europe, the Camargue, a rustic region of France where the Rhone River meets the Mediterranean Sea, has more water than land and more bulls than people. Thousands of birds migrate to its nutrient-dense terrain. It’s a colorful mosaic: verdant farmland, blue lagoons, sandy beaches and white salt mounds sprouting from marshes tinged pink by microscopic shrimp. “The landscape changes every day,” said my guide, Jean-Yves Boulithe, 56. Yet the Camarguais culture, of fishermen and mustachioed cowboys called gardians, gives the feeling that time stopped at the turn of the 20th century — as do the limited Wi-Fi and cell service.

The Camargue is best experienced in the slow lane, which I kept in mind as I rented a car in Marseille last April for a grand tour of the region, which hugs the coast about halfway between Marseille and Montpellier, south of the tourist hub of Arles. I had been warned about the whipping

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and mosquitoes that keep less rugged travelers away. I had remembered to pack footwear that could get muddy, since many areas are accessible only on foot, in a saddle or on a bike.

A land of salt and mosquitoes

Near Arles, the Rhone splits into two branches, the Petit and Grand, and in this wishbone sits the roughly 300-square-mile Île de Camargue. The Rhone’s yearly floods have menaced the island ever since Phocaean traders and farmers arrived there from Marseille in 600 B.C. In 1869,

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completed a system of sea dikes and river canals that controlled the floods but transformed the landscape.

Then in the 20th century, a different type of transformation occurred: Made famous in films, the Camargue became known as the unbridled Far South, roamed by the gardians of French westerns.

The region’s wild terrain may appear untamed, but human intervention has shaped it. Or as a permanent exhibit at the

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, east of the village of Albaron (admission 7 euros, or $7.65), put it, today’s Camargue is the result of generations of an “incessant ****** against floods and salty soil.” If not, the land would have drowned or dried into a salt desert.

Each element of the Camargue’s ecosystem is linked: Tiny, purple wedge clams, or tellines, thrive in just the right blend of saltwater and freshwater. The pans where seawater becomes the region’s prized salt depend on the arid climate for evaporation. The horses and bulls act as four-legged lawn mowers. Even the mosquitoes are important, as a food source for birds. The insects swarm in the summer, and tourists — 75 percent of them French — do too. Spring and fall are the best time to visit.

Ferry ride to another world

The

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, a tiny car ferry on the eastern edge of the region, takes three minutes to cross the Rhone, but with departures every half-hour, it might be faster to swim. The ferry (€6) lands in

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, a town perched at the edge of one of the salt pans that bookend the Camargue. I climbed to the observation point for a bird’s-eye view of them: Snow-white mounds rose from pools ******** 50 shades of pink.

My food-obsessed friends had raved about

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(€143, set menu for lunch or dinner, plus wine), a 20-minute drive north on the Route de la Mer. This Michelin-starred restaurant puts seasonal vegetables center stage: tempura ***** bean leaves, charred mini-leeks beneath flame-roasted pigeon and smoky peas that tasted of a summer barbecue. “In the Camargue, the mix of flora and fauna create a world where everything is linked,” said the chef,

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, “which creates something magical.”

Where bird lovers are born

More than 400 bird species flock to the Camargue, which is along the largest migratory corridor between Europe and *******. Eager to spot some in the wild, I had booked a night at

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, whose website advertised a sunset bird-watching tour with Mr. Boulithe, the guesthouse’s owner, as my guide.

His encyclopedic knowledge converted me into a bird lover. Each species has its own personality, he said. The

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uses its eponymous beak to scoop up tiny fish, and the chirp of the

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matches its adorable strut. Instead of a room in the chic 17th-century farmhouse, I chose a lagoon-side cabin (starting at €200 a night, including breakfast) with a giant window for bird-watching in bed. It was hard to sleep in with the squawking chorus and Technicolor sunrise.

After a copious breakfast, I drove southwest to continue indulging my newfound avian obsession at

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(about €9, including binoculars). The 150-acre park invites birders to wander wooden footpaths and reed-lined marshes, perhaps spotting a

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showing off its iridescent feathers, or herons, which are a sign of a healthy environment, as one of the park’s informational panels explained.

I marveled at seeing such a large flock of the Camargue’s emblematic pink flamingos together in the wild — the way they balanced their football-shaped bodies on twig-like legs in the water, then unfolded into elegant gliders in flight. My visit coincided with their

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, when males sing and spread their wings wide to seduce prospective partners.

Good for eating, ‘bad for kissing’

Across the southern edge of the Île de Camargue, the Digue de la Mer, a 43-mile-long *****, helps defend the region from the sea. A flat, sometimes bumpy, ride on an electric bike (

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) from Stes.-Maries-de-la-Mer, the Camargue’s biggest town,

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took two hours and 15 minutes round-trip. On the narrow, sandy path, I felt like Moses parting the salty sea and brackish lagoons.

On the Petit Rhone, a cruise on the 126-seat boat

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(€16) offered glimpses of ****** Camargue bulls drinking at the waterside while white egrets dived for fish. The skipper pointed out

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, a local haunt famous for its fresh fish and eccentric owner, Daniel Zarate, 66, known as Za. Never one to say no to a local’s recommendation, I returned later to lunch on charcoal-grilled sea bream, purple tellines the size of press-on nails and octopus bathed in a garlicky rouille that Mr. Zarate warned was “bad for kissing.”

The boat departed from Stes.-Maries-de-la-Mer, which swells with tourists in the summer high season and for religious pilgrimages in late May. St. Sara, a.k.a. the ****** ********, is worshiped by the Camargue’s Roma people, who traveled in cozy caravans called roulottes. It felt as if I was bunking in a wooden boat when I stayed in a roulotte at the nearby

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(€260 to €380 per night, including breakfast), a four-star hotel that pairs gastronomic fare with live music on Saturday nights.

Just down the road, the brand-new, ******-tale-esque cottages at

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(starting at €300 a night) transform traditional cowboy dwellings into chic retreats with thatched roofs.

A rosé revived

Grapevines blanketed the Camargue before World War II, when rising salinity began to lower the region’s wine quality. New winemakers are using improved techniques to reverse that unfavorable reputation. Eager to taste the wine firsthand, the next morning I continued my journey west toward

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, the charming, medieval-walled capital of the

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appellation. At

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, I sampled a bright, saline gris-de-gris rosé that made the most of the sandy terroir.

The splashy and touristy salt marsh Salins d’Aigues-Mortes, at the western edge of the Camargue, is the largest in the Mediterranean — almost the size of Paris. You can tour the marsh, whose precious fleur de sel is harvested by hand, either solo or with a guide — by foot or bike, or even on a little train (€9 to €34). My guide, Naomie Aurel, 25, explained that the marsh hits peak pink from June to September, a hue caused by tiny shrimp that consume beta-carotene-rich algae. When flamingos eat those shrimp, Ms. Aurel explained, it “paints their plumes like makeup.”

Intrepid travelers can bunk at the new

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, modern cabins in a remote section of the marsh that is closed to other visitors (starting at €130). The hidden perk: Bookings give guests after-hours access to the sprawling property, including its secluded beaches.

Riding a unicorn-white steed

Made famous in the 1953 classic film “White Mane” — the French equivalent of “The ****** Stallion” — the hardy, ivory Camarguais breed withstands the hot, windy climate. The unicorn-white horses are essential for exploring the region’s wide-open spaces that are not accessible by car.

I signed up for an intimate ride at

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. “We want you to get to know your horse,” said Laure Vadon, 52, part of the fifth generation of a horse-breeding family. That meant fetching my horse in the field, brushing it before mounting the saddle and feeding it oats as a reward for our ride (about €45 for two hours). The welcome wind kept the mosquitoes away as we rode to the

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, a 25-square-mile lagoon that was so vast, I mistook it for the sea.

Ms. Vadon also raises Camarguais cattle, their ebony coats a photogenic contrast to the horses. Some bulls are bred for equine traditions like the

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, a type of nonfatal bullfight. Others are destined for the table as flame-grilled steaks at places like the lunch-only

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(set menu, about €60).

Retro chic and a museum of rice

Rice replaced many grapevines in the Camargue as salinity rose in the mid-20th century, and the region now produces most of the rice grown in France, including the red and ****** varieties prized by chefs. The rice fields help desalinate the delta via a complex series of Rhone-fed canals that flood the fields with freshwater. “We need to keep a close watch on the water, so the rice doesn’t dry out,” explained Marine Rozière, a fourth-generation rice grower whose family also runs the small

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museum (€5 admission).

Not far from the rice fields, the curved stone walls of

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, where I spent my last night in the Camargue, didn’t resemble anything else in the region. A Modernist 1960s hotel (rooms starting at €135 a night, breakfast included), it had hardly anything in common with cowboys, bulls, flamingos or salt pans.

Yet this eccentricity only seemed to make it an even better fit for such an improbable land.

“Coming to the Camargue, I had no idea such a place existed in France,” said Aaron Redlin, the ********* co-owner of the hotel. I couldn’t agree more.

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