“Why don’t you write more about the Rhone?” Remi asked one day while I was putting together yet another post rhapsodizing over the inherent power of the crumbly remnants of time. “What do you mean?” I tossed back with a casual tilt then scratch of my cheek. “The Rhone,” he repeated flatly. I blinked and tried to look winsome.
Yes, I know it is the reason why Arles exists, why Arelate or “town above the marshy lands” became so powerful in Roman times. Because a river runs through it. While preparing my first guided tour–given recently to an indescribably lovely group of Australian readers of this blog–its importance was a key thread of the conversation. Having the southern-most bridge before the Mediterranean while intersecting on the roads to Italy and Spain, it was the crossroads of Gaul. Spices and exotic goods came in, jars of wine, olive oil and fish flowed out, offering wealth for all involved. Times have changed–its days as an important port ending abruptly with the arrival of train transportation–but the river’s appeal has not.
I love the Rhone deeply. I stroll the recently renovated quay with Ben, my Golden Retriever nearly every day and I am not alone. It is one of the social centers of the city, where one can be lost in thought or cling laughingly to the arm of a companion. It is ever-changing depending on the light, the time of day, the season and roil of the current. Vincent Van Gogh painted it often, also drawn to its mercurial nature.
Which, I realized this morning is exactly why I don’t mention it more frequently despite it’s being such an important part of our daily lives in Arles–parce que le fleuve coule, it slips through my fingers. I can’t capture it in words or images in any way that is satisfactory to me but I can try. I grabbed my camera, called my faithful canine companion and headed out the door.
The Rhone is not neutral, it is nature. The Mistral winds can gather enough force off the winter waves to knock a strong man down. In 2003, the river rose with the rains to kiss the underside of the bridge, spilling over the banks and leaving many homeless for months. But I prefer to focus on all it gives. It is where I have gone on my darkest days, confident that the tide would pull my worries away and where Remi and I walked to celebrate buying our first house here, one whose roof terrace looked onto its shimmering surface. Perhaps that is why the Rhone makes Arles synonymous with home. It is hard to imagine living without it.
I had no idea Arles was so big or on the Rhone. Ben looks like he's very happy looking out over the water. You live in such a beautiful place.
XX
Debra~
I agree Liza. And how lucky are you to be able to go to Treasure Mart, get Cottage Inn Mediterranean Pizza and splurge at Vinololgy? 😉
Methinks you are being all too kind but I will take that compliment nonetheless! 🙂
Arles was one of the first towns I visited in France in 1995 (I came up from Spain). I fell in love with it then and that love has remained. How lucky you are to stroll the quays of the Rhone daily!
Lovely post Heather, I am always awestruck by the scale and lengths of French rivers. The Rhone is a mighty one indeed and with such a rich history.
I especially love the photo of the river and the wildflowers, it reminds me of a Renoir Painting.
XXX
Yes, and I hope that for you as well! Your kind comment made me remember something that I had wished to write–concerning the weight of water pulling within us. More than a cool hand on a feverish forehead. As the Hattats so perfectly wrote (and I often feel that I should just let them write my blog for me)–a primeval force.
I have been saving your last two posts for a chunk of time when I can read them uniterrupted! Looking forward to it.
Thank you so much Chris! The history here is overwhelming at times, the layers upon layers of it. You might be interested to know that in Roman times, the bridge was made up of a series of boats that were joined together with a passageway on top. They were placed just beyond the bend in the last photo, where the current slows down before making the turn and could rise and fall with the water levels far better than a set structure! Amazing, non?
He is Victoria, although a lazy one! He knows the exact point where we turn back and only then will pick up the pace!
Gosh, I don't think that they do it justice but it is hard to wrap around something so huge. And yes, I can only imagine the value of water for you, something that you have grown up with–quite different than in the States where we utterly take it for granted. And it is a lovely place to walk! I will be heading there with Ben in a bit.
How lovely that you were here! I hope that you enjoyed your visit. 🙂