KEY POINTS:
When I am living in the south of France, I love any occasion that involves going for a drive. So my friends and I often set off for that romantic, gypsy town in the heart of the Camargue on the Mediterranean, Saints-Maries-de-la-Mer, surely the most evocative place name in the world, in search of seafood.
According to Provencal legend, in the 4th century the Jews of Jerusalem put some women in a boat without sails or oars and set it to sea. Miraculously, the boat landed safely with its precious cargo on the shores of the Mediterranean, where Sts-Maries now is. The boat carried Mary (the mother of James) and Mary Salome (the mother of James Major and John), who were the half sisters of the Virgin Mary; Mary Magdalene and Martha. Left behind on the shore in Jerusalem was Sarah, the Marys' black servant who wept so loudly that Mary Salome threw her mantle on to the water so Sarah could walk over it to join the others in the boat.
After erecting a simple oratory on the shore of Sts-Maries in thanks to the Virgin Mary, the Marys separated: Martha went to Tarascon and Mary Magdalene to Ste-Baume. The two other Marys and Sarah remained in the Camargue and were buried in the oratory.
The gypsies took on the black Saint Sarah as their patron saint, and 19 centuries later they still indulge in a huge pilgrimage, in which gypsies from all over the world participate. It goes on for four days and is a combination of veneration, drinking, singing, dancing, processions on horseback and bull-running in the streets. The extravagantly dressed saints are taken down from the church and paraded through the streets and right into the sea where they and everyone are blessed. There is a lot of black hair dye and gold teeth and the caravans are getting more and more sophisticated.
But first we had to eat in a restaurant my friends assured me I would love. There are lots of eating places in this popular town, some of them touristy, so you really have to know where to go. Soon we were happily ensconced at a table in Le Fournelet - the ros and black olives served by the black-eyed, brown-skinned waitress (everyone looks like a gypsy to me), with the Gypsy Kings playing (it's endemic in this region).
This is the life, I thought, looking around at the customers crammed into every crevice of the noisy, laughing room. They were local folk, fishermen, gardians (cowboys) and horse people. We started with cold tellines (like baby pipi) in creamy aioli, indulgently eating with our fingers, sucking each tiny one, before moving on to the seafood platters, which were jumping with desperately fresh langoustines, prawns, oysters, winkles, raw mussels. We were in ecstasy, the food was great, the place was rocking and it wasn't expensive.
In New Zealand, seafood is very good in the winter so this is the time to access your inner gypsy. Black hair dye optional.