Eurasian Blackbird
It seems like a long time since I posted, but I’m back. Lots to report too.
Late April, 2023
After a pleasant and interesting few days in Barcelona, we caught the train to Bordeaux. The train skirts the Pyrenees, and follows the Mediterranean coast to Narbonne, Roman Narbo, a town I wish we’d had more time to explore. Then the line cuts sharply left- the route forms a right angle.
The coastal marshes speeding past the windows of the train are famous birding locations. Even rocketing along on the TGV, one can pick out quite a few species. There’s a trick to it, mostly looking well ahead and focusing on a group of birds until they pass.
No birder can pass these brackish flats without at least trying, despite the resulting headache. So, the list: Common Shelduck, Greater Flamingo, Slender-billed Gull, Yellow-legged Gull, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Eurasian Marsh Harrier, Eurasian Kestrel, Eurasian Magpie, Mute Swan, Pied Avocet, Eurasian Oystercatcher. These at the Salines de la Palme and the Grau de la Franqui. No photos, of course. You’ll have to take my word for it, but I won’t blame you if you don’t.
A quick stop in Narbonne to change trains, and then we’re off to Bordeaux on the fast train. I expected to see lots of white Storks en route, but there was nary a one.
Our apartment in Bordeaux was a bit of a surprise both in terms of location and size, but at least it was close to the laundromat so we could wash our clothes. We rubbed shoulders with the undergrads who, by the way, were very helpful.
The next day we picked up our rental car on the edge of town. Finding our way back to our lodgings from there, and solving the mystery of the underground parking garage,made for an interesting morning.
Our stay in Bordeaux had to be short, just three days. We ate some great food, drank some of the region’s luscious wine, had a thoughtful gaze at the charred doors of the city hall (Palais Rohan), suddenly famous after the riots over government policies earlier in the year. We visited the underwhelming wine museum, and strolled the famous river front too. Other than Rock Doves and Mallards, we saw precious few birds in Bordeaux — Common Swift, Eurasian Blackbirds, a Serin, Common Wood Pigeon. Not enough time to look, really.
Wood Pigeons
The Palais Rohan
On Sunday morning we freed the rental from the bowels of the labyrinthine parking garage, popping out into the narrow streets of the university district like Jonah from the whale, and then headed out. We planned to arrive in Périgueux on the River Isle in late afternoon. Saint-Émilion, that famous wine town, was, more on less, on the way. To go to the Bordeaux region and not visit this famous village seemed unthinkable.
The charred doors of the Palais Rohan (city hall)in Bordeaux, set on fire during protests against government policies.
The gray morning turned bright and warm (briefly) as we left the busier roads for narrower ones that followed the contours of lovely rolling hills carpeted with vineyards.
Our route took us past chateaux with very famous names we recognized at once, a somewhat surreal experience. Not the least of these was Château Pétrus, identified by modest signs marking the rows of vines that produce this extremely expensive Pomerol wine. No big showrooms and gift shops here. No need when a bottle of 2022 will cost you 6000 dollars U.S., if you can find one.
We didn’t attempt to visit the Chateau; I’ve been sneered at by enough Parisian waiters and other guardians of French culture to be able to predict the kind of look I’d get, even if someone deigned to open the door to our knock. Kind of like the look the Maître d’ of Club 21 in New York once gave my flip-flops.
Out of the car, the place was magical, the air still and fragrant with the scents of growing plants, of budding flowers, and of pale, buff-coloured loam; the fluting songs of Blackbirds and Wood Thrushes floated up from here and there along the rows. A Yellowhammer zoomed past, a mustard-coloured flash diving toward some choice spot among those old vines. Overhead, a Common Buzzard circled. If terroir makes a wine, as it must in large part, then we are experiencing it, at least in the only ways we could afford. Magical!
Château Pétrus: In the movie, Sideways, Miles refuses to drink any “stinking Merlot”? Too bad. Pétrus grows only Merlot.
Saint-Émilion, on a cool, slightly rainy April day. Lots of wine ‘caves’ to drop into for a tasting.
Saint-Émilion was busy and parking was a challenge. A bright day, as I say, and generally true, except for an the occasional shower. A bit cool when the clouds hid the sun – I had to buy a warm vest.
I can’t say that this famous village is unspoiled, but it tries its best. Saint-Émilion occupies a hilltop around which vineyards radiate like spokes on a wheel.
Like all tourist towns, this one has lots of places where one can buy things, but precious few reasonably priced eateries, especially perhaps, on a Sunday in April. Saint-Émilion was, and is I believe, also a stop on the old pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela.
The medieval church is a must-see. It is dedicated to the saint (8th century, I think). It, and many other buildings, typify the solid stone architecture that often marks a successful, economically-viable French village with a long history. It doesn’t hurt either that this one is at the heart of one of the greatest vine-growing regions in the world.
Bird Noetz 