How can one not love a penguin or a flamingo? The penguin for waddling in a tux, the flamingo for its stately pose in pink finery. It’s only fitting that we made our journey to the gathering of the flamingos in France. Their upright stillness, the long graceful loop of their necks as they dip their beaks in the water, their stiff processional walk, it all makes them seem like they belong in a Versailles fountain waiting to be fed by the Queen, or painted in light pink tones by Watteau.
The marshland south of Arles in Camargue is a bird sanctuary the size of a national park famous for its flamingos. There are of course an enormous variety of other birds. I saw an owl the size of an eagle, and herons hanging out on the muddy island in the marsh. But on this Sunday outing, the flamingos ruled.
