Since I was still struggling with a migraine, (ok, and because my morning marketing was such a bust) I let Bill decide how we’d spend the afternoon. He actually went with my original plan: to drive to a place almost to the coast about an hour and a half away called Camargue where I’d read there are thousands of flamingos. The concern was that not a single person Bill talked to in his office had ever even heard of the place. French people. One asked if the birds would even be there, or if they migrate for winter and could still be gone. Undaunted, we got in the car and headed that way.
From the outside, it didn’t look like much. We paid our 18 Euros or whatever it was and went in.
At the front there are several cages of birds. Big birds. No, not the yellow kind from Sesame Street. But kinds you don’t see every day, like giant owls and falcons.
We followed the map, which was little more than lines drawn around a couple of lakes, and soon found what we’d gone in search of. Flamingos. Hundreds of them. The park is at their natural habitat so the birds weren’t in any caged area. They could fly (they’re sort of funny to watch). I suppose they could leave if they wanted; there must be something done to keep them there even with tourists gawking at them all day. At every turn for the next hour or so, we saw bunches of the light pink birds. They are noisy things. Some were fighting. Some were dancing around with their heads in the water, looking for food. You could walk right up to the edge of the water to see them. I was sort of amazed I didn’t see any of the people do something stupid like stick their hand out for the birds to bite. I’m even more amazed that no one has heard of this place. It was well worth the trip.
There’s a neighborhood in Chicago patterned after this place, actually. The birds don’t move, though.