If you thought there was nowhere to connect cowboys, rice growing, dikes, flamingos, Leonardo da Vinci, salt pans and bull fighting, don't feel too badly. You'd possibly laugh out loud if someone threw France into the list. Yet the truth is these things - and many more - are held together in the mosquito-ridden wetlands of Provence's forgotten sub-region.

Welcome to the Camargue! 

The mighty Rhône river begins from a glacier at an altitude of 1753 metres in the Saint-Gotthard Massif, in Switzerland, and flows for 800 kilometres before finally dispersing its waters over 930 square kilometres of marshy delta then dumping them, now heavily mud-laden, into the Mediterranean.

The Camargue - technically an island as it is surrounded by water - has always interested me, and when I finally visited it I crossed my fingers that I'd encounter the three colourful living creatures most associated with this region: lolly-pink flamingos, black bulls and white horses.

As it happens, two out of the three are easy to find. Compact black bulls prowl many fields and are pictured posing on signs. The horses are everywhere too, and at one roadside riding school, we find a dozen or so in varying shades of whiteness lined up at a stone water trough, ready for hire. These horses are said to be one of the oldest horse breeds in the world, closely related to the prehistoric horse. Luckily for them they are said to thrive in salt water, and are even referred to locally as 'horses of the sea', once only ridden by Provençal cowboys called gardians.

While most of the ancient traditions have passed on, we drive past cabanes, once inhabited by these horsemen, in villages along the way. They are stout windowless whitewashed houses shaped much like an upturned fishing boat with stiffly thatched roofs, with a set of upturned bull horns over the doorway to ward off evil spirits.

A horseback tour (and there are many to choose from along the southern half of the D570 between Arles and Ste. Maries-de-la-Mer) is an ideal way to see this slow-paced region. Non-riders may prefer a jeep safari to experience the remote interior. In colder weather the vehicles may be enclosed, or hardier tourists might choose to rent bicycles which are ideal for use in this virtually flat terrain.

Mosquitoes are reputed to constitute the fourth form of common wildlife in the swampy Camargue region, but maybe we've arrived too early in the season, or they don't like sunshine. Whatever the reason we see none of them and don't mind that a bit.

Bulls are significant in the south of France where the Spanish influence is stronger and these feisty fellows are vital to the regular bull-fights conducted in towns throughout this area. The bull-fighting is not the nasty kind I am assured - although I am not much of a fan of any of it - here all the matador (or razeteur) has to do is pluck a red cockade from between the bull's horns, using a hook.

It seems a bit tame compared to the blood and guts version, but apparently the locals (and tourists) are mad about it and line up for tickets into the arena to see it. We pass one giant concrete stadium in a coastal town. It's a hot summer afternoon. The town, including the bullfight venue, is empty. Tattered posters paper the walls near the entrance, but that's all.

Despite being on 'flamingo-alert', perhaps I only imagine seeing them at a bird sanctuary. Certainly there is some sort of pink-ish bird life in the reeds on the edge of a muddy stretch of water. I am not sure if that counts. I so want to see one, as these showy birds that can live for over thirty years grow to between 1.5 to 2 metres tall. Their wing span of almost two metres make them an awesome sight when in flight. It is estimated that around 20,000 pairs of flamingos visit this area, but we were here in June and it was most likely that one of the parents (they share shifts) was firmly guarding the single egg in a raised muddy nest amongst the reeds.

Regardless of our luck with that species, the extensive wetlands are a form of bird-heaven and we saw ducks and other flocks of various fowl wheeling across the sky. Over 400 species of birds flock here annually (some of them migratory) and the Parc Ornithologique de Pont de Grau just a little north of Les Ste Maries-de-la-Mer offers bird-watching tours as well as a reception area with a permanent display.

This important ornithological park occupies nine hectares of marshlands and birdlovers get to see most of the birds of this region - not just waders and sea birds such as egrets, storks and herons, but birds of prey including owls, eagles, hawks, harriers, buzzards and vultures, and even the occasional muskrat paddling along in the reed-filled water. Long paths wind around the wetlands and in bad weather twitchers with binoculars may observe in comfort from cosy benches beside large windows in the main building

At the town of Les Ste Maries-de-la-Mer, a few kilometres on, we encounter another uncertainty. Some say this is the place where the two Marys and maybe one other, a servant, possibly also called Mary arrived in France (a la Dan Brown's theory) shortly after the crucifixion, about AD 40. Doubt remains because other places in France also claim to have been chosen by these women as a place to settle. Then, perhaps, they didn't come at all and, nothing surer, no one will ever know. 

All we discover is a town bleached bone-white, bordered by a grey beach. There's a compact and well-patronised marina and the ubiquitous bull-fighting stadium. Higher, in the centre of town, stands the church where, in the 15th-century, skeletal remains - believed to belong to the two Marys - were found.

Today all is quiet. Even the brightly painted carousel on the foreshore is still, although I am pleased to see that among the animals available for children to ride is a shiny little black bull. In the marina, tuna fishing boats lie moored, baking. It is so hot. The town is siesta-quiet, and the sea reflects back the brilliant sunshine. Even the restaurants have finished serving lunch and hauled in the menu boards offering paella and pizzas. In the square stands a bronze statue surrounded by red rose bushes. Appropriately it's a gardian herding up a long-horned bull. Black, of course.

Unfortunately the annual Gitan (gypsy) festival, held in late May, honouring their patron saint, Sarah, who was may have been the Marys' Egyptian servant, has just finished. As I walk along the waterfront and streets of the town, I hope to see some who may have stayed on, then realise I possibly wouldn't recognise any if they had anyway. Just what does a gypsy in non-festival clothes look like, anyway?

Finally it was vital to move on if we were to keep to our schedule, so we took a road that cut across the marshes which turned out to be not as salt-affected and barren as the map implied with its frequent depictions of salt lakes, or etangs, and we passed roadside stalls selling regional products - asparagus, apricots, melons and cherries, as well as caves and vineyards.

Rice is grown in the north-western Camargue too, in plots that are submerged in late spring and summer, then harvested in autumn. Less rice is grown these days, and other crops include wheat, maize, and canola, but this is where the dikes come in. All this is drained land, protected from the delta's advances by low levee banks.

It is interesting to realise that the water-logged Camargue has only about 50 kilometres of coastline. This is a volatile terrain, constantly changing. Each year, 20 million cubic metres of mud and silt are washed down by the waters of the Rhône, changing the profile of the land and slowly pushing the coastline further south. In the thirteenth-century, when the area was annexed by France, Aigues Mortes was built on the coast as a sea port, yet now it is five kilometres inland.

Although the Camargue is heavily salt-affected, we later learn that the southeast corner near Salin-de-Giraud is the saltiest part. Here giant 'salt marshes' (salins) display long lines of salt mountains drying in the hot sun, and flat shining squares of salt. These evaporation pans are the largest in Europe, covering more than 11,000 hectares, and produce around a million tonnes annually. Salt gathering has been going on for a long time here, begun by the Greeks and Romans, then carried on throughout the Middle Ages. The Routes du Sel, or 'salt roads' used to transport this vital product, once passed through central Provence then the Alpes-Maritime, and into Piedmont. 

Arles, established in 49BC and the area's largest town and unofficial capital, still has an impressive Roman amphitheatre once used for bloody gladiatorial exhibitions. Today it has tamed down, offering instead bloodless bull-fights, yet it still manages to draw 12,000 excited spectators in the height of summer.

Who knows if Mary Magdalene chose this wild land as a safe place to hide out with her grief and a small child? Whatever the truth, this triangle of water tangled with land - France's enigma - is just the place for such a mystery.

 - Sally Haamond

Have you been this region? What did you discover?