Tag Archives: Personal Reflection

Postcards

Growing Up in Smoke

Text by Lydia Perez
Photo by Malcolm Taylor

During the second week of my month in Arles, on a warm morning shortly before noon, I set out to take photos with a classmate. As we were getting ready to go and my classmate was packing up her camera equipment, we saw a little group of boys running around in the street. The oldest boy there, slumped over in a white shirt and shorts, was smoking a cigarette. 

My classmate and I were in complete shock to see the boy, who looked to be about 10 years old, smoking a cigarette around the other little kids. In the United States, it’s not common for people, particularly little kids, to smoke cigarettes. As I’ve walked around Arles, I always find at least one person with a cigarette in their mouth followed by a cloud of smoke.

In the United States, it’s a bit more common for middle schoolers to start consuming cannabis. That still shocks me. But not as much as seeing the little boy in Arles letting out a puff of smoke.

We were hoping the boy wouldn’t influence the other little boys around him to start smoking. But a week later, as I was walking home with the same classmate, we saw the boy who had been smoking again on the same street. We also saw one of the other little boys down the street. He looked to be around 5 years old and was behind a trash can that was a bit taller than him. He had a heartwarming smile.

“Oh no, is it a vape?” my classmate asked.

Sure enough, the little boy put his fist toward his mouth and two seconds later smoke came out of his mouth. As soon as the cloud of smoke blew out into the air, my heart shattered. I’d never seen a child that young vaping.

At home, when people want to smoke a cigarette, a vape pen or even a marijuana joint, they usually ask others around them if they’re comfortable with the smoking. However, the times I’ve been out to restaurants or walking around in Arles, people casually pull out a cigarette and just light it up. I find myself wondering just what are the limits on smoking here.

Environment, Postcards

Trash to treasure, the Rhône swallows it all

Photos and text by Thomas Murphy

As I walked along the Rhône during my first week in Arles, I noticed an old couch beneath the south end of the Pont de Trinquetaille. Beside it sat the remains of a Heineken 12-pack. I had clearly stumbled upon a local drinking spot, so I took out my camera and made a photo of the uniquely placed furniture. 

As I moved on from the couch, continuing down the side of the river, a man looked at me as he passed by. I thought nothing of this fellow pedestrian until I heard a loud splash from behind me. I turned to see the man walking away from the bridge and the couch floating in the Rhône.

With such an odd scene set before me, I jumped into action and began snapping pictures. Running up and down the many stairs leading to the water, I followed this cushioned raft until it began to slip beneath the surface of the Rhône.

As it sank, I began to think about what other random things could be sitting at the bottom of the massive river. I imagined layers of objects from throughout history making up the seabed, with modern-day garbage resting atop ancient relics. Turns out I wasn’t far off from reality.

The Arles-Rhône 3 is on display in the Musee departemental Arles antique.

When the Arles-Rhône 3 sank around 50 to 60 A.D., the transport ship was resigned to the depths of the Rhône River that cuts through the ancient city. It saw the light of day once again after a team from the Musée départemental Arles antique resurfaced the vessel as a part of a project to dredge up the countless relics lost to the river.

The ship is now on display in the center of a section showcasing the river’s treasures. It is surrounded by and filled with the amphoras, cut limestone and metal bricks that it once carried up and down the Rhône amongst other relics from the time.

The Roman Empire, under the rule of Julius Caesar, inducted Arles into the empire in 46 AD. This turned the city into a prominent sea-river port and spurred the expansion of the city,  which grew to include the arena, forum and amphitheater we see in the center of Arles today.

The Arles-Rhône 3, and other ships like it, were integral to the flow of trade in and out of Arles. The markings on much of the discovered lost cargo allowed archaeologists to form an idea of the trade networks that connected Arles to the Mediterranean, which reached Carrara in the North of Italy and the Iberian Peninsula.

Stonework from the Roman era is on display in the Musée départemental Arles antique.

Amazed by such wonderfully preserved pieces of humanity’s history, I began my walk back into town. As I strolled alongside the Rhône yet again, I was reminded of how the boys from the Arlesian family I’m living with and I had biked from a picnic party the night before, going through a thicket to find a small, eroding section of riverbank along the Rhône. 

There, we found a fire extinguisher floating within reach of the massive stick we had just pulled from a bush. We found that the extinguisher had expired in 2004. The fire extinguisher now sits on the floor of the shower in my host brothers’ bathroom. They intend to clean it and mount it on their wall.

A fire extinguisher is one of the newer relics salvaged from the Rhône River.

As I go over these memories in my mind, I am reminded of the peril that our world is in. Today, humanity continues leaving its mark on the Earth, creating a legacy that will show exactly how we lived our lives. Unfortunately, the legacy of our current era will not be of ancient wonder, but one of filth and reckless waste. Plastic and trash fills our rivers and seas, polluting them and choking life from the natural world. A couch sinks below the water’s surface. A fire extinguisher floats by. The rising waters eat away at the riverbank.

The world is experiencing change at an unprecedented rate because we are affecting it at a level never seen before in our history, but why is that? Recklessness. Humanity has acted upon this impulse for centuries, to burn whatever we have to in the interest of constant growth. A random passerby throwing a couch into a river embodies humanity’s comfort in a world where excessive waste is the norm and its destructive force is not fully recognized.

Postcards, Traditions

A Vegetarian Explores Arles

Text and photo by Ania Johnston

Vegetarianism is easy most places–you just need to get creative.

I recently stumbled over a curious fact posted by France Today: “Over 5% of the French population is vegetarian, compared with 10% in the United Kingdom, or up to 40% in India.” I guess what they were trying to say is that it’s a low percentage and ultimately it’s pretty hard to survive here as a herbivore. But in my experience, it’s easier to get vegetarian food than to explain my vegetarianism to locals.

Here is my brief guide to navigating the land of vegetarian scarcity. I hope that you’ll find it very French and very veggie-friendly. 

1: Prioritize eating at home over restaurants. 

My first day here in Arles, I found out that I had been matched to a vegetarian host family. Since that day, they have cooked only one meal with meat as the main dish — chicken — primarily because they had meat-eating guests over. My first night in Arles, I was treated with a gorgeous rice-based meal with tofu and asparagus. I couldn’t complain. 

You may not find yourself in such a lucky situation. So, I suggest the second you step off your train–jet-lagged and sweltering from the high-noon heat–put your bags down in your Airbnb and go out looking for your local patisserie, fromagerie, then a cheeky little cave à vin. (I didn’t say I would be appealing to the gluten-free or dairy-free here. You all may be out of luck.)

In my case, I was able to find this fantastic Bio store right in downtown Arles by the LUMA. It’s got everything you’d ever need and more and I suggest you stock up because living on Mediterranean time means that from noon to 2 pm, and on Sunday, most grocery stores will be closed.

2: If you have to go to restaurants it’s easy!

Ordering anxiety is real. Vegetarian options are real too. You got this.

Start thinking like a local rather than a tourist. The classic dish in Arles (and allegedly the entire south of France) is gardiane de taureau–bull stew. It comes from the tradition of bullfighting, and it is NOT veg-friendly. Duh. Luckily, no one is making you order this, and there are plenty of other options.

One thing that tourists might find confusing here is the formule also known as the “deal meal.” This typically includes a main dish, a coffee, and a dessert, and it comes at a fixed price. These are rarely vegetarian so if you find yourself at a restaurant that has their big formule on display, ask for the menu!

During lunch hours this dish is usually most popular and some restaurants may not offer up the menu right away. I promise you, however, the menu will include a nice salad (maybe even with some local olives and burrata.) If you find yourself unable to locate any veggie mains, one of my favorite tricks is getting an assortment of appetizers. It’s especially fun in a big group and if you order the grande planche (large board) you’ll be able to satiate your meat-lover friends too.

3. Get creative with it!

You don’t have to be boring to be vegetarian. It’s not all salads and grazing– especially in a Mediterranean hub like France! 

One of my favorite things to do is visit the Arles farmer’s market on Wednesday or Saturday mornings and just have a field day with the various stands. “Je voudrais…”

I often go to an olive stand that my French instructor showed us our first week in Arles and I love to get the spicy olives and the garlic ones. Just like every other Mediterranean dish they are covered in oil and Herbes de Provence and they are so tasty. The best thing is to get some brie, grab yourself a baguette, even some fougasse and indulge in fresh tomatoes or peppers.

A little bundle of strawberries isn’t all that bad for dessert either. Once you’ve gathered your goods take a walk to the Parc des Ateliers and find a shady patch of grass. 

Bon appetit!

Postcards

Iel or elle?

Photo and story by Gabriela Calvillo Alvarez

The worst part of the first day of class is introductions. I dread having to come up with five fun facts about myself on the spot to share with strangers I have yet to know. When I came to Arles for my study abroad program, it was no different. I heard one of my professors explain that we would start the lesson off that way, by getting to know each other.  

She had just announced the agenda for the next few hours when she posed a question to the class about their pronouns. This part doesn’t bother me; it actually makes me feel welcome. But what I found interesting about it is that she mentioned “iel,” the gender-neutral pronoun in France. 

“Iel,” pronounced roughly like “yell,” combines the male (il) and female (elle) pronouns of the French language and has been a source of contention within the country for some time. Originally introduced by the online French dictionary, Le Robert, in 2021, “iel” has upset multiple people who don’t consider it a part of the language. 

One of the main forces against its usage is l’Académie Française, an institution that is designed to protect the French language. One of its statutes reads: “The main function of the Academy will be to work, with all possible care and diligence, to give certain rules to our language and to make it pure, eloquent and able to deal with the arts and sciences.” As of now, “iel” is not officially approved by l’Académie. 

Prior to my trip to France, I wasn’t aware that a gender-neutral pronoun existed here. I was under the impression that it would not be a popular concept. But to my surprise, it had already been a topic of conversation. 

Back in 2017, l’Académie Française wrote a statement on inclusive writing, warning that “with this ‘inclusive’ aberration, the French language is now in mortal danger, which our nation is now accountable to future generations.” This kind of reaction in regards to inclusivity reminded me of a similar sentiment that many people in my own culture share. 

My native tongue, Spanish, has gendered pronouns for most of the words included in everyday language. And similar to the French, the Latinx community has been having a hard time accepting gender-neutral terminology. While it has gained some traction amongst folks, many do not understand it and are afraid of what it means to the integrity of a beloved culture. Some of the older generations in my family are so enthralled with tradition that they perceive this push for inclusivity as almost a personal attack on them.

As a queer person, it’s hard for me not to feel a little alienated anywhere I go. Most of the time, I don’t force people to use they/them on me in my everyday life since I do feel comfortable with feminine pronouns. But in Arles, I have had complicated emotions surrounding gender because it feels like I have to overperform femininity to fit into the culture, both for safety and acceptance. Outside of the classroom, I’m in an entirely new environment and it’s hard to understand what is socially acceptable and what isn’t. 

However, I’m glad that this conversation has begun in Arles and France generally. Perhaps Spanish-speaking cultures will follow suit. Discussions about “iel” or even “elle,” pronounced like “eh-yeh,” in the Latinx community could make way for more inclusive language in the future.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Postcards

Spare change

Story and photo by Ella Ehlers

As I was sitting outside a small bakery in Arles with some friends, the remains of our lunch scattered around us, when a small boy approached our group and caught our attention. 

The boy looked to be around 7 years old, but his clothing looked a lot older. He was wearing ripped-up shorts and a gray T-shirt with gashes through the fabric. His hair was shaggy, and he had dirt smudged all over his face. I was instantly hit with a wave of sadness after seeing the state this young boy was in.

He looked up at us and softly asked for some coins for a pastry. I was too stunned to speak, but quickly turned to my wallet and started digging for coins. I could feel the boy’s eyes looking at me, making me hope I could find some spare change. I snatched a few euros to give him and my friends chipped in too. We ended up collecting enough for him to buy some food. The boy’s eyes started to glow, and he smiled ear to ear as he thanked us for the coins and quickly scurried into the bakery. 

As the boy walked away I was filled with a wave of relief, knowing that he could buy something to eat. But I was quickly taken back to a dark place, knowing there are children fighting hunger and homelessness every day. Then the boy came out of the bakery with a bag in his hand. 

He sat down at the table right beside us and quickly gobbled down the sandwich. It seemed like this was the first time he had eaten in a while, which made me upset. From the way the boy was eating, it seemed like he didn’t know how or when he would get his next meal.

As the boy was leaving, he said, “Merci, mes dames,” and rode away on his rusty bike.

I was left with a pit in my stomach and many unanswered questions. I wondered where his parents were and how he could be left alone at such a young age. 

After this interaction, I feel grateful to have grown up in a family that was able to financially support me, and I feel deeply sorry for the children who aren’t sure if they will eat every day.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.

Postcards, Traditions

Watching death through a lens

Story and photos by Sam Guzman

When I heard there was going to be a bullfighting event at a ranch on the outskirts of Arles, I jumped at the opportunity to photograph it. I had been to rodeos before, but I’d never attended a bullfight.

“La Corrida” is a centuries-old tradition for the people of Spain and Southern France.  Bullfighters wear traditional outfits –- short jackets, knee-length trousers and boots — and dance with the bulls as spectators watch. It ends in the death of the bulls, one sword to the body and another to the head. To many people in this region, it is an act of honor. 

I thought I was going to a practice session where the animals would not be killed. Marie-Anne Devaux, my guide for the day, introduced me to three of the matadors who were to be performing that day. Everyone there was incredibly charming and kind. They really made me feel welcome, and I was excited to shoot photographs of the bullfight. 

Lalo de Maria was the matador up first, and it was fascinating to see him work. Lalo threw a red cape in front of the bull, and the animal charged towards him. Then a man on a horse provoked the bull to check its bravery. It was at that moment when Devaux turned to me and said, “Oh, they’re gonna kill the bull; you can tell because he has his sword in his hand.” 

Matador Bruno Aloi uses a red cape on a pole to attract the bull and hide his sword.

In this moment I felt conflicted; I didn’t come to this event to see a bull die. It was against my very nature to want to see something like this. However, I also knew that as a journalist it’s not my job to decide what’s right and what’s wrong. It’s not my right to go to a country I’ve never been to before, with a language I don’t speak, with customs I don’t understand and say that what they’re doing is wrong. 

Photographing the bull as it’s dying, blood leaking from its mouth, its eyes starting to fade away, was the most important thing I could do in that moment.

As I put the camera to my eye, I thought of a photograph I had studied in school.

After being stabbed, the bull collapses to the ground before dying.

On July 22, 1975, in Boston, Massachusetts, 19-year-old Diana Bryant and her 2-year-old goddaughter were on a fire escape during an apartment fire, waiting for firefighters to rescue them. But the platform they were on broke and the two of them fell to the ground. Bryant died; her goddaughter survived. 

A few feet away, Stanley Forman, a photographer for the Boston Herald American, was shooting the entire incident. He took a series of heartbreaking photographs, capturing the two bodies as they fell through the air. The photographs sparked a lot of outrage, and the press was charged with invasion of privacy. However, the photographs led to change; within 24 hours, the city of Boston altered its policies on the regulation and maintenance of fire escapes and other cities around the U.S. also passed new legislation, inspired by Forman’s photographs.

As I looked at the bull through my viewfinder, lying there, its life slowly leaving its body, I realized the power we photographers have in capturing death as well as life. Whether or not I support the practice of corrida, it’s my job to photograph this and show it to the world.

This is a personal reflection and does not necessarily express the opinion of The Arles Project or program sponsors ieiMedia or Arles à la carte.