The metéo was threating rain in Perpignan - in fact it was already raining - so we decided to move east along the Mediterranean coast to Arles, the capital of the Camargue.  Unknown to us, this was the week of the annual Féria de Pâques complete with a full program of bullfights;  in fact, the atmosphere in Arles was as Spanish as it was French.



As we left the hotel to find supper on the first evening, a group of Spaniards entered the lobby, burdened with luggage that included leather cases obviously containing swords;  clearly, this was to be the real deal.  

People were gathering in the street outside so we waited to see what would happen.  Within a few minutes several floats appeared, the first two of which were huge mechanised bulls intended  to publicise the bullfights which followed during the rest of the Easter week. 



I have always wanted to attend a bullfight, and Anne was not averse, so we booked for the first full corrida of the week. 



The amphitheatre in Arles with its 120 Romanesque arches dates back to the first century BC and is very, very impressive;  arguably the perfect setting for ritualised blood-letting.





Having booked the evening's entertainment (I feel a bit like the Emperor Commodus after typing that) we wandered through the town drinking coffee and listening to the traditional Pena bands before arriving ...



... at the river, which takes a sharp turn at Arles before it runs down the eastern edge of the Parc Naturel Régional de Camargue to the sea, having already split into Le Grand Rhône and Le Petit Rhône north of the city.



A beautiful view, but no shortage of rats at the river's edge.