“In the early summer in the Camargue, flamingos arrive from Africa and cover the entire landscape. When they move their wings, it’s as if a wave has risen on a pink sea.” When I heard this, I couldn’t sit still. That summer, I headed for the Camargue in France. I contacted a friend who was studying abroad in England, and she said she would go with me. We met in Paris and took a train to Avignon. After renting a car at the station, we drove to the town of Arles, which would be our base for the next few days.
The next day, with no real knowledge of the area, we drove around the Camargue, our hearts a mix of eagerness and anticipation. But the flamingos were nowhere to be found. Where could they be? Suddenly, from the passenger seat, my friend’s excited voice called out, “Ah, there they are!” We stopped the car and peered quietly through the bushes. A few flamingos were resting peacefully, their wings tucked in. It was the first time I had ever seen a wild flamingo. They were a faint, peach-like pink. For my friend, perhaps this was enough. But from the next day, I began to go out alone. I would drive to the salt flats of the Camargue before dawn, change my location each day, and hold my breath as I waited for the flamingos. Even when I finally spotted them, they would sense my presence and lift off, floating away into the distance.
On this day, too, I was waiting alone by the edge of the salt flat for the sun to rise. The blue of the night slowly gave way to a peachy hue in the eastern sky. The air smelled of salt. Into that silent world, a distant sound was born.
―They were here.
I looked up and saw a flock of flamingos, having come from the east, flying directly over my head.
One day after returning to Japan, I was having a drink at a familiar bar. I struck up a conversation about flamingos with an Italian man sitting next to me. When I told him, “I never knew flamingos could fly in such a way,” he looked at me with genuine surprise. In Italy, where wild flamingos also live, this was a common sight for him. He then asked me with a playful look, “Do you know why flamingos are pink?” When I said I didn’t know, he answered proudly, “It’s because they eat shrimp. And a little bit of Campari, of course.” I laughed at his typically Italian answer.
I’ve heard that due to climate change and other factors, the flamingos no longer come in the vast numbers they once did, covering the landscape like a sea of pink. But even so, I will never forget the world of pink I was able to see in that morning light.
