Hannibal's France: in the Footsteps of Elephants by Daphne Beames
Featured Hotel in France
Alpaga
See all hotels in France >
Holidays are about a change of pace, mood and atmosphere and the idea of following an unusual route - that of Hannibal’s journey through France - seemed an attractive way to go.
We began in the Camargue a wild place - evocative of desolate, windswept spaces - and forever immortalised by the poet, Roy Campbell. His haunting words recall the thundering of equine hooves across windy plains - but the hooves have not always belonged to the white horses, for in 218 BC Hannibal’s thirty-seven elephants travelled this way on their journey from North Africa towards Rome. They passed through Spain, camped under the walls of the ancient French town of Elne and then progressed to Arles, Avignon, Orange and finally - via Montelimar - to St. Véran near the Italian frontier.
This historic route still holds the interest of writers, artists and poets - and so we set out for Arles. A signpost on the outskirts of this former capital of Roman Gaul, Spain and Britain - near a replica of the famous drawbridge painted by van Gogh - heralds the start of the Camargue.
Drive south, along straight, flat roads, bordered by rushes and canals, where the vegetation is quite lush and much greener than expected. The first, exciting glimpse of the white horses will probably be In the Park Ornithologique. There are hundreds of them! They are silvery-grey and mostly tethered but the few that are loose are an impressive sight! Beside the salt-water lakes are flamingoes and, silhouetted amongst them, are the equally famous, small, black Camargue bulls.
It is a magnetic place of wild beauty, grey expanses, pink sunsets and strange towns like Ste-Maries-de-la-Mer and Aigues-Mortes - which seem somehow to belong to a forgotten century and to hang on the edges of the earth. Do not miss it.
Head back to Arles, that meeting point of waterways and land routes, and to the splendid grandeur of the Hotel Jules César. This hostelry will not disappoint. Drive along the Boulevard des Lices and the first impression of the 17th century Carmelite convent, now converted into a splendid hotel, is one of white marble, wrought iron balustrades and manicured, fragrant shrubs. This is a Provençal legend and a relief of Julius Caesar looks down on an ancient chapel that is a protected historical site.
Relax in the shady Cloister garden before dressing for dinner and enjoying renowned cuisine in the famous Restaurant Lou Marquès.
You are in the heart of a bustling city and two thousand years of history await on the doorstep!
Walk across the leafy boulevard and you will arrive in the ruins of a 15 AD Roman Theatre. Glance up any street and the huge arches of the largest Roman building ever built in Gaul will loom on the horizon. This gigantic amphitheatre was begun in 46 BC and once seated 26,000 people. It is so well preserved that you may even expect to hear the roars of the erstwhile spectators.
Stroll a little further and you will discover the pleasant, tree-lined Les Alyscamps. Although pillaged, this Roman necropolis, one of the largest cemeteries in the western world, is today still bordered by rows of brooding sarcophagi, standing sentinel along the route to the church of St Honorat.
Leave the Romans buried in their past and head for the Place du Forum where, surrounded by clear light, and near fields of famous sunflowers, you can enjoy an evening drink in a yellow sidewalk café, under a cobalt sky. This is the place of van Gogh and the streets are his canvas.
Continue with the elephants on their way to Fontvieille. Here on the horizon, against a vivid blue sky, stands the landmark windmill immortalised in paint and prose by Vincent van Gogh and Alphonse Daudet. Although the stories, ‘Lettres de mon Moulin’ were not actually written here, the mill is worth a visit as it captures some of the essence of Provence and houses an interesting exhibition of Daudet memorabilia.
We were bound for Noves, a pretty, country village just minutes from Avignon. The Popes were once Lords of Noves and the old village ramparts date from the 12th-century. A historic clock gate still marks the entrance to the feudal village. Noves was once a religious retreat and became a French city in the reign of Louis X1.
The approach is idyllic. There is a picturesque view over the valleys towards the ruined turrets of Chateaurenard and the air is fragrant with the heavy scent of thyme, pine and basil.
This is Petrarch country. Both he and Flaubert were intrigued by Hannibal and wrote about him extensively. Is it the quality of the air that cast a spell to captivate the poet? In 1327 Petrarch first caught sight of Laura of Noves and was instantly enslaved. The memory of his love lives on in a series of poems entitled ‘The Canzonières’. His sonnet dedicated to Laura was placed in her tomb and the mystery of his deep love seems still to float over these Mistral-swept valleys.
Perhaps it was that same mystic pull that brought the Papacy here in the 13th-century - to its only ever home outside Rome?
From pagan elephants to Roman pontiffs, they have all homed in on Avignon. Its weighty past has reduced even the famous Pont St- Bénézet – ‘Sur le pont’, to a few ruined arches, now spanning only half the river Rhône.
We found another bridge to carry us all the way across the river to Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, and the site of our chosen hotel for the night: the famous Hostellerie Le Prieuré so praised by the writer, Colette. Once on the northern bank, the fortress tower of Philip the Fair dominates the skyline and, cloistered in the narrow streets, behind the ancient walls of this City of Cardinals, lies the former 14th-century Priory that is now a sumptuous hotel.
We chose a room in the oldest part of the former Cardinal’s palace and struggled up three, uneven flights of an ancient, serpentine staircase to find ourselves transported back in time and enveloped in regional antiques. (For more contemporary tastes there is also a newer Atrium wing of large suites with all modern amenities.) For history lovers, a side door leads directly into the large Gothic church that is attached to the Priory and contains priceless works of art and ancient relics.
No stay in Avignon would be complete without a visit to the compelling Palais des Papes. To be seen at its splendid best, this vast citadel should be viewed from Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, on the opposite side of the river and at twilight when it gains added lustre from the first twinkling lights of evening. Once through the twin towers of the Champeaux gate you are in the land of the seven official Popes who, from 1309 to 1377, inhabited this sprawling complex.
One died from eating too many powdered emeralds, then thought to be a cure for indigestion; two are entombed here; one built the simple Palais Vieux and one, the opulent Palais Neuf. The Calvet museum so impressed the great French author, Stendhal, that he left an inscription here and - above it all - towers the dominating Cathédrale de Notre Dame.
Travelling northwards, we searched in vain for a ‘Hannibal Café’ - or some sign depicting long-dead elephants - until we came to Orange, probable site of their Rhone crossing. The original name, Arausio, was adopted by the Romans but can be traced back to a Celtic goddess of water. When, in Renaissance times, a local duke became governor of the Netherlands, the Nassau-Orange line was born.
Orange is the true gateway to Provence and boasts two of the greatest Roman monuments in Gaul: a Roman theatre and a triumphal arch. Both date from the 1st-century AD. The theatre is still used today for world class concerts and Louis XIV reputedly said of its backdrop, ‘It is the finest wall in my kingdom!’
We took the winding, rural D11 road bound for that village of Roman times: Rochegude and its 12th-century fortress castle, the ‘Chateau de Rochegude’. Standing in a 37-acre park, this nine hundred-year-old, crenellated castle, now a hotel, is enchanting and would not be out of place in a story book. Ruins surrounded it, in the hills far above there is a temple of love and it even comes complete with a Roman dungeon! Our bedroom, bearing the imperial name, Josephine, hosted an authentic Napoleonic double bed and overlooked the plains from a great height. (Other favourites include Amboise, Chinon and Laetitia.).
For breakfast bowls of sweet, red cherries and baskets of chocolate croissants were served on a sunny terrace and elicited an immediate vow to return.
We followed the Carthaginian trail as far as the nougat capital, Montelimar, and - at these ancient crossroads – paused in silent reflection. Here the elephant path veered east and we envisaged a future Italian odyssey - but for the present, the holiday was over. Priceless images and memories remain: those delightful, gratuitous, hidden extras - the travellers’ joy.