Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
get both hot and humid. And most (if not all) of the region experiences strong winds, the
most famous of which is
Le Mistral
.
I suppose any wind deserving its own name has to be fairly remarkable and this one is
no exception. It usually develops as a cold front in the north-west of the country and moves
down across France. The air piles up in the Alps before spilling over the mountain tops and
roaring down into the Rhône valley between the Alps and Cevenes. The wind can blow
continuously for several days (or even for weeks) at a time, with speeds of around 100 kph
(62 mph), as it screams towards the French Riviera and the Golfe du Lion.
Marseilles and St.Tropez often take the full brunt of
Le Mistral
when it finally reaches
the sea - but it doesn't stop there. The airstream is so powerful that it can carry on across
the water and even affect weather in North Africa, Sicily and throughout the Mediter-
ranean.
During the winter months
Le Mistral
is at its fiercest. It is capable of causing serious
damage to crops and trees, which often become permanently bent. But it's not just the fo-
liage that gets a bashing; the wind also has a telling effect on humans. Aside from blowing
your socks off, locals report disturbances to their sleep patterns, mood swings, erratic be-
haviour and bouts of depression as they battle against this constant disturbance. Others just
say, “It's a bit of a bugger when you're trying to cycle into it.” So perhaps, I mused, my
overall perceptions might have to be tempered somewhat.
As with most things in life, there is an upside to this howler. It purges the air of bugs
and other undesirables, leaving behind the famously clear blue skies. This is something I
had not previously understood, that the air clarity was, in large part, a legacy from the wind.
I was fascinated by all this, especially when considering the profound effects it had on the
land and its inhabitants. It also neatly proved that my erstwhile theory of the climate being
stable, or even benign, was not completely accurate.
At this stage of my research I gave Jack an interim report.
“Darling, it's probably quite a bit windier in Provence than we realised. But that has
its good points because it keeps the air fresh.”
“Glad to hear you looking on the bright side. Do you remember Boa Vista?”
Jack was referring to a golf course in south-west Portugal where we'd played in an
inter-club competition a few years earlier. I remember it well. The wind was a nightmare:
the type that could blow out a contact lens if one risked a sideways glance. To illustrate the
point, there was a very short, par three hole where a nine iron would normally be the club
of choice. Because of the wind, I'd taken a much stronger six iron. I gave it a hefty wallop
only to find that the ball had finished a pathetically short distance in front of my feet. Jack,
after giving me a look of pure disgust, turned to one of the local members and asked if the
wind was always so strong. The British expat, who looked a little ragged around the edges,
replied, “Oh no mate, it's just a breeze today, it's usually much windier. Your shot now is
it?”
