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Hey everyone, welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy.
I'm your host Thomas, and I want to thank you for joining us.
Tonight we're embarking on a slow-paced adventure, discovering the Camargue region of southern France and its beautiful wild white horses.
The story was written by Angela and will be read by Vanessa.
Having enjoyed several holidays in the south of France during my childhood years, I'm really looking forward to listening to this story myself and reminiscing about time spent in this part of the world.
Before we take our imaginations to this sun-soaked region, let's spend some time unwinding from the day.
Remember that as always, you can settle down in whichever way works best for you.
Following along with any breathing techniques or mindfulness exercises I talk through here is completely optional.
But if you do find some guidance to be helpful, then you're very welcome to join me for the next few moments as we do a bit of box-breathing.
Like most of these breathing exercises, box breathing encourages your nervous system to relax and slow down.
In fact, if I'm ever feeling anxious or overwhelmed, this is a technique I try to employ, not just at night, but during more challenging moments of the day too.
You can visualize it like a square or box with four equal sides representing each part of the breathing pattern.
Breathing in for four seconds, holding for four seconds, exhaling for four and holding again for four, and then repeating the whole thing.
So, feel free to join me now.
Breathing in for one, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
Breathing out, two, three, four.
And hold, two, three, four.
Breathe in.
Two, three, four.
Hold.
Two, three, four.
Release.
Two, three, four.
And hold.
Two, three, four.
One more time together.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Exhale and hold.
Notice how you feel now that you've consciously controlled the pace of your breathing.
Can you sense your body slowing down and relaxing?
Perhaps your mind too.
You're welcome to continue that box breathing pattern on your own accord, or feel free to let the breath fall back into its natural rhythm.
You can always come back to this technique if you need to.
For now I'll make way so you can enjoy listening to Vanessa's soothing voice as she transports us to a beautiful beach with soft golden sands, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
This is where our story begins.
You're on a golden sandy beach at the edge of Camargue Regional Natural Park.
The vast nature park lies near Arles, between the larger cities of Marseille and Montpellier in southern France.
The beach stretches for miles, a meandering and picturesque coastline.
This afternoon, you're lucky.
There isn't another soul here.
You have the place all to yourself.
You look up at the sky.
It's a pale shade of blue.
The sun's rays attempt to peek through the clouds, but they refuse to move.
Waves lap the shore as you gaze out to the horizon.
A small blue and white fishing boat bobs up and down on the water.
The men aboard cast their nets into the Mediterranean Sea, hoping for a sizable catch to sell to restaurants in a nearby town.
You sit down between clusters of tall grass on the sand dunes.
The dunes gently slope down towards the sea.
It's so peaceful here.
You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin and listening to the sound of the waves.
Inhaling the salty sea air once, twice, three times.
You find that moment of balance in the center before exhaling deeply once more.
When you open your eyes, you see the horse's far in the distance, approaching from your right.
Seven of them, appearing like a mirage, galloping gracefully along the beach.
Their hooves kick up grains of sand, each animal leaving hoofprints behind them.
These majestic creatures are the white horses of the Camargue found in this region of southern France.
They've lived here for centuries amidst the marshes, fields, and wetlands.
Their gait is sturdy and strong.
As they move closer to you they form a V-shape the older leader at the front and the younger steeds following.
You can see that there are no gardiens or guardians with them today.
They are the people who care for the white horses in the traditional way.
You watch as these gentle, majestic animals gallop along the beach, wild and free.
The horses weave in and out of the foaming waves.
Their soft, silken manes and long tails swish with the slightest movement, as if in slow motion.
You're aware that it's unusual to see this many together in one place, as there are only around 160 Kamag horses remaining.
Ask any local, and they will tell you that the horses are gray or dappled in color.
But today, with the clouds and cobalt blue waters reflecting their coats appear to be the purest white, just like freshly fallen snow.
The horses slow down as they approach, observing you watching them from the sand dunes.
Then, almost in unison, they stop, standing silently by the water's edge.
The leader leaves the other six horses to approach your position.
The older horse moves gracefully with a regal air.
You find yourself imagining him as a brave warrior from the days of old.
Fearless, determined, and bold.
You see inquisitive brown eyes and almost hear a whisper.
Why are you here?
What do you want?
You remain seated so as not to startle him.
He bows his head slightly and begins to shake his mane free of sand.
The fine grains shower you from head to toe, sticking to your shirt and raining down over your legs, and you smile.
The horse is calm and friendly and means you no harm.
Observing his frame, you see that he has a short neck, strong limbs, and a deep chest.
You know that Kemag horses are intelligent and wonder if he has a name.
You decide to name him after a chivalrous character, a cavalier of old.
He nudges you with his nose as if he approves of your choice.
Then he closes his eyes, totally relaxed in your presence, and dips his head, allowing you to talk to him.
You whisper, telling him that you're pleased to make his acquaintance.
He responds by resting his face on your palm. the grasses beside you billow in the breeze.
With your other hand, you tear off a few blades and offer them to him.
He shakes his head, human-like, as if to say, no thank you.
You imagined these horses centuries ago, pulling carts and working the land.
But there's no vision quite as beautiful as watching them gallop freely along the deserted beach.
The white horse bows again before turning and slowly walking back to the water's edge to join his clans.
They have waited patiently for him, observing but never intruding.
As he approaches them, they huddle together in a semicircle, as if in deep conversation about the person sitting on the dunes.
The leader placates them and, realizing that you are no threat, they continue their journey along the beach.
They canter slowly at first, then begin to gather speed, the spraying water splashing as they move in and out of the sea.
Water drenching their sleek white coats as they go.
As they disappear into the distance, you look up again.
The sun has emerged from behind the clouds.
The light glistens on the sea. reflecting like thousands of sparkling diamonds.
The fishing boat you saw earlier has moved further towards the harbor town around the bay.
Following the boat's journey, you see the outline of a long fortress wall in the distance.
Although it's still and peaceful by the water, you decide to move on, unsure if the horses will return along the beach again today.
Slipping off your shoes, you shuffle barefoot towards the water's edge, the soles of your feet relishing the pleasing texture of the powdery sand.
Stepping forward, you allow the cool liquid to wash over your toes.
The wave sounds are meditative and relaxing.
Shallow waters foam around your feet, leaving the sand dark and damp as the waves ebb and flow.
You follow the route of the white horses to the left, along the beach.
A warm breeze caresses your face and arms as you walk with your feet immersed in the sea.
A little further on, a wooden boardwalk appears between the sand dunes.
You decide to leave the water behind to see where it leads.
As you step onto the pathway, you bend down to brush the sand grains from your feet before slipping on your shoes to continue your journey.
The boardwalk is flanked by tiny purple and yellow wildflowers.
Butterflies perch on their petals silently before fluttering their wings and departing to other flowers nearby.
The wooden pathway leads to a huge body of water wetlands encircled by clusters of reeds.
Your guidebook tells you that this area is home to over 400 bird species, including herons, the glossy ibis and white-tailed eagles.
The boardwalk winds between wetlands and marshes, giving you an opportunity to view a variety of plant species.
You recognize Mediterranean sea lavender.
Stooping to look at the flowers, you remember that salt crystals are secreted under the leaves.
Gently touching the red stems, you notice that the leaves are shaped like spoons.
The purple flower doesn't smell of lavender at all.
Instead, it has a delicate perfume, slightly sweet with herbal undertones.
It's a pleasant scent, and you stop to breathe it in for a moment, closing your eyes.
Standing up.
You continue along the boardwalk until you catch sight of a feathery flock of pink in the water up ahead.
Hundreds of flamingos stand in the lake, some balanced on one leg, others on two.
Some appear to be sleeping, their flexible necks bent into an S-shape as they tuck their heads comfortably into their backs.
You notice one flamingo stretching its wings as if poised to take flight.
It quickly appears to change its mind, instead adopting the one-legged pose of many of its peers.
As you watch these magnificent birds, you notice that they are actually several shades of pink.
A mix of fuchsia, bubblegum pink and coral.
They look a bit like a cross between a swan and an emu, but brighter in color and more elegant than the latter.
As you watch them in the lake, you notice that clouds have again gathered above and the sun is hidden once more.
You continue to walk, leaving the flamingos behind, until you reach an information sign with illustrations.
It reads that since medieval times, this region of France has been famous for producing Camargue red rice.
The unusual rice color comes from the pink salt flats in the park.
The water changes color thanks to a microscopic algae that lives there.
And the shade alters depending on the time of year and the time of day that you visit.
The sign also informs you that the natural park is home to the largest salons, or salt marshes, in the Mediterranean region.
The area produces thousands of tons of French sea salt each year.
As beautiful as the pink flats sound to visit, they are quite far away.
A guided tour is preferred to access them, so you decide to leave them for another day.
Along the path, fields open up at either side of you.
The wetlands transform into rugged meadows surrounded by weathered wooden fences.
These fields are home to a few Kamak black bulls.
They have oddly shaped horns and some say horns. they can live to up to 40 years of age.
The bulls plod slowly, barely paying you any attention.
They're solely focused on the grasses and plants they stop to eat.
In the distance to your left, the honey-colored stone wall you saw from the beach comes into view.
Your guidebook tells you that this is the ancient fortress surrounding a medieval town called Egmacht.
The town's name translates as Dead Waters, named after the ponds and wetlands surrounding the village.
As you approach, you notice round turrets placed along the wall.
They were once used as a defense to protect the town.
From your viewpoint, the fortress is grand and well-preserved, with not a single brick out of place.
A long paved road leads to the main gate, flanked by two turrets with tiny windows.
People are strolling along the ramparts, a walkway above.
You find yourself imagining life here long ago, when they would be used to spot those approaching from the sea or across the marshlands.
There are steps to your left and you decide to climb to the top of the wall to see the views for yourself.
You are instantly rewarded, and the vistas are spectacular.
To your right, you see local people wandering the streets inside the towns.
Quaint shops sell postcards, artwork, and clothing.
The streets lead to lively squares with central fountains, where restaurants are shaded by awnings and plain trees.
To your left and stretched out in front lakes, rivers and wetlands sprawl towards the sea.
And further in the distance, you notice several white horses of the Camac in a field.
They walk ever so slowly and stopping to graze every now and then.
There are seven of them, and you wonder if they are the same horses you met on the beach earlier.
Continuing towards the far end of the ramparts, you catch sight of the famous pink salt lakes.
The colors are vibrant, in complete contrast with the deep blues of the sea and the patchwork greens of the fields and marshlands.
You take a mental photograph, hoping to remember this view for many years to come.
As the sun begins to set in the sky, you descend the steps into the town.
Egmacht is a charming place.
Along cobbled streets, stores sell handmade soaps, beach clothing and fishing nets.
You walk past a small cafe with a vintage vibe.
It has a sign saying, Bienvenue, or welcome in French, at the entrance.
Wooden barrels are arranged outside next to matching stools and menus, and holders sit atop the tables.
Next door, an art gallery sells beautiful paintings of wildlife and French landscapes.
A young man inside the shop sees you gazing at a small picture of the white horses.
He leans on the open door, smiling as he tells you proudly that his grandfather is a gardien, a guardian of the horses.
He says that many horses live on his family's ranch nearby and they are used to herd the black bulls.
When you tell him that you saw several alone on the beach, the man throws back his head and laughs.
He explains that the horses are semi-wild, frequently going off on their own adventures.
The Kamak horses are also known as horses of the sea.
Their hooves are specially adapted for the wetlands and marshes, and they love the water.
The horses and his grandfather have an unspoken bond, he says.
He understands that they need the freedom to roam, but they always return to the ranch following their seaside expeditions.
He beckons you into the shop and points to a black and white photograph on the wall.
It's a picture of an older man smiling.
He's wearing a corduroy jacket, jeans and a cowboy hat, and he stands next to a white horse.
He says he believes that this breed of horse existed many centuries ago and that Camac horses are descendant of those featured on ancient cave drawings discovered throughout France.
You smile as you listen to his stories.
He picks up the small painting you were looking at earlier, takes it to the counter, wraps it in brown paper and hands it to you as a gift.
He says that he is grateful that you are interested in the horses and local traditions.
If you would like to learn more, he says, you are welcome to visit the ranch during your stay.
You thank the man for his kindness and chat a little more before leaving him to attend to another customer.
At the end of the cobble street is a large square.
There's a touch of ambient music, and small groups of people dine in restaurants and sip drinks al fresco.
Plates clatter as waiters collect them from tables and glasses clink as toasts are made.
As the square is quite busy, you decide to head north.
The sun has fully set and the skies are dark now.
Streetlights illuminate honey-colored buildings with painted wooden shutters.
To your left stands a two-story white building.
It looks modern and out of place compared to the historic houses of the town.
The word cinema is spelled out vertically down the wall in bold black letters.
You climb the five steps to peer through the double glass doors.
An older woman stands behind a counter, Above her, a board displays the latest movie offerings.
A half-empty popcorn machine has striped cartons stacked up to one side.
Entering the cinema, you see retro posters promoting classic French films on the wall to your right.
A red light blinks intermittently above one of the theater doors to show that a movie is in progress.
The woman behind the counter is engrossed in a book.
She looks up briefly and smiles, inviting you to wait inside.
You follow the passageway behind the concession stand.
A red rope with two brass posts sits beside an open door on your left.
There's no light on above the door and no sign to show that any movie is playing.
You decide to step inside.
The room is compact, with seating for around 100 people.
Ten rows back and ten seats across.
It's an atmospheric place, with glass lanterns on both sidewalls.
A giant black screen hangs up front, waiting for the next feature to begin.
The seats look comfortable.
You notice that they recline slightly to enhance the viewing experience.
They are covered in plush velvet fabric, which feels soft to the touch.
Descending the steps, you find a seat in the center of the room and sit down, eager to rest.
Slipping off your shoes, you wiggle your toes.
There's plenty of room to stretch out and you realize how tired you are after a long day of walking.
You sink into the chair, lying back. gazing at the blank screen.
As your eyes begin to close, the lamps at either side of the movie theater appear to dim.
As you slowly drift off to sleep on the reclining chair, Your mind plays a montage of your incredible day in southern France.
You see the long, sandy beach and the boat bobbing in the sea.
You recall the scent of the flowers by the boardwalk.
And how you watch the flamingos perched on one leg in the water.
You can see views of the marshes and pink salt lakes from the fortress ramparts.
But the most prominent images... are those of the seven white horses of the Camargue.
One of the world's oldest horse breeds out on their joyful seaside adventure.
They gallop wild and free along the beach, weaving in and out of the water.
You smile, remembering them and their friendly leader who came to say hello.
With your painting tucked safely on your lap, you vow to visit the ranch and beach tomorrow to catch another glimpse of them.
And with that happy thought in your mind, you slowly drift off into a relaxing, dreamy sleep.
Thanks for watching!
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