Spain’s Darnius Lake Isn’t What It Used To Be
Prophecy, drought, and a ghost town beneath the waves
The lake isn’t new
Not to me. Not to anyone.
Darnius Lake may be in Spain, and not in France where I live. But in the EU, borders are as flimsy as the space between one word and the next. The Roussillon plain I now call home is an astonishingly dry place. And getting drier by the year. The closest thing to a lake around here is the vast salt ponds that breed mosquitoes and flamingos in equal measure and collect pools of light on their shimmering surface while the sun shines every day. The nearest real lake to me is Darnius.
Between here and there, mountains rise. High enough to block or at least redirect the wind, the tramontana that comes roaring across the South of France and curls cold fingers around Narbonne, Perpignan, Cadaques, Girona. When the wind blows too hard at home to launch a boat, when the sea swells and swirls and breaks white in frosty corrugations from here to the horizon, I take my kayak to the lake instead.
Yesterday was Canada Day
The startlingly recent birthday of my old home.
I have no time for patriotism. But there’s a difference between being proud of something you yourself…
