Through the pages of her journal, InHabit Travel Studies Consultant Jennifer Wieland has been taking us along on her travels. This month, we’re pleased to share a fourth excerpt from Jen’s travel journal. She writes from the French Camargue, where she is experiencing the Romani Gypsy festival with her lifelong French friend Marie. You can find all of Jen’s excerpts here, including those that follow her Camino trek from Le-Puy-en-Velay to St-Jean-Pied-de-Port. 

It’s a warm and windy day in late May and my lifelong friend Marie and I have just arrived in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, in the Camargue. We’re here for the annual Romani gypsy gathering. It’s transformed this town into a living, breathing celebration. It’s my first time, but Marie knows it well. Together, we’re navigating the rhythms and rituals of the festival, each step revealing new sights, sounds, and stories. I keep thinking of something Sue Aran, a travel writer I admire, wrote:

“There is an intrinsic freedom available immediately if we stop struggling with our expectations and experience what is. I believe that the art of travel is seeing the sacred in the ordinary. Within each of us resides a wanderer, a pilgrim, a gypsy, someone who longs to hit the road without a map.”

Her words capture this experience perfectly for me. Here, where tradition and freedom are interwoven, I sense I’m travelling, not as an outsider, but as part of something ancient and sacred.

Tradition and connection

While we wander through the crowded streets, the sound of flamenco guitars floats out from a small bar. Marie’s face lights up as she recognizes one of the musicians, and before I know it, we are stepping inside. His name is Miguel and he was born here. She has known him since she was a child. She embraces him and they kiss twice on each cheek, then she introduces me and Miguel and I exchange the same greeting. Miguel pulls up two chairs, welcoming us into his world. He begins to play again, his fingers dancing over the strings as we all clap in rhythm. The whole bar seems to be moving, caught in a spell of rhythm and reverence. We are absorbed in the music, in the laughter, and in the warm embrace of this community that knows my friend as one of their own.

Listening to stories of past gatherings, I can sense the nomadic spirit that permeates this place. Having lived in the UK for over 20 years, I have grown familiar with some of the nomadic traditions of a Traveller community in and around the village where I live. Many northern Romani families have preserved their customs, values, and ways of life, and I’ve seen them come together each year for fruit harvests and horse fairs in a display of loyalty, pride, and community spirit. In this bar, the Romani families share that same loyalty, that same fierce pride and rootedness in people rather than places. The concept of “home” feels fluid, guided more by relationships and cultural heritage than by a single place. 

There’s a profound beauty in this way of life—a resilience and independence balanced by a deep-seated value of family and tradition. I feel a sense of connection to these people, and just as Aran’s words suggest, I’m reminded that within me, too, is a “wanderer, a pilgrim, a gypsy.” 

The concept of “home” feels fluid, guided more by relationships and cultural heritage than by a single place. There’s a profound beauty in this way of life

Leaving the bar, I feel both grateful and at home in a way I didn’t expect. There’s a freedom in simply being present, in experiencing what is, without thought of what comes next. Marie’s familiarity here makes me feel even more connected to this place, to her, and to her friends. Each step we take together adds another layer to our long history of friendship.

The sacred in the ordinary

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is a deeply spiritual place. The legend of Saint Sara-la-Kâli, the Romani people’s Black Madonna, who is said to have aided the first Christians arriving to this area, speaks to their profound faith. Each year, her statue is carried from the church to the sea in a vibrant procession, to bless the waters and honour her role as their protector. This ritual connects her to their spirit of resilience and community. An honour guard of gardiens, the traditional Camargue cowboys who still work local farms, are waiting outside the church on white horses to accompany Saint Sara-la-Kâli through the streets. As we join the parade, music and dancing fill the streets, and the smell of the horses and the sea mingle in the air. We sway with dancers of unmatched grace, shoulder-to-shoulder sharing in their reverence and joy as we make our way to the beach. 

I am lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Saint Sara-la-Kâli’s statue up close. She is draped in so many layers of rich, brightly coloured fabrics, blues, reds, greens, and golds that her face is hardly visible. Marie tells me that each colour and layer is a token of someone’s prayer, a symbol of their journey to this place. Many in the crowd clutch candles or portraits of loved ones, and a few hold onto ancient family talismans, their eyes focused intensely on their Black Madonna as she passes by. The men carrying her are dressed in white, their faces a blend of concentration and solemnity as they hold her aloft, chanting softly under their breath, prayers passed down through generations. 

The crowd presses closer, and there is a reverent hush that falls as Saint Sara-la-Kâli reaches the shore. Some people reach out to touch the hem of her robe or press their hands to their hearts, whispering words I cannot understand but feel deeply nonetheless. On the beach, we see more horses and their gardiens wading out into the water, followed by the men carrying Saint Sara-la-Kâli, as her robes drift onto the surface of the sea. Together they guide her into the waves, and for a moment it’s as if she is suspended between two worlds. She is a bridge, a symbol of hope, and connection to the Romani’s ancient faith that binds them all across borders and cultures.

Together they guide her into the waves, and for a moment it’s as if she is suspended between two worlds. She is a bridge, a symbol of hope, and connection to the Romani’s ancient faith that binds them all across borders and cultures.

The gathering ends

With a final, slow breath, Saint Sara-la-Kâli is dipped into the water, and there is an exhale from the crowd — a collective release, as if each prayer has been sent out across the waves, into the world. Around me, people embrace, some quietly weeping, others raising their arms to the sky in jubilation. The energy has shifted, from anticipation to fulfilment, and the music resumes, swelling now in joy. 

The sea reflects the shimmering colours of the Black Madonna’s robes as if carrying them out across the horizon. At this moment, by the water’s edge, there is a sense of peace that fills me; it’s an unexpected kinship. The Romani people from all over Europe have journeyed here to feel a part of something ancient, sacred, and alive, and they have graciously welcomed Marie and me into their gathering.

The Romani people from all over Europe have journeyed here to feel a part of something ancient, sacred, and alive, and they have graciously welcomed Marie and me into their gathering.

This extraordinary day together as lifelong friends has given Marie and I precious time to reflect on our own lives. We find ourselves immersed in a culture rooted in freedom and resilience, qualities that resonate with both of us. The Romani people’s devotion, their music, and their camaraderie remind us of the importance of honouring our own roots and the connections that sustain us. 

One of my favourite memories of the day is the quiet conversation Marie and I have at the edge of the sea, with the sounds of the festival fading into the background. We talk about the twists and turns our lives have taken, and how our friendship and our gatherings throughout the years have carried us through and strengthened us.