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"Fishing for Cigarette Butts"

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Sylvie Castagné
Sylvie Castagné

The Côte d’Azur is beautiful in September – even though her beaches suffer from human disrespect. A look back at an otherwise very pleasant stay in Provence.

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FISHING FOR CIGARETTE BUTTS I know, people think I’m crazy, but I can’t help it. Whether on the Malabar coast or the Gulf of Saint-Tropez, I pick up the trash washed up on the sand. In front of me, a helicopter crosses the gulf. I track it with my eyes. Where is it going? Which V.I.P. is the pilot dropping off at which villa surrounded by greenery – majestic clusters of umbrella pines, alleys lined with lavender and rosemary perfectly tended by a squadron of gardeners? But he doesn’t land, he flies over a big yacht moored there, a few hundred meters from the port of Saint-Tropez. The chopper remains suspended for a few minutes above the ship, obviously making a delivery. Champagne? Caviar? Food that has travelled thousands of kilometers. Maybe also Miraval rosé, fine fish, figs and peaches from Provence? Local stuff.
SOBRIETY? WHAT ABOUT RESPECT?? Yesterday was the "journée de la sobriété" (sobriety day). The first one. Sticking to the news. A sobriety lived daily by billions of human beings out of necessity. An incongruous word for the lucky few, whose idea of sobriety is taking out their 4 x 4 in favor of the sports coupe, going shopping at the market with a nice basket bought in Saint-Tropez at the beginning of the summer. Like any other day, I pace the beach, picking up cigarette butts and fragments of dangerous plastics which can be fatal for the marine fauna. My fingers stir up the bundles of posidonia abandoned by the morning tide. Three women, their skin blackened by months of prolonged exposure to the Provencal sun, observe me. They clearly take me for a madwoman. But who is the craziest? The one who plants her cigarette butts in the fine sand without bothering to get up from her little folding seat to reach the first trash can (which is never far away) or the one who collects cigarette butts and plastic fragments to protect the fauna? I know that this is just a drop of empathy for the animal cause in an ocean of rubbish (including millions of tons of microplastics), but I can’t help it. IF IT BOTHERS ME, I TAKE ACTION If it would only occur to these cackling hens to raise their posteriors from their folding chairs and pick up some cigarette butts and fragments of plastic washed up on the beach. It is "their" beach since they come here every day, sit in front of the white wall, lounge under the eucalyptus trees, feed the seagulls there, calling "pioupiou, pioupiou". They could take care of the beach like their potted plants. For now they float, supported by their ethylene vinyl acetate and polyethylene foam pool noodle, without interrupting their chatter. I stand up; I spot a large piece of red plastic sticking out of the sand to my right. One of the three women gives me a sorry look. "Yes, I’m crazy," but I can’t help it. Plan-de-la-Tour, in September 2022

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"Fishing for Cigarette Butts"

  • 1. FISHING FOR CIGARETTE BUTTS I know, people think I’m crazy, but I can’t help it. Whether on the Malabar coast or the Gulf of Saint-Tropez, I pick up the trash washed up on the sand. In front of me, a helicopter crosses the gulf. I track it with my eyes. Where is it going? Which V.I.P. is the pilot dropping off at which villa surrounded by greenery – majestic clusters of umbrella pines, alleys lined with lavender and rosemary perfectly tended by a squadron of gardeners? But he doesn’t land, he flies over a big yacht moored there, a few hundred meters from the port of Saint-Tropez. The chopper remains suspended for a few minutes above the ship, obviously making a delivery. Champagne? Caviar? Food that has travelled thousands of kilometers. Maybe also Miraval rosé, fine fish, figs and peaches from Provence? Local stuff.
  • 2. SOBRIETY? WHAT ABOUT RESPECT?? Yesterday was the "journée de la sobriété" (sobriety day). The first one. Sticking to the news. A sobriety lived daily by billions of human beings out of necessity. An incongruous word for the lucky few, whose idea of sobriety is taking out their 4 x 4 in favor of the sports coupe, going shopping at the market with a nice basket bought in Saint-Tropez at the beginning of the summer. Like any other day, I pace the beach, picking up cigarette butts and fragments of dangerous plastics which can be fatal for the marine fauna. My fingers stir up the bundles of posidonia abandoned by the morning tide. Three women, their skin blackened by months of prolonged exposure to the Provencal sun, observe me. They clearly take me for a madwoman. But who is the craziest? The one who plants her cigarette butts in the fine sand without bothering to get up from her little folding seat to reach the first trash can (which is never far away) or the one who collects cigarette butts and plastic fragments to protect the fauna? I know that this is just a drop of empathy for the animal cause in an ocean of rubbish (including millions of tons of microplastics), but I can’t help it. IF IT BOTHERS ME, I TAKE ACTION If it would only occur to these cackling hens to raise their posteriors from their folding chairs and pick up some cigarette butts and fragments of plastic washed up on the beach. It is "their" beach since they come here every day, sit in front of the white wall, lounge under the eucalyptus trees, feed the seagulls there, calling "pioupiou, pioupiou". They could take care of the beach like their potted plants. For now they float, supported by their ethylene vinyl acetate and polyethylene foam pool noodle, without interrupting their chatter. I stand up; I spot a large piece of red plastic sticking out of the sand to my right. One of the three women gives me a sorry look. "Yes, I’m crazy," but I can’t help it. Plan-de-la-Tour, in September 2022