For ten days I have been living perilously close to the wildfires of the Gironde, and I have witnessed my first – and France's first – fire cloud. The pyrocumulonimbus was so intense that it built its own thunderstorm, hurling embers up to 30km ahead of the fire front and driving flames in directions no one can predict.
Evacuation and wildlife losses
The scale is staggering: 220,000 people were evacuated from the Gironde and Landes – the biggest evacuation in France since the Second World War – and 300,000 hectares across Spain and France have been scorched. No official assessment of the animals lost has been made.
France's minister for Ecological Transition, Monique Barbut, stated that damage to wildlife would be catastrophic, with significant losses among birds, deer and amphibians. Entire groups of deer have been photographed trapped at the forest's edge. One wildlife officer speaking about areas such as Le Porge said: "Nothing can survive. The fires came too early, at the height of the breeding season. Birds were nesting, fawns lay hidden in the undergrowth."
From tornado to floods
This wildfire emergency is the latest extreme weather to hit since I moved to a hilltop house near Bordeaux in 2021. In June 2022, I found myself in the eye of a tornado. Winds of 140km/h battered my house, blowing in and buckling the French doors and tearing tiles off the roof. The total cost of the damage was 12,000 euros.
Another almighty storm in June 2023 wrought havoc in my commune, destroying vines and bringing down trees. Then came 2024, a year marked by floods. Months of rain saw several rivers burst their banks, flooding towns, villages and fields.
Community response
Equally staggering has been the response of the people. Across the nation, we have come together to supply food, clothing and shelter to the victims. Animal rescue centres are co-ordinating their efforts and gathering food, bedding and medication for lost and wounded animals.
Jane Marple, animal rescue veteran and head of a local animal association, told me: "This morning a new part of the inner evacuation zone opened for rescuers. This part of the fire zone has been closed since the fires started. We now have night goggles, as we know many animals will lay low during the day and move in the night."
A friend and I took animal food to St Thomas de Conac, a small village on the estuary, where we met Mary with her van half-packed, ready to drive up to Ile d'Oleron. We have been told to avoid Bordeaux and head north with provisions. Everyone is pitching in. "Bordeaux, we're coming," read a post on social media, as a convoy of tractors carrying water tanks joined a motorway into the city. From the Dordogne came a fleet of ambulances to help with the evacuations.
Living with the megafires
Such displays of solidarity make me incredibly proud to live in this country I call home. There are, however, a few ex-pats who have complained that their swimming pools were damaged by falling ash. I do have some sympathy for gite owners who have lost bookings. The whole of France is not ablaze. The advice has only ever been to stay away from the Gironde and not head south via the A63 into Spain, which is battling its own megafire hell.
If the fires had started 20km north of Bordeaux instead of west, I would not be writing this. I would be in an evacuation centre like the parc d'exposition, grateful for clothes, food and water, and for the firefighters working tirelessly. Friends in Merignac, beside the airport, were evacuated and are still not home. Some German friends are still in the parc d'exposition, waiting to return to their holiday home to collect their belongings.
I live about 30 minutes north of Bordeaux, in the shadow of the megafires. Last Friday, smoke from the Cap Ferat and Biscarosse fires travelled up the Gironde estuary and choked my neighbourhood. The ominous black cloud sat above us for almost 12 hours, dispensing no rain, just bangs and flashes from thunder and lightning. At 9 o'clock on Saturday morning, my neighbours and I were transfixed by an eerie silence – no birds, no wind, just an end-of-the-world glow from the south.
As I write, the fires are stable but the smell of smoke still lingers. We suffered temperatures of 42C again yesterday – our third big canicule this year – and still no rain in my commune. My fruit trees have died. Fields of maize and sunflowers are stunted, and the grapes are splitting on the vines. Walking in forests is prohibited, as is hunting.
The French are not good with rules. If we see one, we like to bend or break it, but along with the camaraderie I have witnessed has come a new respect for nature and the environment. We have just received a stark reminder of how fragile it all is. My adopted home of south-west France is beautiful, wild and charming – a million miles from my former life in London – but I would not go back no matter what the weather decides to fling at me.
