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In Which I Basque In The Sun (.. sorry about the pun)
September 5, 2007 by Mike
Donostia
Route: Bayonne (France) - Irun (Basque Country) - Donostia/ San Sebastian
As much as I disliked Bayonne last night, I loved it this morning.
Swap a down-at-heel motel next to the motorway, for a bustling, friendly bar serving delicious food to laughing locals, and you'll feel the same way.
The bar was called Gernika - I'm in the Basque Country now. I order the Plat du Jour but what I think is a mushroom risotto turns out to be fish. My French isn't as good as I thought. I gag at the sight of it -- but one mouthful and I'm hooked. It's delicious. Across the road stand mediaeval ramparts, down the street a-ways the broad, stately Nive river winds its final miles to the sea. The riverfront here is beautiful, just beautiful. Tall, thin buildings stand to attention on each bank, or rather lean on each other's shoulders, vying for the sun's rays. They are homes, warehouses, shops, cafes, bars and more bars. Flags, pennants and favours flutter from rooftops and are strung out from building to building over every street. They are red, green and white - the colours of the Basque flag. Stone bridges criss-cross the river. Shops on every street sell chocolate: just chocolate - it's the local speciality. There are few cars. There are few people, in fact, save school children and students, all of whom seem to be riding hairdryers.. I mean scooters. Then it occurs to me -- all the adults are in the bars. I like Bayonne.
To the Bayonne Museum. I learn about the town, Basque culture, sport, language and history, in a brilliantly planned and executed fashion, and am so overwhelmingly grateful and gushing as I reach the exit that the staff start to look at each other askance. Then I mention that I'd been at the Biarritz Town Museum yesterday and they all smile knowingly. They know how awful that place is too.
Uphill towards the largest church in town, and as I turn the dog-leg in the street I glance upwards. High up, on the top floor of a higgledy-piggledy building in the corner, there is a flat. All I can see is a tiny terrace and the hint of a living room behind. It may be the kitchen, the bedroom, the only room, for all I know. But I do know I could live there in a flash. And it's not even a little white-walled house by the sea.
--
I love riding the bike long distances. Perhaps it's a Zen thing. But I also love the fact that some days I move only a few miles round the coast. Today I rode down from Bayonne to Donostia/ San Sebastian (the Basque and Spanish names for the city), a distance of about 30 miles, tops. depending on who you believe, I also crossed a frontier from France to Spain.. or moved from one part of the Basque Country to the next.
It was a good ride, conjuring up some friendly ghosts. There was a short passage of road just after Urrugne that passed between lines of mature, stately trees, planted a century or two ago to offer shade to the traveller. I was reminded strongly of a road in the south of Kaliningrad. A small village smelled of apples: I was reminded of Sweden. The elegance of an old town square reminded me of Gdansk. The way the road descended in a series of looping turns from a hilltop to the sea reminded me of Norway. There was a hint of thatched south-east Denmark, of all places, in the way some of the houses have been built. Something about the light -- it was another gorgeously sunny day; it felt as though I could see out to sea for 100 miles -- reminded me of what I think Greece will be like.
Yes! I was having flashbacks to things that haven't even happened yet!
--
I'm still thinking about previous moments from the trip when I reach the frontier - the river XXXXX. Between Germany and Denmark, last December, I noticed the preponderance of sex shops and cu-price booze -- these being the products that the citizens of one country will travel across the border to stock up on.
Sure enough, there are myriad shops on either side of the border here, hoping to catch tourists and impulse shoppers from the other country. On the French side the shops all sell Basque food, Basque lace (but not lacy basques), Basque recipe books and Basque thingummies.
Meanwhile, over on the Spanish riverbank, the shops all sell... Basque food, Basque lace (but not lacy basques), Basque recipe books and Basque thingummies.
--
Twenty minutes along the coast (but only because I take a couple of wrong turns) and I'm parked up in Donostia. Helmet in hand and still clad in biker jacket, trousers and boots, I'm striding towards the beach when I spot my cousin Rupert and suddenly we're wrapped in the biggest, best-est bear hug.
Much more family in the next bulletin.
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