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In Which I Could Stop Right Here
September 9, 2007 by Mike
Donostia
I've been here for a few days. It feels like I've been here for years -- luvverly.
My cousin Diana *has* been here for years. She was teaching English when she arrived. When most people here had learned English, she started teaching people how to teach English. As far as I can work out, she did that so well that she's been forced upwards again and now trains people to teach people how to teach English. She lives two minutes from a fabulous beach, in a lovely apartment, with a wonderful family and a rabbit called Musha (I think.)
And look.. just back from work and before he heads off for a swim on the beach, here's Phil (not a very Basque name, either) who combines teaching teachers with teaching the rest of the world about teachers (his latest book The Hapless Teacher's Handbook is a stonker) and teaching us all about Spanish football. In fact, his first book Morbo's modest achievement is to teach us about the whole country via the medium of football.
Phil gets his books published.. which makes me quake with naked envy, though I've tried not to let it show this week. He also writes about Spanish football for Soccernet, which tickles me greatly.
Their kids Harry and Lily speak fluent Basque and fluent English. Their Spanish isn't bad either. It helps living in a bilingual city.. having language teachers as parents can't exactly be a hindrance either. But you'd never expect a relative of mine to be a truly gifted footballer -- or an outstanding dancer. (Harry is the footballer -- he once played the young David Beckham in an advert, you know; Lily kindly invited me to see her in a performance of Basque dancing, singing and storytelling - Lamien basoa. I loved it.)
And my cousin Rupert has been here for a while too. We've taken different routes to get here. Truth be told, they couldn't be much more different. Without telling somebody else's life story for them, let me just say that while I feel lucky to be here, Rupert says with total clarity and honesty that he really *is* lucky to be here.
I'm passing through on my bike trip. Rupe's journey is altogether slower. He's been for a walk. Admittedly, he's already done over 2,000 kilometres - two routes of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. He's thinking of walking again: maybe next week, but then again maybe not. No blog (no laptop, no video cameras, no digital camera, no leads or chargers or battery packs or spares or tapes or back-ups) but, like me, no deadline and no rules but his own. My good friend Catherine walked the Camino at an important time in her life too. I recognise in Rupert what I saw in her: an appreciation of *everything*; an acknowledgement of the wonder of it all; a focus on things of genuine value; a peacefulness. S
She tells me "The Camino is a path that takes you *home*.." and even as I smile at the layers of meaning, I smile even more at the thought that I've convinced someone of the power of the *asterix*!
How two 40-somethings come to be travelling at their own pace, slightly off the radar, marching to the beat of their own drums.. hmmmm... maybe it could fill a book. Phil -- have you got anything on the go at the moment? Added to which, we're cousins: is it a coincidence or is there something in the genes?
Oh, and one more thing. We also both have our star sign tattooed on our arms. Is that genetic too? Can I blame it on my parents -- when they were the ones who hated my tattoo so much in the first place?!
--
Donostia is the Basque name for the town - it's better known by Spanish moniker, San sebastian. But it feels very Basque when I wander into the centre and come across a "spontaneous celebration of Basque song and culture". This is a congregation of some 200 people blocking a small street in the old town. The singing is fabulous - low notes sung with passion. And it must be spontaneous. After all, I asked two bystanders and they both said so. It often happens, added one of them, with a cryptic smile. I crane my neck to get a better look and notice that the singers all have song-sheets with them. *Very* spontaneous. Still, I've yet to see the people of Norfolk gather in front of Jarrolds to sing "Hev You Got A Loight, Boy". Sadly.
Still, there are far fewer terrorist murders here in the post-9/11 world -- where death in the name of a cause has become slightly less romantic.
--
This singing was all the more impressive an example of national/ regional awareness because it meant those people weren't on the beach or in the sea. I confess -- that's where I've spent much of my time. I blame cousin Rupert, who has gone a shade of nutty brown previously unknown to science. It's one of the tenets of my life that "I go a luvverly brown" given enough exposure to the sun. If that's true.. and it's been decades since I had a whole summer in the sun.. the chances are that's something I inherited too.
--
Friday night.
The boys meet in the Cow Bar. All Brits -- most of them language teachers. This is probably happening in most every city and town in the world this evening. Six meals ("the usual"), enough booze to float a battleship, let alone sink it, comes to 67 Euros. The patron makes it up as he goes along but tonight's price -- that's about £8 a sozzled head -- is apparently more unfeasible than usual. Nobody complains.
We adjourn to a nearby that features a couple of pool tables. This was, in a previous life under a previous regie, the 'Guardia Civil' bar. It was the only place that Franco's monkeys could drink in peace. Tonight it's clear that at least half of the drinkers are either current or former Guardia. Phil points out the strong-armed, buzz-cutted, perennially anxious look. The Guardia Civil were the hatchetmen, the strongmen, the ask-questions-later apologists of the Fascist regime. Tonight, somebody pops a joint the size of Jamaica: the sickly sweet aroma drifts throughout the bar -- under every buzz-cut nose. Nobody raises an eyebrow. The new Spain.
--
Real Sociedad 0-1 Poli Ejido. You can't imagine how bad 'we' were unless you were there. Fulham fans, believe me: you're not missing Chris Coleman at all.
Phil was enthralled.
--
A highlight of my time in Donostia -- getting away from Donostia. I rarely leave the coast but, on Sunday, long before the football, Diana gets me (and Lily) (and, incredibly, Rupert) to a sculpture park -- Chillida-Leku and it's very good, by the way -- and then the whole tribe to a restaurant 30 miles inland and high in the hills of the Basque Country.
Up through the green hills of a Basque valley.. not knowing whether to love those green hills more than I despair at the grey concrete of the factories and warehouses lining the valley floor.. then relaxing and just loving the long sweeps of the fast road inland, snaking away from the sea, up up and away, then off the dual carriageway as we curl round one hill then another, always upwards, small farms and shepherds' cottages dotted across the landscape.. then a siding full of trucks, for no apparent reason.. another bar slips behind us as we turn off this minor road down a dead-end.. or, I should say, &#up* what I imagine to be a logging road.. so remote.. a dead-end.. we still have a way to go, but the road is deteriorating.. as we wind.. and twist.. and turn.. and come to an abrupt halt at a traditional 'extxia'.. farmhouse, and core of the family and of Basque life.. now a restaurant, and good enough for food-mad Donostia to come all this way.. for unspeakable paella and exquisite beef dishes.. the size of a house.. but tasting better than any house I know.. and I have to drink the water because I'm on the bike with the most valuable of cargoes.. first Lily, then Harry, wearing their bicycle helmets 100 miles from the nearest Guardia Civil.. who is probably stoned this afternoon anyway.. racing *very* carefully through pine forest and twisting road.. introducing two more innocents to the beauty of life on two wheels.. and yes, I think I've done enough.. two more recruits to the world of wind and smell and pure *sensatrion*.. they love it almost as much as I hope they would. Such a pity that with those helmets I don't dare take them to skool tomorrow to show off infront of their friends: the first day of the skool year.. and my prompt to be off.
Eskerrik asko, everyone.
--
Great view of Donostia, if you can see beyond my dodgy hairline.
Comments
By Dick With | September 23, 2007 11:32 PM
Enjoying your adventures greatly Mike. Don't know how you pull it all together -- writing, pics, website, etc. -- from your bike, but it makes good reading. I'm especially curious about the Norwegian coast so I must go back and re-read your words from there. Keep safe. -- your cousin (2nd?) Dick in Newfoundland.
By Mike With | September 24, 2007 8:32 AM
Nich -- I am so *jealous*.. although not of the scratches.. My first tip: start saving: it's not cheap up there. And buy the best digital camera you can, because it really is that beautiful. North of Bergen, if you have the time, is stunning.. all the way up. And the best advice: slow down, get off the main roads and lose yr map. But then, I think you knew that already ;-) Seriously, as you get closer to the trip, I'd love to answer specific questions.
Lovely to hear from you, Dick: I'm trying to get the diary back up to date, honest. Nich will be able to tell you about Norway next year!
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By Nich | September 23, 2007 3:21 PM
Hi Mike - we met at HU UK meeting 2006 and talked hammocks and Triumphs (I was on the Multistrada). Glad to see the trip got started and appears to be gong well. Partly on srength of our conversion I bought a Hennessy and a Triumph Scrambler, great bike but slightly scratched since I met a mad car driver (spookily, the day after my first night in the hammock) - consequently had to postpone my trip to Scandinavia last year but am planning to go across Denmark to Sweden and Norway as far as Bergen next June - any tips?