Pyrenees 1. Not Hitting The Ground Running For A Change

 Pyrenees 1. Not Hitting The Ground Running for a change

an unusual first photo but he was cycling from Santander
to the south of Spain and that is all his luggage.
Think about that the next time you're packing

We’re off to Spain in our motorhome for the first time in far too many years and decided on the Plymouth to Santander ferry to save us driving all the way through France.  We will be driving back through France though, stocking up on a number of grape based products on the way.  The ferry takes about twenty hours and we booked ourselves one of the luxury cupboards disguised as cabins that pass for accommodation on board.   It was a ferry crossing and as close to suspended animation as is possible to get outside of a hospital.  Yes, I found it very boring.  The notable exception was during a very good buffet breakfast in the proper restaurant rather than the café.  Off the left hand side (looking towards the pointy end), port, I think, we enjoyed the impressive sight of a pod of dolphins leaping out of the water heading straight for the ship like a disturbingly unavoidable torpedo attack.  The sun was out, the sea was calm and there were more than fifty of them spread across about two hundred yards of water.  Each one glistening as you would expect a wet, sun drenched Dolphin to glisten.  Ten or fifteen minutes later there was another pod of more than thirty coming from the same direction.  We were sailing (!), well motoring close to the edge of the continental shelf where the ocean floor drops away and creates good feeding areas for fishy things. When Heather was walking on deck she saw a couple of Minke Whales (no, in the water).   These were identified by the on-board Cetacean Expert in Residence.  Yes, really.

 

This was the best thing to happen so far other than coming close to but not missing the ferry due to an over-lax eye on the clock and an optimistic choice of stopping for lunch on the way.  This was after we’d stopped just at the beginning of the journey to get our tyres checked so that they were inflated to the correct pressures.   “This one could do with replacing and it’s from 2012” said our doomsayer of the first tyre.  “Oh and this one has a nail stuck in it but luckily it isn’t punctured” of the second.  It turned out that all four plus the spare ought to be replaced but as he didn’t beg us not to drive on them we felt we’d be fine for one more trip.  In any case he couldn’t get the tyres for twenty four hours and we were leaving in four.

 

our first exotic plant, not found in the wild in Britain. 

 It's a Tongue Ochid, Long-lipped Serapia.

Now we’re in Basque country, having stocked up on the all the food we weren’t allowed to bring now that we’ve left the EU, stocked up that is except for stuff they don’t sell in the local hypermarket.  No baked beans, tinned chickpeas or red kidney beans which are all useful store cupboard items for vegetarians.   No shredded wheat either.  There are still some things widely available that always surprise us such as jars of cut French beans, carrots, peeled potatoes and even broccoli.   Olives only seem to be available in tins or jars.

 

the cliffs at the Zumaia Geopark, interesting for geologists

Our location for those who don’t know is that we’re at the far eastern side of the Spanish Atlantic coast tucked up close to the Pyrenees and France.  Very attractive wooded and strongly undulating countryside and a first couple of nights spent in a place on the coast called Zumaia.   This is home to a Geopark because of the interesting geology called Flysch exposed on the coast by millions of years of tides sweeping in.  Unfortunately, try as I might, anything geological just turns my brain numb but it was impressive to look at.  We’re on a busy but quiet campsite with the only sounds just birdsong, an occasional train below us in the valley and a church bell tolling in the town which sounds as if it’s a single untuned oil drum being hit with an iron bar.  Very continental

 

We’ll be headed into the old kingdom of Navarra in a day or so which to my delight is described with suitable precision in our guide book as “about half the size of Wales or Massachusetts”.  Whether they mean half the size of Massachusetts or the whole of Massachusetts is not made clear but having driven up and down both the comparisons it’s good enough for me.  Firstly though we’re headed for San Sebastian, a city a little way east of us which has been recommended and we catch the train which takes about 35 minutes.  It was pretty full for a Saturday morning but was cheap, so presumably that had something to do with it.   Two returns cost us £9.50.  I checked what the fare was for an equivalent journey in England, Poole to Dorchester and depending on various options it was £8 to £12 for a single journey per person.

 

bitcoin in a cafe ?

San Sebastian has two things I like in a provincial city, cake and ice cream shops.  The newer part of town is set out on a grid pattern which automatically makes it less interesting to me than one with lots of twists and turns.  There are several bridges over the very clear river running through town, one of which is a heavily ornate baroque thing, a rather wonderful monstrosity but nothing compared to the over-the-top-ness of the church of Santa Maria in the old town.  That exists at the level of Baroque that makes your head spin if you look at it too hard.  

one of these tower stands at each
corner of the Maria Cristina bridge

the church of Santa Maria del Coro

The old town is mostly pedestrianised with very narrow streets lined with restaurants.  On the far side of the old town lies a huge curving beach of golden sand, perhaps two miles long facing north towards a narrowed entrance with a wooded island set in the bay.  A really beautiful location.  Coming from the south coast of England we’re used to seeing people on a beach all facing the sea, sun and south.  Here they nearly all have their backs to the sea and face the promenade and the sun.  At the western end of the beach a funicular railway raised us about 600 feet for a panoramic view over the bay and the city.  We liked the old-fashioned funfair (generally never fun or fair to Mr Grump here).  This one however was low key, no neon, no electronics, no loud music, no stink of over fried onions and burgers.  Quite charming really and good that it has survived.   In the two hours or so since we walked through the old town, lunchtime has arrived, the place is packed and so are the restaurants.

typical old-town street with strategically
placed young child for photographic ambiance
 

that San Sebastian beach

the lovely old funicular railway

San Sebastian bay from Monte Igualdo

 

Many signs and notices here are in Spanish and Basque and it isn’t difficult to tell them apart.  Basque uses a lot of Z, X and to a lesser extent J.  Not all in upper case, that would be silly but they surely must have a special Scrabble set to play with.  It is said to be a difficult language, unrelated to any other and considered to be particularly ancient.  Basques claim and are considered to be an ethnic group.  

 

the very elegant bandstand in San Sebastian 

Moving closer to the Pyrenees we skirt Pamplona, home of the famous bull-running in the streets which takes place later in the year and which neither of us would be participating in anyway.   Running along a narrow cobbled street with a lot of other nutters trying to avoid a panicking hunk of beef has even less appeal than jumping out of a perfectly functioning aircraft in order to test a parachute.  Instead of that we are finally going to be headed into the mountains where the only dangers are not being able to identify a plant and the odd avalanche.

 

my fellow traveller enjoying the view 

I did come across one anecdote in our guidebook which I liked even though it was probably either quite a common occurrence or an old wives tale in a lot of places.  Before the various less-known passes across the mountains from France were used in WWII by Allied servicemen escaping from France into neutral Spain they were smuggling routes.  Allegedly, if a party of smugglers were intercepted by police/customs officials there was a code of conduct followed.  It was simply that if the smugglers dropped their loot and hot-footed it, the police didn’t shoot but just took the smuggled goods home instead.   How civilised, how win-win.

 

Covers 20 – 23 May 2022