“First Week in San Sebastian”
Now that we’ve landed in the Basque region, you might be wondering where that is exactly and what the history of that region involves. Here’s a map of the region – a small portion of what is now northeastern Spain and southwestern France:
Here’s an online summary of the extensive history of the region that helps one understand why these people have been pushing for recognition and independence for so long:
Monday lunch was at Rekondo. This was a fancy restaurant (one tier below the very fancy Michelin star places) that was recommended to Denny by a shopkeeper in Old Town on Sunday. The wine cellar is reported to be the best in Europe. We had a tour after lunch, and it was extremely impressive.
They did not encourage photos and so I wasn’t able to get the fancy entry part.
The wine list that we were presented was at least an inch thick and very intimidating. Thankfully, they had a list of about six recommendations on the food menu. The champagne was $26 which we assumed was for a fancy glass, and were pleased to find was for a bottle.
I had the black pudding ravioli with truffle to start and then the suckling pig with the fancy pineapple crisp. Both wonderful.
Here we are outside the restaurant and fully sated:
We had heard that the shops and restaurants would be mostly closed on Tuesday for a “protest strike.” Denny decided to rent a car and drive to Biarritz in France for the day. This was a short and relatively easy drive, and we arrived at the fancy beach in the late morning.
Biarritz appeared to be a combination of a very fancy, elegant town and a surf destination. The breaks were very impressive all the way up and down the coast from the town.
There was a travel poster from La Baule in our apartment, and this and discussion of the waves at Biarritz reminded Mum of a day that Dad and I had spent enjoying the waves at the La Baule beach – much to the concern of Mum and Elspeth as we disappeared in the swells.
I had lunch at a cafe on a square in the center of Biarritz – a tasty veggie galette.
This bar window in Biarritz reminded us that we were still in Basque country:
After that snack, Denny drove us down the coast to Saint Jean de Luz. We had lunch at a small restaurant recommended by AI – we would never have found it (hidden on a back street) without help.
Returning to San Sebastian, we were entertained to find the beach in front of our apartment very busy with folks enjoying the sun.
Diana made her way to a store to purchase a San Sebastian beach towel so that she could join the sun worshippers. The following days were not quite as hot but she gave it a good try.
Denny and Anne left for the airport on Wednesday morning. They were flying to London, spending the night, and then on to New Orleans on Thursday. We were sorry to see them go and the apartment seemed quiet.
A ride on the funicular was highly recommended by Denny before he left. We gave that a shot on Wednesday afternoon but caught it during siesta nap time. Lunch seemed like a good alternative plan, and we shared a couple of salads at the nearby Wimbledon tennis club.
We found the local jazz club for Wednesday night entertainment. It is called Altxerri – pronounced Alcherry and meaning “treasure” in Basque.
I was shocked at the low price of enjoying the music as compared to what we typically pay – 5 Euros for entry and 7 Euros for cocktails made with great care.
I really enjoyed it all. There was a trio to start out and then they rotated students from the Musikene (local music school that seems to have a wonderful reputation and has amazing visiting international guests). Here’s the initial trio. I thought the drummer and the bass player were great, with the piano player doing well but missing dynamics and change to capture attention:
Then came a saxophone student:
And finally, my favourite musician of the night, a wonderful young pianist with an amazing finger span and technique:
What an enjoyable and unexpected night.
We visited Old Town for a pintxo lunch again on Thursday. Irulegi was our first stop again and this time I tried their foie gras – just as delicious as everywhere else.
Then we walked around the corner to my favourite, Casa Urola for some more.
We made it all the way back around the bay to the funicular before siesta time. The views from the top were well worth the effort as advertised by Denny.
The funicular originally opened in the 1920s and I don’t think has changed dramatically since then:
After the funicular we walked to the end of the point to watch the breaking wave spray and to look at the sculpture – the “Wind’s Comb.”
I tried to eat at Somos Cafe on Friday morning (their Turkish eggs sounded good) but arrived too late – it was fully loaded with locals enjoying breakfast when I got there around half past ten. The BB cafe across the street was a good second choice.
On the walk to breakfast, I saw my first fish shop and chuckled. I had just asked Diana the previous night about where people bought meat and fish. The pescaderia was a bit intimidating with all the full fish waiting to be prepared for you.
I also saw these lovely blossoms on the walk:
We ate at El Bistro Ondaretta on Friday night. Ondaretta is the area of town where our apartment is located and so this was less than a five-minute walk. The restaurant is small and is run by a husband-and-wife couple.
Boeuf Bourguignon was a special and I was tempted but nervous that it wouldn’t be as good as Mum’s.
The menu was small but had plenty of things that sounded good to us. What do you think we chose?
Are you ready to hear our choices?
Ok, Diana had the foie gras (shocking, I know) followed by the scallops – they’re smaller here but delicious. I enjoyed the Pate de Campagna and cod in a delicious beurre blanc sauce. We were very happy with our selections.
Saturday was a busy walking day again, covering more than five miles in the morning. I had committed to giving hiking up to the statue of Jesus a try. On the way we noticed a bunch of football pitches (8) on the beach. What a nice setting for the kids.
Here’s some information on the statue:
The Jesus statue, known as the Sacred Heart of Jesus or Cristo de Urgull,
stands atop Monte Urgull, overlooking San Sebastián and La Concha Bay.
I made it and we were able to take some pictures up top to celebrate the accomplishment and capture the views.
I enjoyed the view of the city and beach from the turrets:
It seemed more than 400 feet up there.
Diana rewarded me with an agua con gas at a cafe on the square after our descent. Then we stopped into a restaurant that we were hoping to try for dinner on Monday night to make a reservation. Diana was able to get that all sorted and we’re looking forward to it.
We decided to check out the fancy building next to us on Sunday afternoon. This is called the “Palais d’Ete a San Sebastian” and was designed by the English architect Selden Wornum in the late 1800s. The flower beds were very pretty.
We revisited the music club, Altxerri again on Sunday evening, this time for some blues music.
Just like last time, the musicians were top notch on piano and harmonicas:
My first book this week was “The Future Saints” by Ashley Winstead. The reviews made this sound quite appealing, but I gave up early on. It was like a bubblegum pop book and nothing close to what I was hoping for and expecting. The comparisons to “Daisy Jones and the Six” should have tipped me off – I really didn’t enjoy that book either.
I switched over to “The Rest of Our Lives” by Ben Markovits. This was much more my speed. I realized a little into the read that I had previously read “Christmas in Austin” by Markovits and really enjoyed it.
Here’s an online summary of the plot:
“When Tom Layward’s wife had an affair twelve years ago, he resolved to leave her as soon as his youngest child left the nest. Now, while driving his college-bound daughter to Pittsburgh, he remembers his promise to himself. He is also on the run from his own health issues and a forced leave from work.
So, rather than returning to his wife in Westchester, Tom keeps driving west, with the vague plan of visiting people from his past—an old college friend, his ex-girlfriend, his brother, his son—en route, maybe, to California. He’s moving towards a future he hasn’t even envisioned yet while he considers his past and the choices he’s made that have brought him to this particular present. Pitch-perfect, tender, and keenly observed, The Rest of Our Lives is a story about what to do when the rest of your life is only just the beginning of your story.”
Some passages that I highlighted:
“You know they’re…we’re supposed to add a line under our university emails, which says like, he/his/him, which I refuse to do. So I got an email from the compliance officer.”
“There’s no such thing as a compliance officer,” Miri said.
“Anyway, I started signing off with he/I/mine. So I get another email and have to explain myself. I don’t like being referred to in the accusative. It literally objectifies I.”
This made me smile given some of the discussions Diana and I have had about including pronouns in email signatures and the like. Neither of us ever did and thankfully no longer have anyone to tell us that it’s required.
An interesting passage on Father and Daughter musical tastes:
“The music she was into was eighties synthy stuff, songs like “Tainted Love” and bands like the Eurythmics. She liked them in a retro ironic way, because they had amped-up sounds and emotions, which she could pretend to have and make fun of at the same time. Technically, I guess, this was my musical era, but I was more of a Springsteen fan or even John Cougar Mellencamp, what Miri called corny, depressing white-guy music, with a slow banging beat and strummy guitar. But, you know, where the baisc goal is authenticity. Good road-trip music, especially if you’re taking 80 West through Pennsylvania. Whatever, I let her play what she wanted. Like “Chains of Love,” which I remember hating when it came out, around the time of my high school prom, where I did not have a good time.”
The concept of arguing “with another person in the room” gave me a chuckle.
“”Have you talked to Amy?” he asked suddenly.
“About what?”
“I thought you said you guys had a fight.”
“I called her last night. But I don’t know if we had a fight.” I tried to explain myself. “For the past…I don’t know, two or three years, she’s been seeing a therapist, which means when you argue with Amy, it’s like there’s this other person in the room, who’s a certified expert, and you have to argue with her, too. But we didn’t really argue, we disagreed.””
Describing one of my most hated experiences, having an MRI. Maybe I need to recite poetry in my head:
“The whole thing took about ten minutes, that’s what they told me beforehand. So I tried to work out how long ten minutes is. You have to keep very still. Also, I was supposed to hold my arms over my head and that turned out to be difficult. The pins and needles began almost immediately. By the end my arms felt like rolled-up sailcloth, dead weights. Sometimes I had to breathe in and hold my breath, then let it out when they told me to. A voice spoke to me from the tube. But there were also periods of silence.
This is what I thought about. I tried to concentrate on specific things. Poems I had memorized in high school. The Raven…Once upon a midnight dreary, until it broke down. Whose woods these are I think I know. Ozymandias. Nothing beside remains…Famous moments in sports from my childhood. Jordan switching to his left hand midair against the Lakers…Lorenzo Charles catching Derek Whittenburg’s airball and dunking it home as time expired to win the 1983 National Championship. I imagined Jimmy Valvano running like a man released onto the court, looking for people to hug. A few years later he was dead of cancer. All of this added up to maybe six minutes’ worth of material, then I went back to the beginning.
Then it was over; the bed I lay on quietly slid out of the tube.”
I watched a video this week of David Byrne on Colbert, performing “When we are singing”:
I’m looking forward to this group playing at Jazzfest in a few weeks.
