eating in Ulaanbaatar

When I told people I was moving to Ulaanbaatar they suggested I wasn't moving for the food; that every dish was mutton with mutton; that I would finally shed those extra pounds I've been carrying. How wrong everybody was. Contrary to popular belief the Mongolian capital has an exceedingly fine selection of fantastic eating places. So far my top 5 off-the-tourist-trail favourite haunts are:

1. Veranda: Overlooking the Choijin Lama temple be sure to reserve a table outside. The restaurant specialises in Italian-Mongolian fusion which is healthy, hearty and hedonistic. A great atmosphere and mixed clientele. The story goes that Veranda and the restaurant below were once the same run by husband and wife. They divorced, she took upstairs and is now kicking her husband's derriere. Tourists downstairs, locals upstairs.

2. Millie's: I thought I wouldn't like this place. How wrong I was. Millie has been in Ulaanbaatar for years and set up her cafe to cater for foreigners living here. It has none of the expat feel you get in other countries and there are rarely any tourists. It is for locals, Mongolian and otherwise. A fabulous selection of food given a Cuban twist by her excellent head Daniel. Millie herself is a delightful legend.

3. Sexy Jazz Lounge: I had to visit given its excellent name. It is a dark and moody place that serves up a suprisingly excellent burger and milkshake. A favourite haunt of office workers. I saw nothing particularly sexy other than the melted cheese and bacon topping and double-thick chocolate shake after which all sexy thoughts dissipated.

4. Hazara: A wonderful northern Indian restaurant situated behind the wrestling arena. My favourite restaurant decor in town, very zen inside your own tent. Too many fantastical spicy dishes to list; a great place to gorge over a number of hours if you have an afternoon or evening to spare. The best naans and saffron rice I have ever tasted.

5. Sakura: Masticatingly good Japanese cuisine at the Kempinski. A hefty menu served by lovely lasses. I ate the soba everyday while I stayed at the Kempinski. They also serve Chinggis in litre glasses; probably the most refreshing beer in the world.

I haven't included any overtly 'Mongolian' restaurants in the list, that's not to say the traditional, local food is not good, it is. Given the weather we have experienced thus far, Mongolian food is aimed at more wintery clientele, we will return when the ice comes. However, for the ultimate in snacking everybody should try huushuur, bansh, buuz and mantuu...

Mongolian of the day:- food :: khool

hot daze in Ulaanbaatar

It is unseasonably hot in Ulaanbaatar. Definitely windows closed weather. An average summer will see temperatures knocking 30C, today we recorded 44C and it is getting hotter. For a Scotsman abroad this is testing the limits.

Having moved outside town at the weekend at least I get fresh air rushing in from the mountains but at the moment even that is hot. Hawks, buzzards and eagles seem to be revelling in the weather. They spiral upwards effortlessly on currents before plunging headfirst back to earth for a bite to eat.

The local kids seem to be enjoying the scorching weather too and are jumping happily into the nearby river. The same river serves as a road in winter with ice nearly two metres thick. Given the dryness and altitude the sun is incredibly strong; factor 50 needs to be replenished every 30 minutes you remain outdoors.

At present my only option is to sit as still as possible in an effort to keep cool. With the view I have this is no mean chore.

Mongolian of the day:- river :: gol

people in and around Ulaanbaatar

Roughly 40% of the Mongolian population live in its capital Ulaanbaatar (some 1.2m people). About 20% live in the other various smaller towns dispersed around the vast country. The remainder are nomadic (over 1m people), that's a lot of nomads. It is a tough life that has changed little since the days of Chinggis Khaan in the 12th century. Almost all live in gers.

Gers are round thick canvas tents. They are designed to be resiliant yet transportable. Everything that needs to be done takes place inside the tent. Outdoors is often too daunting a prospect in Mongolia. Summer temperatures soar above 45C, in winter it plummets to -40C, a swing of some 80C!! The roof has a hole in its conical centre. A stove is lit in the tent for heating and cooking. Nomads sleep snuggled up together inside, take their meals together inside, undertake their ablutions and I suspect ensure the family line, all within sight and earshot of their extended family. The most important factor is warmth. Winter is the longest season and death needs to be avoided.

Despite the forced closeness family life in gers does contain its own more upbeat traditions and cultures. As is common worldwide alcohol plays an important part, generally vodka in Mongolia. Singing and playing musical instruments is surprisingly common and far more prevelant than in developed countries. It is a tough life. Herding horses and camels across the Gobi to market is not a life many can understand let alone choose. The nomads I have met remain resolutely upbeat. They know their way of life has outlived many others. They also know that the world is changing and that perhaps they are better suited than most to cope with some of the adversities that global warming will through at us.

Mongolian of the day:- cooking pot :: togoo

Ulaanbaatar is the wild wild west

Last night, whilst enjoying drinks at the British Embassy bar in Ulaanbaatar, I heard something I have always wanted to hear. A wild haired gentleman sporting a robust moustache stood upon the bar. He beckoned the throng hush: "Yee-haw, I struck oil this morning, the drinks are on me!" I half hoped he'd pull out two six-shooters and dance a jig while firing them in the air! There was certainly something of the JR about this fellow. Sharing such a momentous occasion with him was a unique treat. For the past fifteen years his small exploration company has been working through various sites he wholeheartedly believed oil rich in Mongolia. Yesterday his dream came true. Congratulations.The Steppe Inne is something of an institution in Ulaanbaatar. The British Ambassador and his charming wife began the weekly gathering years ago as a means of bringing together the very few British citizens who were in Mongolia at the time. Since then many more have arrived: some working for NGOs; others pursuing copper, gold and oil; others dinosaur hunters etc. Membership to the club has long closed but our contact here has had a word and we are members for the duration of our stay.

The gathered crowd was a very eclectic mix: old-school Brits who have probably moved from country to country since the Empire was at its peak; entrepreneurial business and charity directors explore what is innevitably the next booming Asian economy; a wacky mix of artists and craftspeople; local Mongolians returned from overseas education with a love for the UK (this is a large group - I have met more Mongolians with PhDs than I have any other nationality). After several ales we were invited by friends to join them for a curry. It was a rather different take on the average Friday night out in Britain.

Mongolian of the day:- khookh :: wow

sexy warrior princesses in Ulaanbaatar

Today I felt like a public shoolboy in Ulaanbaatar. It is not every day that you see three very pretty girls walking around dressed up as warriors of Chinggis Khaan - I was most taken aback!

It is an interesting city that has not failed to surprise me. Today is my last day before checking out of the hotel (the Kempinski is excellent if anyone finds themselves here). I have been confined to my room trying to get some work done. Other than odd stolen minutes leaning out of the window to take in daily life I have been glued to my screen. The stolen moments were beginning to feel normal: I have grown used to the physical appearance of people here (very striking); the erratic driving is becoming passe; the changing light as thunder clouds steal the sky from the searing sun though still special is almost expected. However, as I enjoyed watching a group of older gentlemen chewing the cud I raised my line of sight above and beyond the buildings nearby. It is in so doing that I am constantly reminded that I am not in Kansas anymore.

Peppered along the surrounding mountains are a multitude of gers. Where suburban sprawl and 2.43 kids would occupy the fringes of a European city; nomadic Mongols and their horses take up station in Ulaanbaatar. It feels as though we are surrounded by people from another age who are laying seige to us. I can't wait to explore more tomorrow...

Mongolian of the day:- camel :: temee

moving house in Ulaanbaatar

Today we found an apartment in Ulaanbaatar. The Russians took control of Mongolia from the Chinese in the 1920's. The Chinese had been long-term rulers and very unpopular with the locals. The Russians were hailed as saviours and are still regarded highly, despite Mongolia breaking free from their hold at the fall of the Soviet block. Anyway, while the Soviets were in place the Politburo (governing body of the Communist Party) needed somewhere nice to stay while they were in Mongolia. And so they built some lavish apartments in the mountains overlooking the city.

The apartments came complete with pool, sauna, snooker room, private cinema, gym, gardens and high security. It just so happens that since the fall of the Eastern Bloc these apartments have been in need of some TLC. That TLC appeared in the last few years and the apartments have recently become residence to some of the more interesting Mongolian families, as well as a couple who normally live in the Basque Country that are moving in on Friday...




Mongolian of the day:- thanks :: bayarlalaa

horseplay in Ulaanbaatar

Every year just outside Ulaanbaatar there is a horse race. It is a horse race quite unlike any I have ever heard about. Two hundred children aged between five and twelve set off on five year old ponies across the breathtaking Mongolian countryside. After rounding several hills and rising several valleys their final furlongs come into sight some 25 kilometres later. Streaming down the last valley they are met by the tumultous roars of an eager crowd. The entire city comes out to watch the spectacle. After almost two hourse of racing several more able riders break from the bunch and charge with lung-bursting effort towards the glory and fame that awaits one of them. Horses are a big deal in Mongolia and this event is the pinnacle of horse related matters. After the race for five year old ponies comes the more important race for two year olds, again ridden by children.

For several days in advance rich horse-owning Mongolian families will have been camped in their gers readying their horses for the event. Gambling is prohibited but you can tell this is as much of a money game as it is a sport. The child-jockeys are incredible. Let alone it being tough for a pony to run for 25 kilometres, having a child ride them at full pelt while retaining full control is some feat. Each year half a dozen or so children fail to complete the race; generally they are trampled asunder as the race commences with few surviving. To win a race though means grace and favour for the jockey and his family. Until recently the sweat of a five year old pony was deemed to bring good luck with multitudes of supporters thronging the horses as they neared the end of the race. This resulted in further accident so the last few kilometres now have a small makeshift fence. The atmosphere is one of carnival; one of the most wonderful carnivals I could ever imagine. If you ever get the chance it is well worth the 5am alarm call and two hour drive.

Mongolian of the day:- horse :: moir

war games in Ulaanbaatar

Today in Ulaanbaatar, the annual festival of Naadam began. It is based on Mongolia's love of war games with competitors boasting their skills at wrestling, archery, horse-riding and ... anklebone shooting (?). War is a big theme, Ulaanbaatar means Red Warrior.


The opening ceremony was a loud colourful affair with enormous credit paid to the country's father and hero, Chinggis Khaan (known as Genghis in the West). A packed stadium, presided over by the president, cheered and whistled as contestants walked the arena accompanied by a bevvy of supporters and pretty girls. Traditionally dressed warriors fired arrows at full speed while others chopped off would-be heads with their swords. It was exhausting to watch with so much happening at once, all set to traditional throat-singing Mongolian music. A wonderful entree into cultural life here.

Following the ceremony, the games began. The wrestling competition was a pyramid with winners progressing to the next level. Many fought at the same time. The winner was the person who threw the other to the floor first. There were lots of wee guys up against giants, but size didn't always win. After winning the fighters do a half embrace and slap each other's bottoms before the winner is given a hat to wear and runs off towards the presidential area to perform an eagle dance. With so many fights taking place simultaneously it was almost impossible to pick and follow a favourite.

The stadium next door housed archery. Archers shot some 100m towards a series of coiled ropes, each 15cm in diameter, that were set out on the ground. The centre coil was coloured red. A group of men stood (dangerously) around the coils and their response to each shot signified success or otherwise. Again we saw the eagle dance. Next to the archery several groups of men sat at what could have been makeshift craps tables. At one end three small bones were piled like cricket bales. Three or so metres away sat the competitors each with a flat piece of wood and a squared chunk of anklebone. The challenge was to flick the anklebone at the targets. This seemed to be the most male oriented of the sports with a good deal of masculine noise being made. A unique experience that promises to be even more so tomorrow...

Mongolian of the day:- war :: dain

underway in Ulaanbaatar

Arriving in Ulaanbaatar, capital of Mongolia, the last remnants of daylight lit the mountain tops that create a natural bowl around the city. As the plane neared the runway I could see innumerable round tents that are known elsewhere as 'yurts' but in Mongolia are known as 'gers'. The population was once entirely nomadic. Although there are towns other than the capital Ulaanbaatar, there are still many nomadic people travelling the mountains and deserts.

On landing I was informed that there are two reasons why I would have seen so many gers. Firstly, this weekend sees the main national festival Naadam so many people will have travelled to stay with their family for the events (more over the coming days). Secondly, last winter was one of the harshest in the country's history. As such many people have been forced to give up their nomadic ways and move to the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. They have erected the Mongolian version of a shanty town. It looks a lot prettier than those I saw in India or South Africa.

Time for some sleep. Mongolian of the day:- hello :: sain bainuu

from St Jean de Luz to Ulaanbaatar

I am leaving St Jean de Luz to undertake a long adventure in Mongolia. My family and friends have been exceedingly supportive; in part I assume because it means they get a free holiday cat sitting in my absence. It says something about St Jean de Luz that within a week of mentioning my trip I now have guests staying every single day; so keen are people to experience the town. I hope they enjoy it as much as I do. In the meantime Basque Bylines in Mongolia will be taking up the mantle.

Basque of the day:- adventure :: abentura

things you learn in St Jean de Luz

My best lesson from 18 months in St Jean de Luz is that no matter how busy and stressed out you are, everything gets done a whole lot easier if you instead sit in the sunshine with a good friend and enjoy a cool, refreshing beer.

Basque of the day:- relax :: erlaxatu

covering your ears in St Jean de Luz

Sometimes in St Jean de Luz all you want is a bit of peace and quiet. I fully understand that the season has started and shopkeepers are eagerly rubbing their chubby little hands together in anticipation but the biscuit has been well and truly taken this weekend.

3 blokes with 3 instruments have installed themselves for 3 days in the little square beneath my front terrace. Their enthusiasm should be admired, their expertise should not. Castrating cats makes a more harmonious sound.

I have varied musical tastes but have no idea what the instruments they play are called. Nor do I care. The noise lies something between a silent movie piano-score and a drunken Bulgarian mother-in-law singing of her love for dumplings. It is with some trepidation that even the dreaded accordionist seems a better option than this. I can't hear myself think; a plan is needed.

Basque of the day:- war :: gerla

Fete de St Jean de Luz

This weekend St Jean de Luz enjoyed its wonderful annual festival. The normally brightly coloured town turns black and red for four days as people, houses and shops adorn the traditional Basque colours. Starting on Friday hundreds of children parade through the streets playing drums en route to see the mayor who officially welcomes them and proclaims the festival open. The music continues in many guises for four days. The streets are permanently filled with people enjoying themselves, moving from one group of friends to another, filling one anothers glasses with wine, cider and sangria (though not at the same time).

A myriad of events take place to ensure there are no dull moments: bull running, concerts, beach volleyball (a personal favourite), dancing, fireworks, boat racing. Everything is built around the traditions embedded within the culture and folklore of St Jean de Luz. For four days the sound of laughter fills the air and all is even more fantastical in St Jean de Luz. The weather favoured us with a radiant weekend ensuring that even more liquids were consumed than normal.

There is no doubting the festival is madness. It is a whirlwhind of a weekend with little sleep and a lot of socialising. Marking progress I was amazed at how many people I knew as I walked amongst friends over the weekend. Last year's festival was excellent but I had been an outsider. This year I most definitely felt a part of it.

The festival marks the end of the quieter period. It is the last chance before summer for all locals to enjoy themselves as a group. From next week until the start of September the main tourist season is upon us. St Jean de Luz remains wonderful, as does its ambience, but it has a different more party like feel. From next week onwards most people will be here with the sole purpose of enjoying themselves (god forbid) and the locals will largely be working hard to ensure that everybody does just that. They never fail.

Basque of the day:- party :: besta

cocktails in St Jean de Luz

Last night I drank too many cocktails in St Jean de Luz. For a change, given my mother is in town, we headed to the bar of the Grand Hotel. It is an upmarket place overlooking the sea and probably the swankiest bar in town. They also mix a superb cosmopolitan and a dashing vodka-martini. There is a good, relaxed atmosphere in plush yet not stuffy surroundings and the staff are excellent. We met some lovely people from a wide mix of places (New York, Dublin, Biarritz, Paris). It's always interesting to hear visitors opinion of St Jean de Luz; it generally reaffirms why we chose to live here. This morning I regret that the cocktails tasted too good.

Basque of the day:- hangover :: biharamun

the cost of living in St Jean de Luz

I had one task to do today in St Jean de Luz. I wanted to buy a nice lettuce for dinner tonight. After breakfast, around 1030, I set out for the market. By 1130 I was still only halfway there. It is all of 700 metres from my home but it being a sunny morning everybody was out and about catching up on local news and gossip (of which there tends to be lots). I had to do my bit. Around this time I received a message that a lovely new friend was taking coffee up the road so I was willingly obliged to go and meet her. Following this I remembered that my dance class was about to start which in turn made me hungry thus forcing me to take a late lunch. There were lots of locals in the cafe watching the football so I stuck around to enjoy the atmosphere. I got home 5 minutes ago. No lettuce. It's now raining and I have another coffee at 5 before drinks at 7. I have decided to stop work for the day and take an hour out of my hectic schedule to read a book.

To the uninitiated this might sound like a workshy sort of day. Let me assure you that I feel suitably fatigued for a Friday. More importantly, this is the way things get down here. It's who you know that matters, and more importantly, what gossip you know. Life in St Jean de Luz is exhausting.

Basque of the day:- busy :: lanpetu

spa day in St Jean de Luz

Overnight St Jean de Luz picked up the weather that has wreaked havoc on the Cote d'Azur. It has lost little of its gusto as it traversed the Pyrenees. The sea is boiling, the sky is sinking and there is only one thing for it, a day of thalassotherapy.

The Helianthal in St Jean de Luz offers a fabulous spa experience. It is located right on the beach; you can literally walk into the sea from the swimming pool. The spa has a very strangely shaped waist deep pool filled with warm sea water. Around one side are arranged a series of jets positioned to pummel various parts of the body. Another part of the pool is a jacuzzi, another offers a strong current to swim against. There are semi-submberged beds to lie on that are tickled with fizzing bubbles. An excellent hammam offers an opportunity to sweat out impurity, as does the sauna. Finally there is my favourite, the 'cascades ecossais' - Scottish waterfall - a downpour of icy water. It sure beats the weather outside, my poor plants.

Basque of the day:- storm :: ekaitz

keeping slim in St Jean de Luz

People in St Jean de Luz eat and drink more than I think fair given how slim and healthy the majority are. Meals often contain fattier foods (such as hams, fois gras or duck), rarely include much by way of vegetable or salad and are always washed down with wine.

Baffled by how they manage to retain their happy, svelte glow I have uncovered a secret. This secret also serves to explain something that has annoyed and confused us Anglo Saxons for decades. Lunch is the main meal and is enjoyed slowly over several hours. This gives the body plenty of time before bedtime to fully digest the meal and detoxify the alcohol. It also serves to relax the mind and provoke social behaviour. Supper is often little more than a small morsel.

Breakfast like a king; lunch like a prince; supper like a pauper. Perhaps the adage should read: 'missing' lunch is for wimps.

Basque of the day:- food :: jaki

Louis XIV returns to St Jean de Luz

On this day 350 years ago St Jean de Luz was waking up with its biggest ever hangover. Yesterday in 1660 Louis XIV married Marie Theresa Infanta of Spain (daughter of Philip IV). This concluded the Treaty of the Pyrenees and finally brought peace between France and Spain.

The wedding took place in Eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste and being who he was Louis XIV insisted that the door he and his wife exited by was immediately bricked up so that noone else could have a marriage like his; so pedantic.

To celebrate the anniversary St Jean de Luz has held events all week culminating in a ceremonial mass at church followed by a re-enactment of the wedding festivities. Baroque music filled the air as revellers in large hats danced around merrily. Macarons also had their first airing for the wedding 350 years ago and as such the town's principal macaron maker, Maison Adam, was offering its delicious fare to hungry onlookers.

St Jean de Luz was chosen for the wedding not simply because the weather here is so good. Louis XIV was also known as the Sun King but had more political motivation behind his choice of venue. St Jean de Luz is the exact midpoint between Paris and Madrid.

Basque of the day:- wedding :: ezkontza

global events in St Jean de Luz

For the next few weeks there will be little escape from the football world cup, not even in St Jean de Luz. I am not the greatest football fan but cannot ignore how good it is that this event is taking place in Africa. In the midst of so much depressing news coming out of Korea, Palestine et al it is reassuring that a country less than a generation ago deemed amongst the worst has come so far. There is little chance of South Africa winning the tournament, but that is really not the point. Harmonious geographical and cultural collectiveness is more important to the world cup than winning; for once taking part whether in person or in absentia is what is important. It showcases the modern role and opportunity sport has locally and on the global stage in tearing down divisions and unifying peoples.

Basque of the day:- unity :: batasun

Backhanded compliments in St Jean de Luz

This week has as ever been a social one in St Jean de Luz. I started singing and dancing in order to meet people. Little did I realise that doing such things as an 'outsider' (etranger) would seemingly endear me so readily with the Basque people. I can never quite tell whether they think it is lovely or hilarious that I am throwing myself into things. Regardless it is nigh on impossible to walk down the street without having to stop for a chat. Given the many places I have had the pleasure of living this is the first time that I feel cradled by a real sense of community.

However, this does not come without certain drawbacks. Yesterday a local friend commented:
"Chris, you really do seem to be enjoying yourself"
"Thank you" I replied, "living here it is difficult not to."
"You really seem to enjoy the food here."

That was quite enough of that. I didn't need to hear anymore. Two weeks before the big town festival and beach season proper. Two weeks to avoid such statements being repeated. It's odd, in the UK I am of average shape; here I am seen as rather large. That says something.

Basque of the day:- diet :: jan-edanak

stage debut in St Jean de Luz

I am still not sure how it actually happened but I allegedly danced Flamenco on stage in St Jean de Luz last Saturday. The ever-lovely Fabienne organised an end of dance season concert at the jai alai (normally the home of pelota). From 0900 on Saturday and for 18 hours thereafter I was at her beck and call.

The day began with a full rehearsal. Over 100 people were involved ranging in age from 4 to 84. I was one of 7 men and would mostly be the only chap on stage at any one time albeit surrounded by a bevvy of brightly attired alluring ladies. Rehearsal good, waiting bad.

The last time I had been on stage I was seven years old and had just won the Edinburgh Schools Robert Burns Poetry Recital Award; I forgot every word and vowed I would never again take to the boards. As the start time neared and the hall filled my nerves began to get the better of me. There would be nearly 500 people watching, including a large group of my friends who promised they would make large amounts of noise in support - how much I looked forward to that.

I had two Sevillanas and one Tangos allegedly committed to memory. The first routine was some twenty minutes into the programme. The longest twenty minutes I can remember. Thankfully my obvious nervousness was greeted by much reassuring hugging by the ladies present - there is always a silver lining.

I heard the first strains of our first song and stepped trepidously into the overpowering limelight. The moment we began to move all sense of trepidation dissipated (footage here). What followed was one of the most enjoyable evenings I have ever had.

Two hours flew past and I regained sense around midnight sitting at a table with forty other revellers and clasping a large pitcher of sangria. As I staggered home around 0300 I decided that it had indeed been a resounding success. Three years ago I was working in the City; now I sing Basque, drink sangria and spend weekends dancing Flamenco with hundreds of women. How times change.

Basque of the day:- change :: aldaketa

a constant in St Jean de Luz

Today I have mostly been sitting in my house in St Jean de Luz. I am getting a new front door. The builders turned up as promised at 0800 (a surprise). They worked dilligently for several hours before asking for water. Once watered they said they would take lunch. This was around 1100. They had done well thus far so I couldn't say anything. Therein lies the schoolboy error that has so often been manipulated by builders worldwide. Lunch lasted until 1800. During this time my home was open to anyone who fancied a nosey. I was a prisoner. Normally not a problem but today was the perfect beach day and I was forced to work instead. My door has finally been installed. It's horrid and I hate it.

Basque of the day:- lazy :: alfer

the things you do in St Jean de Luz

There's never a dull day in St Jean de Luz, let alone a dull week or month. Following on from the Festival Andalou (three days of raging sunshine, sangria, dancing, tapas, socialising and general festivalness) people around town have been on a high. The festival season is upon us.

I followed up my dancing exploits with a quick spot of Basque choralling at Musee Basque in Bayonne and a good deal of dance practice with the ladies. This weekend presents the end of year Flamenco spectacle - the fruits of Fabienne's labour. All has gone swimmingly until I pulled a muscle in my back yesterday - no honestly I did...

Every morning at 0730, lunchtime at 1200 and evening at 2000 the eglise St Jean Baptiste is eager to let us know that we should be eating. Rather than the simple peeling; we are offered three peels by three different bells each increasing in pitch. This is followed by 30 peels of the main bell. My bedroom faces the church and at this time of year the French windows are open overnight. There is no chance of my having a long lie in the morning.

Basque of the day:- regular :: ohizko

time for fiesta in St Jean de Luz

Here we go, three hours until the fiesta begins in St Jean de Luz. This weekend sees the Festival Andalou which translates as much dancing, drinking and eating. It is based largely on the promenade with several restaurants opening their doors to revellers for bespoke parties. On the promenade the 'casetas' (small tents serving sangria and tapas) are open pretty much all night long. The camp is centred around a stage on which more able flamenco dancers dance while we follow suit below. During the day there is non-stop dancing including numerous mass beginners classes which are good fun. At night flamenco oriented bands make sure nobody falls asleep. With the weather forecast to touch 30C and the sea views being hospitably panoramic this promises to be a good weekend. Sunday is the main event. I will report back.

In addition to the festival there is the small matter of a rugby cup final involving the local team Biarritz as well as a swanky private party that my choir are singing at on Saturday evening. I had my first ever siesta this afternoon anticipating that I won't sleep at all between now and Monday. Life in the Basque country continues to be stressful.

Basque of the day:- party :: jai

fags and bikes in St Jean de Luz

I saw a classic contradiction this morning in St Jean de Luz as I headed out to the boulangerie for my daily croissants and baguette. There was a man in a Basque beret smoking a cigarette whilst standing beside his bike. A normal enough occurrence until I looked more closely. His brand of cigarette and bike were both Gitane. I believe it means 'gypsy woman'.

Who'd have thought that the same name would be used to sell two very different types of lung buster. They also do guitars.

Basque of the day:- esklabua :: slave

embarassing admission in St Jean de Luz

I've mentioned before that St Jean de Luz is a fairly suave place. I live in the centre of town so I like to hope that a little of that sophistication has rubbed off on me. However, there is a pastime I enjoy that I am compelled to keep secret. Even my wife only found out about it last year. it is something about which my friends would ridicule me and its discovery would certainly lessen my standing amongst the Basque men. I need to share it though, I can't go on any longer living a lie.

I love shopping in supermarkets.

It's not as though this is something new. As a youth, myself and a good artist friend (he knows who he is) used to take delight in people watching at the local supermarket in Edinburgh. There is always such a wild and varied delight of people milling around. It really can be an anthropological insight and treat.

Imagine my delight upon finding Al Campo across the border in Spain. It has to be the largest and most bizarrely stocked offering of its kind. Where Scotland held aisles of ready meals, here we find a thousand varieties of sausage; where Edinburgh presented us with a myriad of fizzy drinks here we find whole aisles stuffed with legs of ham. The clientele is also different and their social patterns as alien as the ingredients I tried to translate.

I feel a new challenge upon me and will endeavour to catalogue the buying behaviours, idle banter and shopping fashions that present themselves over the coming months.

Basque of the day:- shop :: denda

overlooking St Jean de Luz

The sun shone brightly on St Jean de Luz yesterday. Towering in the background the Pyrenees are omnipresent. Standing proudly at the head of the mountain chain stands La Rhune at 905m high (nearly the same height as Snowdon). Having been here for almost 18 months I figured it was about time I went to the top of the mountain. I've walked its foothills many times but have never taken the time to climb to the top even though it's only a 3 hour hike. However, there is an alternative. A cog-link train drags itself to the summit every 40 minutes or so and proves to be a popular tourist attraction. With my in-laws in tow we set forth.

It reminded me of being on a big dipper as we cranked our way upwards, I just hoped that once we reached the top we wouldn't be hurtling down the other side at stomach wrenching speeds. Not so. Dotted across the mountainside were 'pottok' ponies. A breed unique to the Pyrenees and akin to Shetland ponies. Circling above them various birds of prey sought out their next meal.

The view from up there is quite amazing. The Basque country is laid out below. To the north the beaches stretch up towards Bordeaux. To the south San Sebastian reminds you of lunch. Westwards the mountains rise and fall into the distance and eastwards St Jean de Luz glistens by the Atlantic. Even my mother-in-law was impressed.

Basque of the day:- view :: ikusmen

incredulity in St Jean de Luz

I sit frustrated in St Jean de Luz this evening. I am supposed to be in England to celebrate my dear friend Peter's important birthday but have had to bend to the whim of the force that is Nature. Darn those blasted inconvenient geological seismic shifts. Most airports in Spain have been closed all day due to volcanic ash with southern France and Portugal following suit. Twice aviation has been affected by volcanic activity and twice I have been caught out. For those that fear there may be some correlation, my next flight is scheduled for May 20th!

Today was VE Day. The town of St Jean de Luz is ardent in its continued support and remembrance of the Allied victory, with particular importance paid to the Resistance who were very active in these parts. A small troop of servicemen marched into town from Ciboure where a small service was held amidst the pomp, circumstance and music that the Basques serve up so well. Afterwards we were all ushered to the town hall for canapes and wine. Nothing is ever complete unless a glass or two are shared.

Talking of which, here's to you from far too far away Mr Bell, I am so sorry we couldn't be with you.

Basque of the day:- happy birthday :: zorionak

April comes late in St Jean de Luz

April was an unseasonably sunny affair in St Jean de Luz with long unproductive hours spent on the beach. Lazy days were puckered by meandering Parisians wearing the latest season's styles (lots of short skirts with brightly painted wellies?!).

Now that May is upon us, usually one of the warmest months, the weather has turned for the worse. It has rained every day thus far and there was even snow reported in some parts of the Basque country.

Thankfully the singing, dancing, eating and greeting season is in full swing so we are being kept warm by conviviality and rarely have a moment to moan about the weather - it would be nice to get back on the beach soon though...

Basque of the day:- weather :: eguraldi

back on form in St Jean de Luz

After an absence of two months from St Jean de Luz I returned just as the festival season was getting underway (quelle domage!). This weekend saw the choir holding a wee dinner for us newer members. Having been absent for a while I dodged having to cook anything but did take along a couple of bottles of malt whisky by way of enforcing a modicum of Scottishness.

My experience of meals with guys is fish and chips or perhaps at a push a barbecue. Not so in the Basque country. We started with 4kg of huge crevettes, freshly made mayonnaise with crab, smoked salmon and several large plates of meats. This was only the entree. Main course served up duck breast and pigeon on a bed of pureed potato in a shallot and garlic jus. Dessert presented five enormous chocolate and passion fruit gateau, all courtesy of Alain our singing patissier. Washed down by two dozen bottles of red wine (plus my whisky) our throats were adequately lubricated to enable sporadic forrays into Basque song.

Unlike chaps back home, the Basque men worked as a cohort and I was quickly seconded to chop herbs, wash dishes and serve wine. It was effortless and, dare I say it, working the kitchen was fun. I guess living in a matriarchal society (which the Basque country is) we men need to find solace where we can.


[Apologies for absence: Egypt, Scotland, Sudan, England, Spain, with a bit of volcano thrown in...]


Basque of the day:- absence :: ez izate