the garden of England

Being back in Europe is odd. After six months in Mongolia I found myself wandering giddily around Morrison's supermarket buying up far more fruit and vegetables than I could possibly eat and purchasing more prawns and squid than I could possibly want. As for fresh cream profiteroles... Scoffed the lot.

I am staying with my old next door neighbours in deepest darkest Kent. I had forgotten just how lovely a corner of the world Kent is. It is truly, quintessentially English and that is no bad thing, and I say that as a Scotsman. Kent also has what is undoubtedly my favourite beer in the world. Sitting in The George last night I enjoyed more than my fair share of Master Brew, seriously good ale.

Walking up on the Weald this morning the bracing views reminded me why I spent so many years living here. It may only be 50 miles from London but it remains unspoiled. Once can easily imagine stagecoaches passing by en route to Paris. The sound of spitfires flying overhead on their way to the Battle of Britain can be heard if you listen closely enough. On a clear day you can almost make out France some 60 miles south.

Kentish of the day:- blouse :: sweat profusely

drinking and dancing in Ulaanbaatar (part1)

Ulaanbaatar dishes up a surprisingly wide array of nightlife. There is at least something for most tastes.


Sophisticates

• Monet and Sky Lounge - located on the top floor of Central Tower (Louis Vuitton, Zegna, Armani and Boss on ground floor) this is 'the' place to hang out with the beautiful people of Mongolia. Kitten heels and sharp suits are the order of play. Astounding views.
• Veranda - again I enthuse about this place. The best place to enjoy a bottle of wine with friends.
• Crystal Lounge - modernist, trendy hang-out serving only cocktails; decent ones at that.

Drinkers
Ulaanbaatar has almost as many pubs as Edinburgh. Most are wee vodka dens; a must for the more intrepid drinker. Most of the big bars are themed, sounds tacky but it actually works.

• Dublin - even deepest Mongolia has its own Irish bar. This is a better and more genuine offering than many other countries boast. Good beer, great atmosphere and a leg of lamb for a pound - bargain! Miners love this place.
• Dave's Place - a British pub that runs a pub quiz alongside decent football (if that's your thing). Nice outdoor patio.
• Brau Haus - to Germany and as you'd expect: loud, big beers, hearty food and live music. Not for a quiet night.

Clubbers

• Ismuss - weird weird weird. The multi-level club boasts a 7 metre high statue of Joseph Stalin! A throw back to Soviet-chic, worth a visit.
• Zouq - the first Egyptian themed club I've come across. Catwalk dance floor.
• Silence - late night trance music.

Mongolian of the day:- drink :: undaa

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

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

Sunday lunch in St Jean de Luz

A friend from St Jean de Luz invited me for Sunday lunch yesterday. When I accepted I hadn't appreciated lunch would last almost ten hours. They never seem to do things as you'd expect in these parts.

We gathered for an aperitif or two in a wee bar in Ciboure, across the port from St Jean de Luz. We were twelve strong and readily became friends, once again the Basque stereotype for frostiness was shattered. Heading towards lunch I had no idea what to expect. More and more people began walking in the same direction. By the time we arrived at the town square there were several hundred people, four bands (ranging from traditional Basque pipes to funky-brass), a twenty strong male choir and most importantly a huge bar. Sunday lunch was clearly going to be a lot more than the roast beef I had imagined.

To celebrate the end of its week-long annual festival Ciboure held a lunch for the town. A huge tent was erected in the square with everyone seated at four immensely long trestle tables. At one end the bar area, at the other a dance-floor and stage for music. No sign of any Yorkshire pudding. Our group sat in the middle of the throng, who had clearly been enjoying a glass or two more than was customary for this hour but being Scottish I felt the least I could do was throw myself into things wholeheartedly, I succeeded.

By the time the first course arrived we had sung loudly whilst swaying rhythmically. There was a Bavarian beer-cellar feel to the place and I wasn't complaining. I also prefer sangria and red wine over warm, flat beer. We ate for several hours breaking only to pour another glass of wine or break into song. I was grateful for having joined a Basque choir and proudly demonstrated to my new friends that I knew the words to their songs. At the time I felt I sang well but this morning I fear not.

Before long it was seven in the evening and the Patxaran was pouring plentifully. We had been dancing and drinking, singing and eating for over six hours and there was little sign of it stopping. There was also no sign of sticky toffee pudding and custard, this was no normal Sunday lunch. I'm not quite sure when I got home but I'm finding today more of a struggle than normal for Monday. The next time a friend asks me for lunch, rather than asking what time we're to meet, I should really ask what time it's likely to end.

Basque of the day:- time :: denbora

drinking and singing all night in St Jean de Luz

This weekend St Jean de Luz started to fill up with Christmas spirit. My choir were on duty. Meeting mid afternoon at our clubhouse in the port we crammed into the back of a transit van and headed for Biarritz. Assembling outside Maison Adam, the owner sings tenor with us, we broke into a variety of traditional Basque Christmas songs. Far from being carols the songs are upbeat and more folksy than religious. All very rousing, we attracted a significant crowd. Between songs the lovely girls that work in the shop ensured we were fueled by wine, chocolates and macarons. By the time it started getting dark we headed back to St Jean de Luz and the main event.

Gathering in one of the trinquets (a very Basque place where pelota is played) we enjoyed more wine before heading into the centre of town. Walking en masse with two of our more seasoned campaigners leading the way with large wooden sticks (our costume is that of the mountains) we were immediately the centre of attention. First we sang at a tapas bar, then outside another chocolatier on Rue Gambetta before moving to Place Louis XIV where we set up outside the main Maison Adam. Wearing Basque costume, including large floppy berets, we sang loudly and well. By the time we had finished our set in the Place the shops had closed. I had also sussed that the singing was centred around food and drink. Unbeknown to me the main event was about to start. A traditional event dating back decades and longer, a very Basque event that I was to feel exceedingly fortunate to be part of.

To kick-start the evening we had been invited to sing at the opening party of a new gallery by a famous local painter. He had painted our accordianist as the centrepiece of one of his favourite works. After canapes and wine we moved to Le Petite Grill Basque for more singing, wine, piquillos, crevettes and oysters. Next up one of the main bars in town where the local celebrity group Arin Luzien was practicing, complete with mandolins and other assorted Basque instruments. We combined and sang more, accompanied by a myriad of locals and several bottles of wine. Moving on we arrived at another restaurant where the local fire brigade were holding their Christmas party. Again more singing and more beer. From here, across the river into Ciboure and to Chez Mattin where we set up camp beside the bar. As the evening drew on more and more Basque was spoken, songs became increasingly passionate and the brethren ever more close. It was about midnight when we finished at Chez Mattin. The snow was falling heavily outside so we took a break to enjoy a snowball fight before moving on.

Heading back towards the port in Ciboure we descended upon a bar next to the fronton. Despite the hour, weather and quiet streets the bar was mobbed. We heightened the revelries into the small hours as the barmen kept the flow of beer moving in our direction. I was quite bewildered. I had expected a sedate rendition or two in town, not twelve hours of drinking, singing and socialising. In St Jean de Luz everybody knows everybody else. To have been at the heart of such a local group and embraced by the throng was a delight, something I dare say few other 'outsiders' can lay claim to. Around half two we left the bar, I presumed for home, not so. We still had our own private party to contend with. Back at our clubhouse we set about a feast of marinated veal, song and more wine.

I have no idea when we finished or how I got home but I did wake the following morning feeling exceedingly satisfied at having been part of something quite special. I also seem to recognise many more faces as I walk around town. Slowly, slowly, I think I am being accepted. Before arriving in these parts I had been warned that the Basques are notoriously unfriendly and that it's difficult to get on with them unless your family has lived here for generations. I am yet to experience this and think it's just an image they convey in order to keep unwanted visitors at bay.

Basque of the day:- thank you :: eskerrik asko

fishy goings on in St Jean de Luz

With my wife back in St Jean de Luz this weekend was far from quiet. Our good friend Clare was also visiting again (see first ever blog entry) and we used this as an excuse to maximise every moment. The weather smiled upon us allowing a weekend largely spent outdoors.

Saturday saw a day on the beach. It is Bastille Day on Tuesday and so town was full to overflowing with second homeowners from Paris and tourists from further afield. As usual they were taking a (very) long weekend, using Monday as another 'pont' day bridging the weekend and public holiday. Our usually quiet beach was crammed with barely enough space to lay down a towel. As such we three decided it was more spacious in the sea and spent several hours swimming leisurely up and down the bay. It didn't cross our minds to worry about the security of our belongings, such is the feel good factor in St Jean de Luz. In the evening the annual Tuna Festival took place. Our friends Pascale and Bruno (together with aforementioned delightful children) kindly agreed to show us the ropes.

For the event town is wholly pedestrianised. Every available space is bedecked in long tables (each sitting around sixty). Adjacent to each set of tables, usually three or four, is a cooking area. Each of the associations from St Jean de Luz takes an area and serves up a set menu which unsurprisingly is centred around tuna, in our case with a lovely piperade Basquaise. The rugby club is next to the literary association which is next to the bakers association and so forth. Bruno selected one of his friends' areas and we were not disappointed.

There were four or five larger such areas in town; the main square, the quayside and two car parks. Each had its own stage and we were entertained by a host of Basque music while we ate. Afterwards we joined in with some Basque dancing stopping only to partake in a glass or two of patxaran or manzana. By eleven o'clock the crest of the evening's wave had passed and the erstwhile wonderfully behaved hoards of children who had helped generate a familial feel were beginning to tire. Pascale and Bruno made their exit and we three headed to a cocktail bar and managed to lose several hours deep in gossip and idle banter.

Sunday again rose with the sun high in the sky (well it was by the time we finally awoke, somewhat dehydrated). Heading to the beach we caught up with friends and I whiled away the day building sand castles and gigantic sand volcanoes - fabulous. In the evening Pascale and Bruno hosted a soiree at their lovely home in the foothills of La Rhune. We met a variety of interesting, intriguing and very pleasant people but more importantly enjoyed an opportunity to sample Pascale's amazing culinary skills. Crab breads, tuna wraps, marinated prawns, freshly baked macarons, chocolate gateau Basque to name but some. It had been another wonderous weekend in the Basque country filled with new experiences, tastes and acquaintances. Clare in particular was overjoyed at being able to live a local life in an amazing corner of the world that differs ever so slightly from central London. We even managed to avoid sunburn.

Basque of the day:- local :: bertako

St Jean de Luz conundrum

Today was a frustrating day in St Jean de Luz. When we arrived here we determined to open a bank account with a self proclaimed 'global' bank. Its offer to enable simple hassle free transfers between UK and French accounts was music to our frustrated ears. After five branch meetings, fourteen emails, twelve telephone calls and four letters I am still unable to transfer funds. Each correspondence promises that next time it will get sorted.

I had a flash-back this morning to a recent late night out. I disctinctly recall standing in a bar talking to a stranger about Basque politics. Now, this is neither an activity or subject for the fainthearted or less intelligent (both counts rule me out). It has evolved over several centuries and is always referred to with the utmost passion. However, whenever I have asked a friend to explain it to me they have always replied "c'est difficile". Anyway, my addled mind figured my Celtic roots stood me in good stead to explore the topic and offer my inebriated wisdom on the matter. Other such discussions have always tapered off, this one did not and my fellow bar-stander was becoming ever more heated. Whilst most Basques hold a strong view (this merits its own entry) they are peace-loving, not so this gentleman. Around this point I hazily remember becoming mildly apprehensive and making excuses to leave for another bar, before doing so he handed me his details and insisted I contact him to discuss the matter further. It is this piece of paper that instigated the memory recall, needless to say the piece of paper has by now long disappeared in a trash-can out of town somewhere.

Basque of the day:- extreme :: buru

a big weekend in St Jean de Luz

This weekend in St Jean de Luz reminded me what it was like being young.

Friday night presented a dinner at the casino to celebrate the end of year at our Flamenco class. Around twenty of us ate, chatted and imbibed. During dessert some of the ladies began murmering about going dancing. Before I knew what was going on I, together with FX, was escorting a dozen lasses to a local nightclub. Reassuringly they are all friends of my wife. Top dancing skills by all as we payed homage to Mr Jackson and drank cocktails into the small hours.

Saturday was a quasi working day. There is a superb local chocolatier called Maison Adam. The proprietor had asked our choir to sing a variety of traditional Basque folk songs outside his shops in Biarritz and St Jean de Luz. The lovely girls from the shop presented us with copious amounts of red wine, chocolate and macarons to assist replenishment of our energy levels. A fair crowd of Biarritz locals and visitors stopped to listen as a we ran through a fine array of Basque folk songs. We sang for an hour in Biarritz which largely served as a warm up. Six o'clock approached so we headed back to our cars and sped back down the coast to St Jean de Luz.

More wine and cake awaited us, as did a far more substantial crowd. This time there was the added challenge of our knowing a good deal many of the passers by, even the mayor stopped by to congratulate us. By now our voices were finely tuned and we did ourselves proud. Starting in rue Gambetta we moved up the street and camped at Place Louis XIV where even more wine and macarons awaited. The cafes were full of pre dinner revellers taking aperitifs so the crowd was significant. Given the applause I think we were very well received. Around eight we headed back to our HQ in the port.

My fellow choristers are from a myriad of vocational backgrounds. Drawing upon our strengths we pulled together a dinner to welcome in the summer, it seemed like a good enough reason. Central on the large square table sat three groaning trenchers. In each, on beds of ice, sat a fresh and plentiful selection of 'fruits de mer'. Given the external backdrop, fishing boats and fisheries, decoration inside, fishing nets and whaling hooks, the food tasted even finer as we tucked into gambas, oysters, scallops, clams and perriwinkles. Four cases of champagne that had been chilling overnight arrived and were deposited in a large vat of ice within ready reach of the ever thirsty throng. Following the seafood plates of charcuterie arrived, boudin noire was prepared and a stew of fish gills and onion distributed. Fellow patissiers prepared a mountain of cakes and mousses for dessert. By now we fourteen had each consumed a bottle of champagne but still more poured forth. It was a sublime dinner and something I truly did not expect to have been party to. Being accepted into the choir has opened many doors that remain locked to other less inclined outsiders.

The table cleared we again broke into song, each of us taking it in turn to lead a song of choice. I did my very best to provide three Scottish songs, but in all honesty by now things had started to get hazy. At one in the morning we tidied up tables and closed up shop. A phone call was made and the local police waved us across the bridge, turning a blind eye to our less than sobre driving. St Jean de Luz is a place where who you know is what matters most. Arriving at a small bar in the heart of town we set up camp and remained ensconsed there until the sun had risen again the following day. This is the kind of job I have always wanted.

Basque of the day:- hangover :: biharamun

sore heads in St Jean de Luz

After last night, today was a struggle. Try as we might it was impossible to catch up on sleep. Various bands marched up and down, round and about, high and low through the streets of St Jean de Luz. Everyone was in splendid form. The locals particularly enjoy the timing of the fêtes de la St Jean as it is the last event before the tourists arrive en masse for the summer. It has served as a wonderful reminder of how friendly people are down here and how willing they are to dance or sing at the merest opportunity.

We are beginning to feel accepted and though we are cognisent that we have a long way to go before we are truly embraced we love a challenge.

Tomorrow sees a children's day with a group picnic in the park, traditional games and junior choirs performing. In the evening a very civilised concert de aperitif is taking place and I am hoping to have recovered in time.

Basque of the day:- hangover :: biharamun

carefree carniforms

Today the traditional waking of the bear continued. Two men dressed in full bear costume were led through the streets of St Jean de Luz by ropes secured to two gents in Basque attire. Upon sight of children the ropes were loosened and the man-bears made for the infants only to be hauled back by their captors. In addition to children today's bears also seemed to have a penchant for attractive women. There are said to be some 30 brown bears living wild in the Pyrenees.According to Basque legend the bears hibernate through the earlier months of winter and seek food in springtime as Nature and Life are reborn. Given the ferocious renewed appetite of these crazed carniforms it was deemed necessary they be contained. A group of hardened locals, the Joaldunak (must-see YouTube clip), dressed in suitably terrifying lace trimmings, sheepskin and conical hats parade the streets encircling any bears found prowling. The Joaldunak carry bells that are said to stave off the plantigrade appetite. The modern tradition also includes a parade of colourful dancers accompanied by drum led marching bands.

On a more social front, Bruno and I have determined to start a Saturday coffee club. He is learning English and I French so we shall spend an hour a week practicing. He is far better at my language than I his - I am in dire need of further study. Our friend Jane come to visit for her birthday weekend. After a tiring day of shopping and spa treatments I cooked she and Maria supper. We drank too much Madarin and talked too much (as usual) before retiring for an early night.

Basque of the day:- sleep :: loaldi

guilty feet sometimes have rhythm

When we moved into our apartment, as the monte meubles was carrying our furniture up the outside of the building to our terrace, we befriended an old lady. She lived across the small square and was sitting in her balcony watching on in bewilderment as our assorted belongings ascended. From that day on we exchanged bonjours and waved to one another over petit dejeuner. After a few weeks her shutters remained firmly shut. We presumed that she was an out-of-towner and spent the winter months in some cosy retreat. We thought little of her absence until a friend joked that she was possibly lying dead being mange-d by her presumably inumerable feline companions. Sadly it turns out that this was the case (less the cats). I guess Mr Reaper visits us all in the end.

Feeling a little guilty at not having determined this eventuality in a more neighbourly manner we ventured to a meeting of flamenco friends. This afternoon we were inaugurated into the Sunday Association, a monthly gathering for those who enjoy their sevillanas and sangria. Our guilt thankfully dissipated as we sashayed the afternoon away to strumming guitars and a crescendo of rythmic clapping. I did think of her and paid my respects as I neared the end of my first paso doble. Bless.

The southerly has continued and this evening looks set to prove Bruno's prediction correct.

Basque of the day:- guilt :: erru

beware the tides that march

After our Flamenco class today two lasses informed me that there was a storm coming. I dismissed this as a fishwives tale but they insisted we be careful. We confirmed their warning online and now eagerly anticipate 140 km/h winds overnight. Glenn and I hit the market and he made me enjoy my first oyster, truly slipperily delicious. He provided an analogy for their taste but my grandmother reads this blog. We bought some kippers for a late lunch and headed home. I had never tasted kippers before either. The sales are getting sillier so we spent much of the afternoon enjoying hard bargaining.

In advance of the storm we enjoyed the balmly lull while walking the promenade before dinner at Pil-Pil Enea. It was the first time we had visited the restaurant since our arrival though have fond romantic memories from previous trips to St Jean de Luz. Between the four of us we enjoyed further fishiness and fabulous Madiran. We battoned down the shutters before completing a day of cliches and headed to bed. No sign of the slightest flutter of wind though the shipping forecast talks of storm forces in Biscay heading south.

Basque of the day:- fish :: arrain

teenage kicks

Having Glenn and Elizabeth on board we were insured of two things: stimulatingly challenging intellectual conversation and general silliness. After a lengthy Basque lunch that involved too much red wine we walked out to the fort at Socoa. The protective digue runs some 200 metres across the face of the bay and bears the brunt of the Atlantic's onslaught on St Jean de Luz. It also offers a great place to play dare against the massive waves as they crash over the walls.

Invigorated by our walk we purchased the necessary beverages en route home and enjoyed a plentiful supper of crevettes, cheese, champagne, Patxaran and Izarra. The drinks flowed uneasily easily and before we knew it we were on the beach at midnight chasing waves. This we partook in for some time before we became a) soaked and b) in need of more beverage. Stopping at Le Suisse we each imbided a large Armagnac with Calvados chaser. We met some interesting people in the bar, chances are we won't recognise them again but we ensured we were the last to leave. Sometimes it is good to remember that amidst all this global angst we are all still young really and shouldn't take life too seriously.

Basque of the day:- drunk :: mozkortu

Spanish groceries

We have friends arriving tomorrow so in a bid to be organised set out to buy ingredients for the various dinners planned. My wife being who she is thought that rather than a quick trip around town we should head to Spain. Something about Rioja and tortilla swayed me to her train of thought.

Venturing south to a border town called Irun we spent a fabulous few hours perusing the butchers and vegetable shops of the Spanish Basque country. Though efficient Irun lacks the architectural charm of St Jean de Luz and while Spanish Basques are considerably more severe than their French brethren they do provide fantastic quality and value. We were fully stocked with a one third saving which appealed greatly to my Scottish sensibilities. Moreover and most importantly the Spanish love their whisky so I augmented Maria's argument for shopping in Spain by acquiring a year's supply of the amber nectar. We were home in time to watch President Obama's inauguration, I believe we were amongst the very few locals doing so.

Basque of the day:- whisky :: whisky

the curse of Patxaran

Pascale and Bruno's soiree hier soir cemented our view that moving to St Jean de Luz has been our best decision to date. Guests were asked to bring a dish from their region/ family (we took roast beef and devils on horseback). There were 20 guests resulting in a flow of food that seemed to last for hours but in reality lasted a lot longer! From chorizo bread to roasted champignons, cassoulet to chocolate macarons all gushed with intensity and deliciousness. Bruno ensured that we remained wholly hydrated via intravenous champagne and vin rouge. By midnight we were truly fed and more than sensibly hydrated, then the real fun began...

The music subtely changed to tunes not found on my iPod, a joyous melee of accordian, fiddle and drums creating a ceilidh sound with latin temperament. The dancers began, stepping solemnly at first but more quickly and with increasing vigour as the tempo heightened. Following the feast I watched in wonder as they turned and twisted in unison - Maria braved a couple of dances with considerable success. Better was to follow. I may have dreamt it but I believe we partook in a rowdy Basque karaoke broken only by the sporadic interjection of Scottish song - I had worn my kilt after all. As I rounded off Mingulay Boat Song I recall the Patxaran being brought forth, the rest of the party is a bit of a blur but I woke up ten hours later and 20 miles west - slightly worrying when that happens...!

Waking this morning we were both in dire need of a fry-up. As luck would have it the neighbouring town of Ciboure was holding its annual festival complete with world boudin noir competition (it's a kind of black pudding). After cheering on the frenetic cooks the crowd watched in silence as several very serious looking judges sampled the fare checking everything from consistency and smell to weight and taste. In the background a local Basque folk group offered uplifting harmonies to help alleviate our hangovers. The chefs proudly offered their wares to the onlookers and after we had satisfied our cravings we headed home to spend the remains of the day watching movies.

Basque of the day:- excellent :: bikain

Basque fire water

Dinner last night was fab. The company was outstanding, a nice melee of Basque, Parisian, Spanish, Portuguese, English and Scottish, all conducting conversation en francais - I think I conducted myself ok. Even more outstanding was Pascale's cooking, what a dinner...

Appetiser: ham tartlets, mini saucisson in pastry, feta parcels served with rose champagne
Starter: home-made foie gras on toasts served with Monbazillac
Main: slow-roasted monkfsh (in a secret family sauce) on herbed-rice served with two outstanding Bordeaux rouges ('78 and '99)
Dessert: awesome chocolate (dark and milk) grated into cream served parceled in sponge, smattered in a creme anglais, served with Patxaran - a very strong Basque tipple Bruno insisted I try, loved it!

The drive home was interesting, I think that I'll experiment with Patxaran a fair bit going forward, very medicinal. From what I woke up remembering this morning we had agreed/ commited to the following:

1. I am going to play pelota - excellent
2. I am now getting my hair cut at a salon in San Sebastian - excellent
3. Maria is going to play golf - great
4. I cannot compete with Pascale in the kitchen - obvious (she had even made the place settings out of pastry - sickening!)
5. there are more fetes and drinking soirees in this region than anywhere else and I am going to spend the next 12 months sampling them - tough decision
6. Maria wants to build a house like Pascale and Bruno's - scary (fab house but it's huge!)
7. I have to wear my kilt at New Year to enable the younger local ladies to 'experience' the mystery that is a Scotsman - very scary

Basque of the day:- frightened :: beldurturik

drinking, drink and drinks

An seasonably mild and sunny day today so we spent a good deal of the day enjoying another coastal walk. Even the waves were taking it easy though I'm sure it was only a brief break in their eternal attack. Given we had ben virtuous and that it is Monday we decided to go on a a bar crawl this evening (apologies for any resulting incoherence!).

Bar Suisse in the Place Louis XIV is a good place to start such a venture. Being located in the main square it does attract quite a few outsiders (god forbid) but there is still a strong undercurrent of Luziennes. I can recommend either the kir royal or pression.

Leaving the main square we headed along Boulevard Victor Hugo to Chez Kaka. Here is a fine place to eat, the curried moules are a favourite of ours. The clientele is more local 'jiji' so cocktails were the order of the hour. A very passable vodka martini and well mixed cosmopolitan.

We ducked across Rue Gambetta and sought our dinner at the lovely wee Petite Grill Basque. The decor is magnificantly quaint with a myriad of interesting artefacts adorning the walls. There is also the most unusual air conditioning we've ever seen. A series of giant rugs are seemingly framed to the roof, each attached to a length of rope that disappears at the far end of the restaurant. When things get warm a loud click is heard followed by a mechanised pulling of the rope as the rugs shudder into action. Anyway, the food is also fabulous. I started with croquettes stuffed with chicken and followed with breaded veal escalope. We washed supper down with a bottle of Basque red wine, a new wine region for us to sample and we enjoyed it copiously.

Staggering our full frames along Rue Gambetta we continued to Bar Basque and Cellier Chantevin (two of our tried and tested haunts). We continued the red wine theme and are sure to regret it tomorrow. Oh dear, a large glass of water before bed methinks...

le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrive!

On the third Thursday of November each year French law dictates that the latest crop of Beaujolais can be distributed. Starting at one minute past midnight over a million cases of the red stuff make their way from the many vineyards to market places globally. So much importance is placed on this by wine connessieurs from New York to New Delhi that bottles are transported by car, motorbike, boat and plane in a race by bars, cafes and restaurants to be the first to serve the new crop. Beaujolais Nouveau day started as a local event but has been blown open as wine is ever more enjoyed globally. By the time this event, which lasts several days, is over almost half the harvested stock has been consumed.

We visited the market early today to stock up on crevettes, fruit and vegetables. I even braved returning to the previously mentioned butcher for some meats. Given that the rain has been unrelenting we determined to spend the remains of the day exploring the more liquid aspects of this most sacred of French days - sante!