Mother and father have arrived in St Jean de Luz for a wee break and a spot of cat sitting while we head back to the UK this weekend. The weather has held up nicely for them. After an exhausting morning of reading on the front terrace we decided upon lunch. To be fair mother had had a tougher morning, she had received a pummeling at the hands of the Amatsu queen, Caroline. Given the weather and warmth we took them to our current favourite lunchtime haunt, La Plancha in Ilbarritz.
wine terrorists strike again
Our second Flamenco outing. Ninety fabulously attired people with a common wish to dance. A delicious dinner began. The tables were set around the central floor which was continually refilled as each course was presented. By the time dessert began to arrive everyone had danced at least two sevillanas. [select link to sevillanas]
To say pelota makes rugby look and feel like ginkana is an understatement. It is a sport that combines the best bits of rugby (the bashing people and deft movements) with squash and tennis. It is also very masculine. The court is roughly five times that of a squash court and four men get locked in with bats, helmets and a hard ball. It is exceedingly fast and I was shattered before we'd completed the first game. Then came the tough stuff. It reminded me of playing rugby at college as we sat having our post match lunch. Within twenty minutes we had sunk four large glasses of red wine, more was forthcoming. No women are permitted into the club and smoking rules are very loose. Although it is a dark bar area seeped in testosterone it is also exceptionally warm and relaxed. I was made to feel very welcome, the Scottish card works well on such occasions, and look forward to future Fridays with much expectation. I do think practice is required before I go back, both fitness and drinking. Time for a lie down.
Basque of the day:- men :: izenaren
Today the French have been revolting. In over 200 towns hundreds of thousands of people took a stand against Sarkozy's proposed economic policies. Public and many private sector workers took to the streets demanding change. Key amongst their gripes are:
Mr Sarkozy was quoted today as saying "social issues often heat up in May...it is normal" [even though it's March?]. Some fear that continued and escalating strike action could see a return to extreme riots like those of May 1968 which rocked France and brought about the demise of the de Gaulle government.
While the CEOs of Lloyds, Barclays, RBS & Co. were being grilled by the goverment today we were having an equally stressful and demanding day. After being rudely awoken by the sun around six this morning we were compelled to spend the whole day on the beach, even though at times it was unbearably hot. As you can see it was as busy as the Northern Line at 0815 on a Monday morning, traumatic.
Following up on the interesting conversations heard this week relating to effects of the moon I have spent a few days talking to locals about it. Results as follows:
There is a good deal of talk in these parts about the moon. People seem to know exactly which phase of the lunar cycle we are in and what the impact is. There is a belief that the moon affects everything from behaviour to weather. There was a full moon earlier this week and it has caused quite a stir. 'My dog was acting funny', 'my kids couldn't sleep', 'the birds were singing all night' are amongst a few of the exchanges I have noted. The weather on the day following the full moon is said to remain until the next full moon arrives. Given that it has been warm, glorious sunshine I am rather hoping it is true. More beach time would seemingly lie ahead.
When the school children are out scrabbling along the coastline in search of crabs, anemones and other sea life, it has got to mean that winter is officially over. Today forty or so such participants led by their teachers (and friends) were doing just that. Aged six to eight they jumped from rock to rock trying to avoid the waves and fishing deep into the myriad of pools. No health and safety overdrive in these parts. Furthermore, none of them were obese or anything other than healthy. A joy to see after a recent trip back to Britain.
An interesting few days. Saturday saw us shopping in Spain, yesterday brought skiing and today the beach. Variety is rife in St Jean de Luz.
Whoever said skiing in the Pyrenees was tame compared to the Alps had clearly never spent a hot March day pursuing the pistes of Barèges-La Mongie. It is a wonderful ski station situated about 30 minutes from Lourdes, 45 from Pau and 2 hours from St Jean de Luz. It offers everything any skier could want, including the longest blue run in Europe at 14 kilometres, easy but exhausting!
It was a stormy night. Admiral Hank Wannabe, commander in chief of the US Army special forces, was heading across the Atlantic with his men on a secret mission to attack south west France. Due to budget constraints aroused by 'le crise' the authorities had only filled the warship with enough fuel to carry its full cargo halfway. At that point there were two choices. Turn back or determine an alternative course of action. Being ever entrepreneurial, the American war hero chose the latter.
logs, plastic containers of US branded DIY products, barrels of liquor and dead fish. I can only surmise that this is the advance party for the imminent invasion. They have clearly offloaded their balast after consulting the cosmos and the storm has eagerly carried materials for makeshift camps, food and beverage onto the beaches to await the troops. This has enabled Admiral Hank to retain enough fuel to carry his men onwards.
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Following the weekend I had just enjoyed I felt able to cope with another all girl situation. We readily consumed delicious freshly baked cake, drank coffee and discovered exactly who was sleeping with who and other pertinent local gossip. It may be fun drinking beer at the pub but sometimes girls' chat is far more interesting.
I must remember when I come back in my next life to be born in France, children don't have school on Wednesdays and get two hours lunch break on other days. After speaking with Pascale's delightful children I also learned that in French, Shaggy from Scooby-Doo is called Sammy and that there is no word in French for fairy - how impressively macho.
Basque of the day:- gossip :: hitzontzi
After returning from shopping in Spain yesterday we pulled up near the apartment while we unloaded the groceries. As I carried the last of the bags into the kitchen the smell of fresh bread proved too much and we set to lunch. Unfortunately it was not until the next day that we remembered that we had parked illegaly. Sure enough when I returned to the vehicle a plastic bound white letter waited for me wedged beneath the wind-screen wiper.
The children are all back at school, the Parisians have gone home after the holidays, my wife's friends poured themselves back into cars and planes, and normality has resumed. Or has it?
Friday means Flamenco encore. Fabienne was very kind about my lack of prowess at the soiree last weekend, I just need to ensure that I don't let her down when her soiree arrives in three weeks time. We moved beyond the second sevillana today and are now endeavouring to master coordination of arm movements that mirror our legs, not at all easy.
Today is Ash Wednesday. I had always thought it to be just the day after pancake day but I am wrong. Church is a well presented social affair in St Jean de Luz so we decided to attend the lunchtime service. I am still new to the whole Catholic thing, let alone when it is conducted in Basque. The head man (I believe it is always a man in the Catholic world) started a fire at the alter which I thought was a little careless. He waited till it burned down and collected the ash in a dish. Everyone started to form a queue so I figured I should join in. Imagine my surprise when I got to the front of the line to find the priest and his cohorts smearing ash on everyone's face, including mine. I still have it marked on my forehead.
tion of Erich Maria Remarque's finest work. The enormous trenches they have dug (and redug) along the entire length of Rue Gambetta are very realistic. I just wish they would complete their practice and be done with it, clearly somebody keeps forgetting their lines or something and the trenches that were filled in on a Friday are having to be opened afresh on Monday. I am simply too excited about seeing the final production.
ammer is reproducing the noise of blitz warfare and thuds continuously throughout town from 0900 till 1700, it makes us all feel very special to be a part of this theatrical undertaking.
Saturday night saw us attend our first Flamenco soiree. We had practiced hard under the tutelage of the ever patient Fabienne and felt quietly confident as we arrived, despite being the only beginners in attendance. A lovely evening set in an old tower upon the crest of a hill in neighbouring Ciboure. An abundance of brightly dressed beautiful women, passionate paella, plentiful wine, masterful music and even other men to share the dance floor set the scene for a splendid evening. It all started with so much promise.
Astounding weather today. After my weekly French-English coffee tutorial with Bruno little else was accomplished. Three hours reading on the beach followed by three hours lounging on the terrace. Very tiring.
Basque of the day:- fickle :: aldakor
I cheered myself up this afternoon by entertaining a couple of ladies from my Flamenco class. We were sneaking in a little extra practice. Saturday sees our first public dance and we want to ensure we impress accordingly. After today I am sure we shall.
It had been some time since I spent a day watching life so today I wandered from café to café simply observing people, enjoying the comings and goings of St Jean de Luz. Old men in berets opting for pastis sat in the corners, middle aged ladies' chattering and café crème aroma filled the middle ground. To the fore and on the pavements youth smooched, showed off and talked incessantly while absorbing espresso. I am sure café culture is the same in many towns throughout the Basque country, and indeed France, but north of Calais and east of Strasburg the culture changes. Cafés here are an important part of the community. In one café I counted the separate arrival of eighteen ladies, in every instance an obliging male opened the door for them. Chivalry lives.
Basque of the day:- coffee :: kafe
Monday in St Jean de Luz never feels like Monday used to elsewhere. Working to my own timescale rather than an imposed structure the weekdays meld with weekends. The town itself also seems to struggle differentiating. St Jean de Luz is one of the very few places in France where shopping is embraced alongside religion on the Sabbath. I am told even mighty Paris has not been granted this Papal dispensation, and certainly none of the local Basque towns. As a result Sunday feels very much like Saturday here, only with many more people promenading and church bells peeling. Sunday evenings are spent with friends and family eating, drinking and putting the world to right. As a consequence Mondays are treated as more of a rest day after a tiring weekend having a nice time. It really is awfully difficult living here!
Day four of sunshine in St Jean de Luz. It's still cold but impossible to stay indoors. After a lengthy promenade I found yet another work-avoidance plan and have started a wee garden on our back terrace. The previous occupants left a couple of plants (species unknown) to which our friend Clare added three chrysanthemums when she was here for All Saints Day. The terrace now also proudly boasts:
It transpires that 'carnavals' take place throughout February in the many different towns of the Basque country and date back to different customs and legends. Some carnavals relate to the waking of the bear, others to the arrival of gypsy travellers or to eminent sorcerers. All are celebrated through a mixture of song, dance, music, revelry and that most popular of Basque customs, eating.
After several days of wintry weather, the sun has broken through at last. The mountains loomed ever closer and even the beach felt nervously alluring.
Perhaps I'll leave it another couple of weeks before I go swimming but it was nice to be tempted. It turned into a rather fruitful day.
The rain has poured incessantly today. It doesn't matter where in the world you are, if it rains for a few days in succession it starts to get to you.
Basque of the day:- commerce :: saleroste
Basque of the day:- people :: jende
La Plancha has been around for some twenty years and the owners also run a very Gucci nightclub next door. Given its position in a wee cove the club can safely party in splendid isolation and attracts the cream of local and visiting society, particularly during the summer months. We look forward to some late nights dancing by the sea when the nights become shorter.
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.
Once again lunchtime brought about Fabienne time. After my Flamenco confidence of last week this week brought disaster. Until I have mastered it I regret no pictures shall be shown. Till then please make do with a shot from last weekend's journée de l'ours (a dancing procession to mark the waking of the bears, don't ask).
ved 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.
on. Myself and three ladies 'sevillanned' across our oak parque flooring and 'passaged' by the bay windows before realising we had quite a few spectators so beat a hasty retreat out for supper.
