unironedman

When your wife’s niece asks if we’d like to babysit her cat while she’s away, and her apartment is in Biarritz, it seems churlish to refuse. With a week’s holidays booked, it all fell together nicely. RyanAir fly direct from Dublin, which is another bonus, and unlike most of their destinations, the airport in Biarritz is about five minutes from the centre by taxi. As opposed to being in a different country…

A traditional local pastime involves sitting by a bar overlooking the sea, sipping on a cool drink and watching the sunset. Having tried it a few times, I salute the Basque temperament. It’s something I could get used to. Of course, the Biscay weather is not unlike our own, so we weren’t treated to glorious sunsets each evening, which is probably no harm; it meant we got to spend some time… in other bars in the town!

Holiday time, as you know, is not the same time as ordinary weekday work time. Normal concepts are dispensed with. Indeed, this is largely why we go away in the first place; to free oneself from the clock. But I did bring my runners, of course. And where my runners go, so too does my Garmin watch. I managed three runs altogether. The obvious route was to hit the coastal paths and head for the lighthouse on the other side of town.

The town is really quite compact (and bijou), so the 4k or so from our apartment to the Phare de Biarritz takes in most of the highlights for the tourist, including ‘the laces’ (the switchback paths that take you down from the cliff overlooking the Côte des Basques where French surfing was born), past the surf schools, the Disney-esque neo-mediaeval style Villa Belza that seems to morph out of the sandy sedimentary rock, the Old Port with its popular little beach, the aquarium, the Virgin on the Rock, the fishing harbour, and on to the Grande Plage before briefly leaving the sea to join the road up to the phare, or lighthouse.

The elevation map tells a tale, but obviously you need to actually give it a whirl to really experience just how hilly Biarritz is. And on a hot day, you will need to stop at the lighthouse to take in the view, and get your breath back. I didn’t vary this route much, and in truth, why would you… you see all of the best parts of the town without getting snarled up in the bustling streets.

(We just missed the Biarritz Marathon which is by all accounts hugely popular. My own runs might not encourage me to sign up, but the overall craic to be had there would more than make up for a few steep climbs!)

But in fairness, once one is scrubbed clean and ready to explore again, those same streets are fun to visit. Plenty of cafés and little shops. It may not have been peak season but it was busy. And every now and then, as you peruse a menu for lunch, some barefoot dude will potter past you with a surfboard under his oxter, reminding you that this town is all about the sea and the waves. And indeed we got in for a swim most days. No surfing, though.

Below, some images from the very impressive aquarium…

You can see Spain from many of the vantage points, not least from Extola Bibi, the little bar we liked to frequent. (It’s listed online as a beach bar, but you are a serious step from the sand and surf it overlooks). And so we took a bus to San Sebastián on Thursday. The weather was a bit gloomy but we took refuge in the narrow old streets of the Old Town, dividing the time between shopping, visiting the magnificent Cathedral, and sampling local cuisine at a café in Constitución Plaza. Pintxos are the same as tapas, really, but everything Basque sounds just that little bit funkier. I reckon it’s all the strange letters.

Below, a few from San Sebastián…

We had another flavour of Pays Basque traditions the following evening when we went to see Biarritz play Colomiers in the nearby stadium. Theirs has been something of a fall from grace. The last time I saw this French side play was against Munster in the Heineken Cup Final in 2006, in Cardiff. That was the most amazing sporting occasions I have ever witnessed. Then, they were giants, striding across the European stage, winning the Top 14 title in both 2005 and 2006. Today, they are in the second division of the French leagues, and on current form, unlikely to gain promotion anytime soon.

But the vibe was great. We arrived well before kick-off to sample the atmosphere and get some beer and hot dogs. And see the Basque version of the mummers, striding through the crowd decked out like crazy Morris dancers, complete with tall straw hats and large clanging cowbells strapped to their waists. Fun, whilst sipping a cold one in the build-up to the game in a throng of cheery fans. Perhaps if you stumbled upon them in the woods of an evening, it might feel a little different! (For the record, Biarritz won narrowly in a high-scoring game).

On our last day, Elodie returned to reclaim her apartment, and Finn. She treated us to a lovely lunch down at the old harbour. The birds here were friendly to the point of overbearing. First, a large Herring Gull was happy taking chips from my hand. Next, the sparrows hopped about under our feet, pecking at crumbs. But as I was getting acquainted with the gulls, a pigeon landed on my shoulder and pecked at my ear, as a suggestion I give it some bread. Which I did.

The other thing of note over the week was that I took the obligatory holiday book for something to do on the two hour plane journey and became so engrossed I finished it on the last day. It is Common Ground by Rob Cowen, a book given to me by my neighbour. It’s a fascinating blend of nature facts and fiction, set in Yorkshire, all woven into the author’s personal life and experiences with those liminal spaces between town and country. Places that are often used and abused and abandoned. They are the haunts of children and folk on the margins; places where industrial heritage decays, and yet, still haunted by the ghosts of agricultural activity from a previous age. They are the places Stephen King writes about, and where your Mum tells you never to frequent…

Anyway, I highly recommend it. Five stars, and all that. I even reached out to the author on Instagram, and fair play, he replied. So I’ll be ordering his latest book shortly, about his journey on the Great North Road.

Over the last few days, Saoirse and I have been playing the ‘This time last week’ game. This time last week we were swimming on the Grande Plage… this time last week we were having the best Napolitana pizza in ‘La Joie’ on the Rue d’Espagne… that sort of thing. Fortunately it’s now Tuesday evening, so technically we can’t play that game anymore (other than to point out that we were in the air on a Boeing 737-200). But hopefully we shall return. Long live Finn! (Elodie’s cat).

[Just a note on language: I have passable French if I need to order food and drink, or find a toilet, but that’s about it. One funny thing happened as I took a break at the lighthouse during one of my runs. As I was taking a few photos, a lovely old lady strolled past and said something along the lines of “Comme c’est merveilleux! Toute la vie dans une petite boîte!” but my brain instantly went into panic mode, and I replied, somewhat ironically, with “Je suis désolé. Je suis irlandais.” And then, as she began to repeat it in broken English, the centime dropped, and I laughed and, pointing at the phone, replied “Malheureusement!”. Of course, Biarritz is a tourist town, so all the bars and cafés cater for English-speaking folk like us. And no matter how well you think you have done with your “Bonjour, une table pour deux s’il vous plaît” you will get your reply en anglais. I guess, ultimately, they haven’t really got the time (or patience, perhaps) to have a conversation with a halfwit. To further addle my brain, when we went to Spain, I found myself thanking a waiter in Italian…]

Home, then, and back to normal or my version of it, anyway. I haven’t managed a run since our break, but I did get out for a few walks, and jumped in the lake a few times, as you do.