256. It is the month of June..*

30th June. The humidity grew heavier and heavier this afternoon and early evening until there were numerous rolls of thunder (just enough warning to take the chairs and the umbrella in) and then - sploosh! - the Mother Of All Downpours arrived like 1000 fire hoses pointing straight down.. 

We took Nutty along to another meeting of the "Naughty Boys Club" (aka Obedience Class) this morning. I think the centime is slowly starting to drop with him.. The best part of it takes place in the first 10 minutes or so when they're all let off their leads and after the introductions have been made - mutual sniffings etc - it ends up in a mass brawl / lick-a-thon / love in / battle for dominance.

For those planning on visiting France by car in the next few weeks, you should be aware that as from 1st July, the national speed limit on secondary roads (without a central separator - so dual carriageways should not be affected) will be 80km/h (50mph) instead of 90km/h (56mph). This change affects about 400,000 km of the nation's roads and as you may imagine, this traffic calming measure designed to reduce road fatalities has caused a storm of protest.

What do I think? To be honest, this new limit should make driving on these classic French D roads - like the one below - a far more pleasurable experience and it might just discourage any budding Romain Grosjeans out there from trying to overtake where perhaps they shouldn't.   Might...

29th June. We'll be celebrating another marital milestone today.. Where have the years gone? (Wish we could rewind and do it all again!) We went to one of our long-standing favourites - the traditional Basque Hotel Arraya (a former 16th century former hospice) at Sare - and enjoyed lunch on their shaded terrace. (Look at the photos here) 

 Here's a John Denver piece that fits the bill!
 *.. the month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes and pleasant scents the noses.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

19th June. In a perfect world, the above quote would be true. However, read on, dear Reader!

Things have been hectic here in the Pays Basque this month. We were away at Lake Annecy (just to the west of Mont Blanc) for the first week (still haven't had time to download the photos) and then with only a day or two's break, we were honoured to host three generations of an American family who had come all the way from Columbus, Ga, on a sentimental journey. I'll explain later.. 

First though, to the pale green waters of Lake Annecy. Having deposited Nutty at the kennel (he's not to be trusted in company at the moment) we set off, aiming to break the journey at this hotel near Le Mont-Dore, about 6,000 feet up in the Auvergne. It was here that we made the mistake of ordering truffade.. a heavy cheesy potato dish (here's the description). If you'd spent the day digging ditches - or were planning on doing so - then this would provide the ideal way of replacing those lost calories. As it was, we both felt as if we'd been depth-charged and we lurched off to our room, both riding very low in the water for a disturbed night's sleep.  

The next day we headed east for Annecy. This involved a circumnavigation of Lyon - and it was here that I discovered (the hard way) that it might have been a good idea to have updated the car's GPS software prior to leaving home - as we found ourselves adrift on roads that, according to the GPS, didn't exist!

Once we put Lyon behind us, we soon arrived at Annecy - and I have to say that the lake looked stunningly beautiful, its impossibly pale green waters dotted with sailing boats against a backdrop of towering mountains. It was noticeably less humid there than in the Pays Basque. While I could dream of passing my days sailing/rowing on the sublime waters of Lac d'Annecy (I've included a selection of images here), the reality is that (in my opinion) the lake is all - the town has a very picturesque old centre that's aimed squarely at the tourist trade - and it's surrounded by a less picturesque and more modern town composed of anonymous looking blocks. We found that the prices were high for day-to-day items.. such as 2 coffees - 8.80€. These are Parisian prices. A quick look at property prices (old habits die hard!) nipped in the bud any thoughts we might have had for finding a house there. 

(Mar 2020. Edited to add: Annecy was recently voted the best town (>2,000 inhabitants) in which to live in France. (Bayonne was number 2)

Wondering how Nutty is? He's taken to stationing himself by open windows to survey 'his' territory.. This was him (above) yesterday evening..

The "Rocade"

All too soon it was time to head back to the south west. We had initially planned on doing the return journey in one go - but as Nutty's kennel closed at 6.30pm, it was too much of a risk to plan on a trouble-free and speedy passage around the Rocade - Bordeaux's notorious ring road that's prone to mammoth tailbacks. 

So it was that we decided to give ourselves a treat on the way home by having a stop-over at a Logis Hotel at Perrier, in the Auvergne (It was called la Cour Carrée). The owners had converted an old farm with a courtyard into a small "Designer" hotel with 3 bedrooms. Wherever we looked, there was evidence that someone with excellent taste and a keen eye for design had been at work. It was run by a couple - and the cooking was wonderful..(step through the photos here) If you ever find yourself south of Clermont-Ferrand and in need of a great place to stay, look no further. (Edited in 2023 to add: now permanently closed)

Long-suffering readers of this blog might recall that I'm involved with an association concerned with commemorating a WWII evasion network (the Comet Line) set up to repatriate Allied airmen shot-down in northern France, Belgium and the Netherlands. They were taken in charge, housed, fed, clothed, issued with false papers and guided down to the Pays Basque from where they would be led over the Pyrenees to freedom. Some 288 Allied airmen (and others) passed through the Pays Basque and only two lost their lives while in Comet's care.

On the night of 23rd December 1943, a 10-strong group of guides and evaders (four of whom were B-17 Flying Fortress aircrew) attempted to cross the river Bidassoa, the river that separates France from Spain. Due to a number of cumulative factors, 2nd Lt James F Burch, USAAF, and Count Antoine d'Ursel (former head of Comet in Belgium) were carried away by the strong current and were assumed drowned. Their bodies were recovered the following day but then the Germans took them away and their remains have never been found to this day.  

A memorial to Count d'Ursel had been put in place by his widow after the war but the site had become unstable and so we decided to relocate it to a new site in a peaceful glade (above) further downstream. We thought it fitting that Jim Burch should be commemorated as well and so a memorial to him was set up next to that of Count d'Ursel's high on the banks of the Bidassoa 2 years ago.  

2nd Lt Lloyd Stanford, USAAF

2nd Lt Lloyd Stanford's
photo taken for his false
ID card while he was
'on the run'

One evader who did manage to make a successful river crossing that night was 2nd Lt Lloyd Albert Stanford, USAAF (right).

Prior to the inauguration of the riverside memorial, I spent hours online in a nugatory search for any of his descendants in the hope that they might be able to attend the ceremony. Imagine my surprise when, out of the blue a few months ago, I was contacted by Martha, his daughter, 75 years after the events of that tragic night. After exchanging a few emails, I was delighted to hear that she had decided to bring a 10-strong group comprising three generations of family from Columbus, Georgia all the way to the Pays Basque to follow in the footsteps of the pater familias. (And, in the ultimate irony, she told me that she had actually been in France on holiday when we had the inauguration ceremony of the memorial in April 2016!).

We in the association put a programme together that would show the family as much as we could of the father's passage through the Pays Basque in the time available. Unfortunately, we hadn't counted on Mother Nature! (more of which later)

Mr Michel Hiriart,
Mayor of Biriatou

The Memorial site

We met the genial Mayor of Biriatou (right) for introductions at the Town Hall, after which we drove slowly along the 4 kilometers of winding track that wraps itself around the valley sides that became narrower and narrower and ran perilously close to steep drop-offs as it approached the well-hidden memorial site (left) - where we had a very moving ceremony of remembrance. There is always something about this location that speaks to me and the playing of the "Star Spangled Banner" and the "Marseillaise" there brought the goose bumps out in spades - I don't think I was the only one either!

The plan for the following two days was that we would walk over the same route across the mountains that the evaders had taken that fateful night and on the following day we would show them the inland route that was developed in 1943 following a wave of arrests.

Enter Mother Nature..! For the next 2 days we had rain in all its guises - from light showers through straightforward downpours to monsoon-like conditions. Plan B was quickly dusted off (code for 'made up on the spot'!) and away we went. At one point, the family found themselves standing in the cellar of the 'safe' house - in the very place where the father had hidden himself in 1943.. an emotional moment as can be imagined. Despite the wet weather, I think Martha and her family went away having seen as much as the conditions allowed. We had hoped to have them take part in a river crossing but the river Bidassoa was raging in full spate with standing waves and a strong current and so reluctantly it was not to be.

It was a wonderful few days, full of laughter, emotion, songs and memories and a powerful reminder, if one were needed, of the strong ties that unite our countries.

As they say in Scotland - haste ye back!

Meanwhile, back in today's world: I forgot to mention that Nutty's usual exercise area - the grassy area behind the Plage des Cavaliers at Anglet has been illegally occupied since 17th June by 120 caravans belonging to a group of travelling people (aka gypsies) - masquerading as an evangelical organisation. The local council has tried to have them evicted without any luck so far. 

251. Another day, another euro..

30th January. I've mentioned before somewhere here that the French habitually abbreviate words and expressions. McDonalds becomes McDo (pronounced McDough), "l'actualité" (TV News) becomes "l'actu", ordinateur (computer) => ordi and Sécurité Sociale => Sécu are commonly heard examples. Through force of habit, I invariably say "Merci" when leaving a shop and this often triggers the reply, "Non, c'est moi qui vous remercie" (No, it's I who should thank you). The other day I received the abbreviated version of this.. I said "Merci" and the shopkeeper replied, "C'est moi..". If I hadn't heard the longer version before I'd've been wondering what this meant.

28th January. Next weekend sees the opening of the NatWest 6 Nations Rugby Tournament. Here's the fixture list. I've said it before but to me it's the highlight of the sporting calendar. Forget Wimbledon, the Indy 500, the Americas Cup, the UEFA Champions League, the Ryder Cup, the Superbowl, Strictly Come Dancing (!), whatever - all pale into insignificance compared to this.  

There's a recurring theme that runs through life down here - and it's one that's very welcome. 

When we used to make our greatly-anticipated trek to the Pays Basque every summer, we'd stay at the same little hotel/restaurant at Ascain, where we were treated like family. It wasn't long before I would regularly be offered a complimentary digestif - usually a generous glass of Marc d'Irouléguy (strong enough to fire a Buick into a low earth orbit) - with my after dinner coffee. Curiously, I never had any problem getting off to sleep there.

And, as we left on our last day, the owner would always tuck a bottle of wine under my arm  saying, "Think of us when you drink this.."  

The waitress at our favourite seafood restaurant in Socoa now offers us an apéro on the house each time we go there. 

Then I mentioned a few weeks/months ago about the lady in the wine shop in Bayonne who gave me a miniature of "Bastille", a new French single malt whisky (right), to try.. 

Then the other day when I'd been dispatched into town to pick up some boudins blancs from Montauzer, I found myself in line behind a young lady who, in between making her mind up in a long and complicated order, was being questioned by the assistant - as to where she was from etc etc. It turned out she was from mainland China, and she'd been working in Versailles for a year. She spoke French well too.. (oops, I thought!) While her order was being made up, my eyes ranged over all the mouthwatering products on display. Foie gras - mi-cuit (half-cooked) or sealed in jars, terrines, rillettes, all kinds of sausage including the truffled boudins blancs I was after.. either fresh or 4 in a vacuum pack. After the girl left, the assistant said to me that all kinds of nationalities came in the shop. Her ears pricked up during my response and then she was away again with "how long had I lived there?", plus a word or two of praise for my French (always welcome!). What gave away my nationality was me saying "OK" (instead of d'accord). Anyway, to cut to the chase, after buying the boudins, she asked me what I thought of jambon Ibaïama (right). I found out later that this was the ne plus ultra of Bayonne hams. When I admitted to not knowing what it was, she took a leg of ham to the slicing machine and ran me off a slice. This she wrapped up in silver paper and gave it to me. (It costs 56€ a kilo by the way!) They're a generous people down here.

27th January. "One of those things" Department! I woke up this morning thinking about the high-flown language used to attempt to describe the taste of wine. (Don't ask me why) We've all read those columns in newspapers where the journalist strings together a list of various carefully chosen oddities (a dusty drawer, pencil shavings, liquorice, woodsmoke, boat varnish etc etc) in trying to capture in print something so ephemeral and transient as the taste or a flavour (wrong word maybe) of a glass of wine.

The problem is that the printed word enters the brain through the eyes - whereas the taste is captured instantly via the tongue and the nose. It's then correlated with our mental taste memories*. Tasting can't be done in print. It can't. For example, take an everyday object such as a carrot and attempt to describe the essence of its taste - in words. Very quickly, you'll realise that you're wasting your time. All the writing in the world can't describe the taste of even a boiled potato. What chance then has the wine writer got in trying to describe the subtleties of a glass of wine? There's only one way - it has to be tasted. Form a queue please!

I once heard a memorable expression that someone used to describe a sublime taste - he said, "C'est comme un ange qui pisse sur la langue..". Probably not a good idea to use that one when the vicar's there.. A more polite expression was "That has the taste of not enough!".

* In my view, our memories work best for visual images and sounds - and less well for tastes.

We've just had the last of Monsieur Montauzer's justifiably famed truffled boudins blancs, (no other will do) accompanied by sauté'd apple slices.. For reasons that escape me, he only makes them over the festive period and that is rapidly drawing to a close. And bearing in mind what I've just written in the paragraph above, I won't attempt to describe the taste!   

26th January. Sighs of relief all around.. Nutty's having his stitches out this afternoon (slightly sooner than anticipated) and so we can all wave goodbye to the plastic conical collar he's been wearing for a week. I know it's been annoying him - and it's certainly been shredding our nerves as he's banged his way around the house. So, it's back to business as usual this afternoon. Phew! By the way, the rain is still with us. I escaped a soaking by a matter of minutes when I took him out this morning. And the e-bikes are still locked away in the garage!

The association I work with had a monthly committee meeting two days ago at Biriatou, situated right on the Spanish border. (The Comet Line was a WWII network set up to help shot-down Allied airmen to return to England.) As luck would have it, we had sun and blue skies for once - we soon forgot the grey skies and rain of the past month and it reminded us what a beautiful part of the world this is.

I arrived in good time as I wanted to re-visit the memorial site (right) we had inaugurated in April 2016 for two wartime evaders who, tragically, were drowned while attempting to cross from occupied France into Francoist Spain. They were part of a ten-strong group who arrived on the banks of the Bidassoa, in flood, at 1am during the night of 23/24 December 1943. They would have been hot and tired after their 4 hour hike over the Pyrenees and during an ill-advised attempt to cross the Bidassoa, two evaders were swept away in its fast-running cold waters.

There had been a memorial to one of the evaders - Count Antoine d'Ursel - at the riverside for many years. The photo (left) shows the memorial being installed on the steep river bank in 1960. However, in recent years, its foundation started to crumble, plus it was barely visible. In researching the history of that night in 1943, I became aware that no memorial had ever been provided for the other evader, 2nd Lt James F Burch, a USAAF B-17 pilot - and so we decided to rectify that. (Jim Burch was the only aviator to lose his life while in Comet's charge). It was decided to move the Count's memorial to a new site where it would be co-located with that for Jim Burch.

We selected a suitable location for the new combined memorial site and a team from the Town Hall at Biriatou cleared the ground and did all the hard work of moving the Count's memorial to it. As it weighed some 300kg, this was no mean feat.

I always find it to be a moving experience when I visit the site and it was no different on Wednesday. I'm always struck by the stillness, the tangible poignancy and the air of peace there. I had another committee member with me - a Basque - whose father had been a wartime Comet guide in the mountains, helping some 130-140 Allied aircrew to escape to freedom. He remarked on the atmosphere there too. It's a special place - and it's situated in the patch of green at the centre of this link. If you wish to experience the slightly precarious 4km drive back to Biriatou, turn right at the above link and follow your nose. This is a photo-montage I put together that tells the story:

22nd January. At this time of the year, with Burns Night (25th January) fast approaching, I find that my thoughts turn unbidden to visions of a hot steaming haggis (right).. served with tatties and neeps - and accompanied by a dram or two - never wine. One memorable Burns Night saw me drinking whisky before, during and after the meal - and, apart from me trying to take my trousers off over my head at bedtime, I suffered no lasting ill effects - my head was as clear as a bell the following day. (Realism check: I doubt that I could do that now - even if I wanted to!)

Madame shares my fondness for the haggis and so the other day I thought I'd see if I could find someone online willing to supply me with one. I found the very thing - until I asked what the postage here would be. The haggis itself would cost around £7-8 but the crippler was yet to come - they wanted £29 (and change) to post one from Scotland to here. If you haven't ever experienced a Burns Night, they are memorable occasions.. and having been to one, you'll be wanting to attend another. 

There's a classic chauvinistic French joke &bout the haggis:

A Frenchman, a lover of good food, was invited to a Burns supper by a Scottish family, and at the end  of the meal, the hostess - in search of compliments from a Frenchman – asked him what he thought of the "haggis".

The Frenchman, pushed to the limit, replied: "When I saw it arrive on the table, excuse me, but I thought it was sh1t (let's call a spade a spade).. But - once I had tasted it, my only regret was that it was not"..

And this from a nation that eats andouillette.. (if you're ever offered it, think about saying no.. unless you're feeling very brave.. and have no sense of smell)

While Nutty and I were at the vet's the other day, he sat himself on the scales there in the waiting room. He now weighs in at a healthy 14.2kg (31lbs) - and all of that is muscle and bone.. He's an enthusiastic eater but he doesn't restrict himself to the all-in-one biscuits that he devours twice a day. Oh no, he actively searches out food wherever he can. Out in the street, he becomes a canine vacuum cleaner - he's lightning-quick to spot discarded paper handkerchiefs (don't ask me how I remove them from his mouth - ugh!) while chewing gum is another favourite. The Christmas tree briefly attracted his attention but since that disappeared, he's discovered new avenues of pleasure! There's a wicker laundry basket upstairs and it appears he's found how to dislodge the lid.. as he was caught late in the act of destroying one of Madame's soutien-gorges the other day. The chairs in the dining room have some tie-on cushions and - yes, you've guessed it - these too were nibbled. Shoes cannot be left at ground level.. they have to be hidden. A Persian rug in the study had one of its corners "rounded off" by him. He's also discovered that, if he stands on his hind legs, he can reach the kitchen worktop.. Then there's the garden. Shrubs, flowers, pot plants et al have all been tried. All of this has taught us that we have to 'up our game' to try and stay one step ahead of him by removing all potential food sources from his reach. And so it goes..
    
To take (y)our minds off the wintry weather, here's a reminder of some of the delights to be found here in the Pays Basque..

"Ostalapia"

We've been to "Ostalapia" a few times - it's an uber-stylish restaurant with great food, and while we've always enjoyed ourselves there, my one reservation about it is that it's out in the middle of the countryside. Not "in the middle of nowhere" but perhaps closer to the middle of nowhere than you'd want to be. After your meal there, it's a case of jumping back into the car because that's it! There are no cafés nearby for a late night coffee or whatever. The plus side of its location is that it's off the well-trodden tourist trail.. Out of season, it's perfect - however, it attracts a very different clientele during the peak 2 months of the summer season. The first time we visited it was during one summer and I must admit that we were put off a little by the rows of flashy cars outside (mostly from Paris & Bordeaux) and by the sound inside of a roomful of exuberantly bronzed, blinged-up, perfumed and expensively attired beautiful people all talking (with no-one listening) at the same time. It all depends on what you prefer. Anyway, see if Julie (below) can change your mind:
Here's another of Julie's programmes on the Pays Basque.

21st January. Still waiting for a suitable break in the weather so we can take the e-bikes out without getting soaked. I was down at the beach yesterday with the dog and there was a mighty wind from the south-west blowing in. It was cold too.. (OK, not cold as in Nebraska - but nevertheless..!) The pooch is sporting one of those conical collars at the moment. He'd gone to the vets on Friday to have a small growth (nothing serious) removed from under an eye. The house is now echoing to the sounds of crash-bang-wallop as he negotiates his way past doors and furniture. It has to stay on till the end of the month while the stitches heal.   

Peter Mayle 1939-2018

19th January. Farewell, Peter Mayle. I was saddened to read of his demise in the news this morning. He famously "discovered" the Luberon and wrote very amusingly about his experiences there, and in doing so, I think he inspired many baby boomers to follow suit. It's no secret that some/many (delete as required) Brits have a love/hate relationship with France, born out of centuries of mutual distrust. Peter Mayle committed the ultimate sin for a Brit - he actually admitted to preferring life in his beloved Provence to that of his home country. For many Brits, this was unforgivable.. Yes, France is a nice place to visit for holidays but to live there?! Good Lord no.. How many times have you heard someone express the view that "France would be OK if it wasn't for the French.."*. As a result, his books often took a hammering from certain critics who, in my view, were greatly displeased by his having opened up and popularised "their" Provence with the middle classes - and worse.

* What they choose to forget is that France didn't spring up fully-formed from the primeval ooze - it grew into the country we all love today thanks to the tireless work of countless generations of Frenchmen and -women who went before us. You can't have one without the other - and I for one would hate to see France transformed into Bournemouth with sunshine.. From my experience of living here for 10 years, I simply don't recognise the tired old stereotypes of the grumpy restaurant owner or the surly waiter beloved of the English tabloids.    

If you're unfamiliar with his work, I would recommend that you read the opening chapter of his book, "Bon Appetit! Travels with knife, fork & corkscrew through France.". I think this brief encounter with France when he was a young man marked the beginning of his life-long love affair with France. I had a similar Damascene conversion when I had my first rare steak-frites at the age of 18 - I wrote about it here. He and I were of fairly adjacent generations and his observations of post-war English food are spot-on in my view. He was clearly a contented man.. as evidenced in this interview.

I once sat at an adjoining table in a restaurant to an English family on holiday here years ago. On examining her plate (in the manner of a forensic pathologist), one of the ladies exclaimed, "It's not quite what we're used to, is it?" I silently despaired. Isn't that one of the points of foreign travel? To experience and enjoy different sights and sounds, tastes and experiences? I'd better stop here before I say too much!☺  

RIP Peter and thank you.               

14th January. In case either of my global readership (you know who you are!) imagines that life down here is one merry round of lotus-eating, interspersed only with the quaffing of fine food and wine, all taking place under rustling palms in a sub-tropical climate, then watch this - this was Biarritz on New Year's Day:
     We're still seeing the tail end of these winter storms - I think we've only had a couple of dry days since Christmas.

galette des rois
à la frangipane 

couronne des rois

It's traditional at this time of the year here in France to eat either a galette des rois à la frangipane or a couronne des rois. (it's all explained here) At Pipérade Towers we'll be having both this afternoon as we've invited our next door neighbour over. She's well into her 90s and lives alone but she's very active. Madame had ordered a couple from a pâtisserie (right) in an arcade in the centre of town and I was 'volunteered' to pick them up. On arriving, I was surprised to see that, despite the pouring rain, there was a sizeable queue that stretched out of the shop onto the pavement (fortunately under cover). I think I was about 12th in line and I settled down for a long wait - but many people had put orders in and the gift-wrapped galettes were soon flying out of the door!    

11th January. This song by David McWilliams popped up on the radio today.. He appeared from nowhere - made this record (which was played to death on pirate radio Radio Caroline in 1967) and promptly disappeared again.

        

There was a banner headline over an article in today's left-leaning Guardian newspaper: "Number of Britons applying for French citizenship rises tenfold in three years". On the face of it, this "disclosure" would appear to imply that hordes of expat Brits in France are thus validating the newspaper's anti-Brexit stance. This is nonsense.

In googling the background to this "story", it was a simple matter to establish that this was - in the immortal words of the current US president - fake news. While I’ve not been able to find an accurate figure for the number of expat Brits resident in France in 2017, according to a French Wiki site there could be around 400,000 of us here. (although this seems a high figure to me) According to Le Figaro, some 3173 of them applied for French nationality in that same year. That’s only about 0.8% of them. Doesn’t seem quite so big now does it?! It's hardly a tsunami..

If the expat Brit population would be nearer 200,000 (a figure I’d be happier with), the number applying would still only represent 1.6% of us. In other words, the number of Brits applying for French nationality would rise from the statistically invisible to the infinitesmal. These are negligible percentages and hardly the basis for the Guardian's shock horror report.. Imagine the impact if the story was reversed.. 99% of all Brit expats in France have no intention of seeking French nationality? (Note to The Guardian: must try harder!)

9th January. I've been hors de combat these last few days due to a seasonal flu-like cold - which means I've been exploring every combination of sneezing, wheezing, coughing, blowing and spluttering known to mankind (bearing in mind that man pain is that much worse than any other kind!☺). It's kept me indoors more or less since the turn of the year - which was probably no bad thing as we've experienced some very wet and stormy weather recently. Closing the upstairs shutters during a wet and windy night had its moments!

2nd January. I'm only 3 years behind..! The making of "Happy" videos mushroomed on a global scale 3 years ago.. see here.

1st January 2018. Good morning to all.. I hope you're feeling fine after last night. First of all, whoever and wherever you are, Happy New Year from the Pays Basque. 

Here's something I found to kick the year off in style..  If it hasn't already, I think this will catch on with Generation X or Snowflake kids or whatever those of the millennial generation are called.. see what you think:

(Other versions here of Happy in Bayonne / Biarritz / Pays Basque / Anglet / BAB2*).
* BAB2 = a large commercial shopping centre here.

We're off to our favourite seaside restaurant for lunch.. for some fresh fish and some crisp white wine.. what more do you want? ☺

(Added later: our waitress told us that their last customer left at 8.30am on New Year's Day..!)

223. Memorial for 2nd Lt James F Burch, USAAF

I've mentioned my interest in and involvement with a local association "Les amis du réseau Comète" ("The Friends of the Comet Line") in earlier posts here. The Comet Line was a network set up during WWII by Andrée De Jongh, a 24 year old Belgian woman, with the aim of enabling Allied aircrew who had been shot down in northern France and the Low Countries to be repatriated back to Britain from Gibraltar. This laudable aim was achieved via a thread of courageous volunteer helpers that stretched from Brussels, Paris, the Pays Basque and on into Francoist Spain. The history of Comète contains many individual stories of heroism, courage and adventure by innumerable brave souls - both civil and military. These shining examples of 'grace under pressure' were counterbalanced by many unspeakably brutal acts by an enemy whose savage deeds were a barbaric throwback to medieval times. Several books have been written on the subject and there are also many personal accounts available online. During the course of the annual commemorative weekend, "Les amis" retrace the old wartime routes over the Pyrenees. Before other inland routes were pioneered, the original route taken by the Comète guides and the evaders led from Ciboure (close to Saint-Jean-de-Luz) up into the mountains before descending to cross the Bidassoa, the river that marks the frontier between France and Spain. After crossing the river, the evaders would make their way to a safe farm where they would be fed before taking a well-deserved rest. During the course of reading the accounts of these crossings (one of which is Peter Eisner's excellent "The Freedom Line"), I became aware that two men were tragically drowned during their attempt to ford the wintry Bidassoa during the night of 23-24th December 1943.  2nd Lt James F Burch, USAAF (taken on 6 Oct 43, 4 days  before being shot down)  Count Antoine d'Ursel One was Count Antoine d'Ursel, a Belgian civilian who had formerly been the head of Comète in Belgium. The other was 2nd Lt James Frederick Burch, USAAF, a 27 year old co-pilot from Terrell, Texas, who had been shot down in his B-17F over Holland on 10th October 1943. Trying to ascertain the facts of this tragedy with any degree of reasonable certainty at this remove (70 years after the event), at a time when little or nothing was committed to paper (for obvious reasons), is made more than usually difficult by the circumstances of that night. 'After action' reports were written - but given the darkness, the language difficulties, that the river was in flood, the fact that the evaders came under fire from the Spanish side, the fear, the stress and the fatigue, it is not surprising that the accounts differ in the detail. Both the bodies were swept away and were recovered by the Germans but their final resting place remains unknown to this day..  Count d'Ursel's widow later caused a memorial (right) to her husband to be erected on the banks of the Bidassoa and, as an example of how we can sometimes be blind to the obvious, I didn't think to question initially why there was no memorial to Jim Burch. It was only after reading more into the events of that night that caused me to ask myself "Why no memorial to Jim?". The reality was that Jim's widow was told only that he'd disappeared while crossing from France into Spain. She had no names of those involved, no location - and worst of all, no body to bury. While those who survived the crossing were sworn to secrecy, one of the survivors (2nd Lt Lloyd Stanford, USAAF) did visit Jim's widow - Mrs Olga Burch - on his return to the US and told her what he knew. I put this short video together to shed some light on what happened that night - best viewed in full screen: We, in "Les Amis..", decided that even 70 years on, that Jim's sacrifice and his passing merited a memorial so that future generations may be prompted to ask who, what and why. Accordingly, we started a project to provide a memorial on the river bank to Jim Burch, the only aviator to lose his life while in Comète's hands. We found a stonemason who furnished us with a granite memorial stone, engraved a suitable inscription and set it up at the riverside. We launched an appeal for donations to finance this project.  On behalf of the committee of the "The Friends of the Comet network" - our heartfelt thanks to all those who donated so generously for this worthy cause.. I will post news of the project here as and when it happens. 31st May 3016. Edited to add: thanks to many generous donations we hit our target inside 2 months. We inaugurated the 2 memorials at a new location during a moving ceremony held on the banks of the Bidassoa on 16th April 2016..