194. The best of company in the Pays Basque

Bar Basque

11th September 2012. Down to earth again this morning after a memorable Comète Commemorative weekend in the Pays Basque. Every year at this time there is a gathering here - to celebrate and commemorate in equal measure those who were involved with Comète, the famous WW2 escape line. Many of us met up on Thursday evening at the old Bar Basque at Saint-Jean-de-Luz.. To my mind this is by far the most pleasant and stylish bar in St Jean, ideally situated in Boulevard Thiers for watching the evening to-ing and fro-ing. To all our delight, the Duffee family appeared and tables were dragged together and the evening had all the makings.. I could have stayed there much longer and followed the few quiet sangrias with a few noisy ones!

We had all been expecting another veteran (in name only) to make an appearance but Andrée Dumont - better known as "Nadine" - had taken a tumble in the week leading up to the weekend and so with great regret she had to cancel. Needless to say, all our best wishes go to her for a speedy recovery. Et joyeux anniversaire!!

We were honoured to have George and Janet Duffee with us again - a truly remarkable and devoted couple who'd travelled with their family all the way from West Wales down to the Pays Basque. George is described in many places as a veteran but he and Janet are anything but! He was shot down while returning from his first bombing raid in his Halifax bomber (left) in June '43 and after an eventful saga he finally found his way down to the Pays Basque, courtesy of "Franco" and Comète. He and a small party of other evaders were led over the Pyrenees via the Saint-Jean-de-Luz route (below right) by the legendary Basque guide Florentino Goicoechea on a night march in the rain that lasted 14 hours. He can laugh about it now! (I think) Here's George's file from the Comète Line site. On his return to Britain, he went back to operational flying and went on to fly 39 more operational sorties. He was honoured with the award of a well-deserved DFC. After the war, he flew some 236 sorties during the Berlin Airlift after which he became a civil airline pilot for British Airways where he had a distinguished career. A charismatic gentleman with a permanent twinkle in his eye, he exudes the indefatigable spirit that saw him through all that life could throw at him. George and Janet inspire respect and great affection from all who meet them and may I be allowed to add here on this special day for them - happy wedding anniversary.. 66 years!

The pattern for the long weekend has been set for some years now - Friday is reserved for honouring the memory of those who fell or did not return from deportation. Wreaths are laid at war memorials and cemeteries at Saint-Jean-de-Luz, Ciboure, Bayonne and Anglet, followed by civic receptions at Saint-Jean-de-Luz and Anglet.

The group then splits into two parties - one composed of walkers who, over the weekend, retrace the actual paths taken by the wartime guides and the escaping airmen over the mountains and into Spain and a second group of those who wish to follow by coach over the Saturday and Sunday. The "traditional" route used by the walkers is shown on the right here. (click to enlarge). 

The Comète organisation was shaken to its foundations by a wave of arrests in Brussels as a result of the Abwehr's successful penetration in late 1942 and this was followed by arrests at a Comète safe house - Bidegain Berri farm (left) - at Urrugne in the Pays Basque in January 1943 where Andrée de Jongh  - the founder of Comète - was among those arrested. This was a major blow to the organisation and one which might have proved to be fatal.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us .." 

"A Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens

However, as the saying has it, "Cometh the hour, cometh the man.."

"Larressore" route

"Franco"

Comète's new leader Jean-François Nothomb (aka "Franco") pioneered a number of new inland routes to avoid the increased surveillance on the coast and it was one of these - known as the "Larressore" route - that we were to walk over as a group this year for the first time. In brief, it starts from Marthe Mendiara's Auberge Larre, a Comète safe house at Anglet quartier Sutar, where she offered a safe haven to over 150 airmen before they continued on their way on bicycles. The route is marked in purple on the map (right). Again, click to enlarge. A major debt of thanks is owed to Dominique Aguerre for all the work he and his relatives did in re-tracing what was essentially a completely undocumented route - made all the more difficult by the passage of almost 70 years. 

So it was that on Friday morning we gathered by the War Memorial at Saint-Jean-de-Luz where George Duffee laid a wreath on behalf of ELMS (right) - a UK-based society. Marie-Christine (left), the grand daughter of Kattalin Aguirre, also laid flowers as did Brigitte d'Oultremont, president of Comète Kinship in Belgium. Afterwards we were warmly received at the nearby Town Hall of Saint-Jean-de-Luz with a welcoming speech to which Mr Jean Dassié replied, as President of "Les Amis du Réseau Comète". This was followed by a vin d'honneur kindly offered by the Town Hall. After lunch, we reconvened up at the St Léon cemetery at Bayonne to honour the memory of Mr Dassié's parents, both of whom were active in Comète and who were both deported to Germany (to Buchenwald and Ravensbruck respectively) along with their 16 year old daughter Lucienne ("Lulu") in the wake of the earlier arrests at Bidegain Berri farm. Mr Dassié's father died in May 1945, the day he was returned to Paris while his mother died in 1948 as a result of her treatment in the camps. Thankfully, Lulu survived and was able to be present for this weekend.

George & Janet Duffee
outside the "Villa Voisin"

No visit to the Pays Basque for a Comète weekend would be complete without visiting the legendary "Villa Voisin" - the headquarters and nerve centre of Comète South in the Pays Basque. Situated in a narrow lane in Anglet, this small villa that now looks so innocent was home to the De Greefs, a Belgian family who fled the German blitzkreig in the Low Countries in 1940. Fernand and especially Elvire de Greef ("Tante Go") were to prove to be more than a match for the hardened professionals of the Abwehr, the Feldgendarmerie and all the grisly apparatus of the Gestapo using no more than their wits and quick thinking. Andrée De Jongh would warn prospective helpers of Comète that, if they joined, they could expect no more than 6 months of operating before being arrested. The De Greefs ran Comète South from start to finish and remained free throughout - apart from once when Tante Go was briefly arrested along with "Be" Johnson..

We now moved to the War Memorial at Anglet where wreathes were laid in a colourful and poignant ceremony attended by many French veterans complete with their standards. In addition, our own Comète standard was carried this year by John Clinch, and the British Legion standard for the south west France branch was represented by their standard bearer (ex Royal Marines!). Representatives of the local civil and military authorities were also present. A most moving ceremony especially when a Basque choir sang the Partisans Song.

We then moved across to the Town hall where Mr Espilondo, the mayor of Anglet, warmly welcomed us. One of our committee members spoke movingly of Jules Mendiburu who was present and who, as a very young man, had helped Comète during the war. Mr Dassié spoke for all of us with his warm words of thanks and again, this was followed by a vin d'honneur.    

All too soon the official part of the day was over and we left to return to Saint-Jean-de-Luz. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Saint-Jean-de-Luz, here's a short video that lets you know what you've missed (turn the volume up!):

We were headed for the Sardinerie (now since closed), situated no more than 5 metres from the waters edge, where the sardines come straight off the boats and into the kitchen. Fortunately, tables had been reserved for us. By now, my Cold Beer low level warning light was showing steady red and the first one hit every spot on the way down.. The place was full and bustling with the sound of people enjoying themselves. A great evening among friends and it's a pity that we must wait for another year to renew our friendship.

Saturday morning saw us waiting in the car park of the school at Sutar where Pierre Elhorga had lived. A retired customs official, his knowledge of clandestine cross border activities (we'd call it smuggling!) was put to good use in signing up passeurs to help the cause. An influx of walkers from across the border swelled our numbers to somewhere in the region of the mid forties.   

Here are Miren and Iurre (outside the former auberge "Larre"), a couple of irrepressible and talented Basque girls from "the other side" who are two of the leading lights behind Moztu Films. They recently made the film "The Last Passage" that documents the events that led up to the fateful arrests at Bidegain Berri farm. It's well worth seeing.

The new route winds its way along the banks of the Nive before taking to a maze of unmarked tracks and little-used lanes and, it has to be said,  some unavoidable stretches of tarmac that eventually led us to the Pont du Diable, just outside the very Basque village of Larressore.

Rest stop at Pont du Diable

Sauveur Aguerre

Here we were met by Sauveur Aguerre, (right) the son of Jean Baptiste (Battita), the wartime passeur. I was pleased to see that he didn't have his axe with him this time! (See Post # 192) The evaders would abandon their bicycles here to be recovered by Mattin Garat, a baker from nearby Larressore. From here on in, they would continue on foot all the way to Spain and freedom.

We had a short break at the Pont du Diable - just long enough to force an energy bar and some dried fruit down - before we continued on up a trail previously known only to the contrebandiers (smugglers) up to a disused sheep barn known as Mandochineko Borda (below).

Far from prying eyes, Mandochineko Borda lies deep in the verdant Basque countryside, and it is exceptionally well hidden. It was still covered in brambles and creepers as it always has been and it remains just as it was all those years ago - with its floor of beaten earth with no heating, electricity or water. Here, the airmen would lie up and try to rest for as long as it took for the Comète planners to decide on a suitable night for the mountain crossing.

Mandochineko Borda

The business end of a makhila!

Sauveur showed us his ancient but still very effective makhila which had been handed down to him by his father (and his father before him).

The sun had climbed high in the sky by now and the temperature must have been more than 30C - with humidity to match. The midday heat lay very heavily on us here and the air was thick with dust raised by our feet. People sought out any shade they could find and shirts were wet with sweat. As we continued our way, Sauveur led us past his fields of piment d'Espelette which flourish here.   

One of several vultures that were keeping their beady eyes on some of us!

Soon we entered the piment-festooned picture postcard village of Espelette where a méchoui and a cold beer (or 2) awaited us.. (click on the image below)

We all found our way to the Accoceberry building where we were to eat. After a quick splash of cold water and a clean T-shirt I was ready!

The tiredness was quickly forgotten as we sat down among friends.. while wine appeared and disappeared as if by magic and quantities of lamb in all its forms arrived..! Guitars, harmonicas and tin whistles were brought out and the singing began.. Basques love to sing and they all seem to have been born with the ability to sing in harmony:   

After the méchoui we left to go to the War Memorial near the church at Espelette to lay a wreath honouring those of Espelette who did not return. We then walked the short distance to a function room where Gracy Florence, Madame le Maire of Espelette (below), spoke very poignantly and movingly of Espelette's involvement in the Comète story. Merci Madame. This was followed by a vin d'honneur that the village had very kindly offered us.

Gracy Florence, Madame le Maire d'Espelette

The next day saw us taking the bus with the non-walkers - partly for logistical reasons and partly due to your correspondent's knees. Having walked over the mountain route a couple of times in practice in the last few weeks, I didn't feel too bad about it!

Watching the walkers arrive at the finish:

Protection Civile volunteers

All weekend, we'd been accompanied by volunteers from Protection Civile who were there to provide medical and other security. A big thank you to you both! Here they are at the end of the trail having a well-deserved cold beer.

One by one the walkers arrived and took their seats in the dining room that had been made available for us at "Esteben Borda" (below), which lies either 10 metres over the border in Spain or 10 metres inside the border and still in France (depending if you're buying or selling!☺). Waitresses brought out steaming tureens full of beans and platters of lamb.. Wine disappeared yet again and was just as quickly replenished.

The safe house on the Spanish side was called Jauregiko Borda and here it is seen through a mid-afternoon heat haze:

Jauregiko Borda

Our lunch stop - Esteben Borda

John from Dublin was coaxed to his feet to give his word-perfect rendition of the Peña Baiona to a very appreciative and impressed audience - apart from a lone supporter of Biarritz Olympique! (There's always one isn't there!)

Each year, an honorary boïna or Txapela* is awarded to the person who has made a significant contribution to Comète and this year it was awarded - to his great surprise - to none other than the very deserving John Clinch! (the Duffees are seated under the Comète standard) I wish I could have caught on film the expression of total surprise as I said his name! Well done John!

  * a boïna is an outsize Basque beret.

Suddenly, the weekend was all over and goodbyes for another year were said in the car park. We drove home feeling the warmth from all the people we'd met. The warmth lingers on as I write this and look at the photographs. Thank you to all those who came and who made it so memorable.

I had several people come up to me and tell me that they thought this new route was tougher than the more traditional route - especially the second day. If you missed it this year for whatever reason, the pattern for future annual Comète commemorations in the Pays Basque will be that the routes will alternate between the new "Larressore" route and the usual St Jean de Luz one - so the next time we do the "Larressore" route will be in 2014, with perhaps with one or two tweaks. Thanks to all of you again for making this last weekend so special.

Here's an aptly-named Mark Knopfler track here for you - and coincidentally, it was filmed in the Basque country too - it's called "Going home":

Finally, remind yourself of the charm of Saint-Jean-de-Luz here:

Haste ye back! 

176. Biarritz dazzles

18th February 2012. We're gradually emerging from the icy grip of the cold spell that's affected most of Western Europe for the past few weeks. We've been more or less housebound for all that time - it having been too cold to venture out much further than the dog's usual walk. This morning it was 4°C as I left to go down to the river.. and at the riverside it felt very cold indeed. The river was low (low tide) which meant that the frost-covered ramp leading down to the pontoon sloped at a perilously steep angle. Despite the cold however, there were healthy numbers of us down there and enough turned up to be able to put 3 VIIIs out on the water plus 1 or 2 IVs and some sculling boats. I went out as stroke with a mixed crew in an VIII sculler (an octuple). This was my first outing for 2 weeks and I can still feel the after-effects late in the afternoon.. (creak, groan) Once we'd warmed up, we did some interval training - which made the time pass! In the end, we did 14km.

New apartment block

This afternoon we went for a walk around Biarritz with the dog. The sea front was blissfully free of the usual hordes and it was very fresh with a dazzling light. We weren't able to take the dog into the legendary Patisserie Confiserie Miremont so we stopped instead at the Plaza Hotel and sat outside in the sunshine. Think it was ~11-12°C. Walking down the Avenue Reine Victoria there was a gap on the buildings as though a tooth had been pulled. Sure enough, the house that had been there before has now completely vanished - the adjacent buildings were marked with the outline of its roof - and so no prizes for guessing what's going to replace it? Yes, yet another apartment block (above) is going up in its place. And, of course, the Town Hall won't have complained to the developers as the new apartment block will bring in more tax than the house it replaced. So gradually, the old buildings that give the town its identity are slowly disappearing. Just across the road, there used to be an old garage that had been there since the dawn of the automobile age. The closure signs went up last year and then a few months ago it disappeared in a cloud of dust and the huge site is being developed to take yet another apartment block.

20th February 2012. Went to see Meryl Streep in the "The Iron Lady" yesterday in Biarritz. What a stunning performance by her and one that will surely be marked with a well-deserved Oscar. I think it is the finest acting performance on film that I've ever seen. Despite that though, I came away from the cinema with mixed feelings. For a woman whose achievements could fill a six part series I found it strange that the filmmakers had chosen to concentrate on Baroness Thatcher's present state of health - a condition which, after all, she has no control over. In my view, the focus of the film should have been on those events that she was in control over. Of those, there is no shortage at all. To make a film during her lifetime that shows her suffering from Alzheimers is, in my view, totally disrespectful, ungallant, highly intrusive and a mean-spirited portrayal of the greatest Prime Minister of my lifetime. I don't believe any country other than Britain would portray a living former Prime Minister like this.

I had the great good fortune to hear Mrs Thatcher speak on one occasion. During the run-up to the General Election in 1979 I went to a political meeting (my first and last) as I knew she was in the area and I suspected that she might well make an appearance. Halfway through a turgid speech by the clueless local candidate (a walking cure for insomnia if ever there was one) I was contemplating slashing my wrists when I heard a commotion off to my right. All I could see was the multiple flashing of cameras in the doorway as a jostling crowd entered the hall. In the middle of all the TV lights, flashing cameras, minders & political agents there bobbed a blonde head - Mrs T was in the building! She made her up to the stage amid cheering applause and she took the microphone from the hapless stammering numpty and turned to us.

She spoke for about 10-15 minutes and she was totally electrifying. I've never forgotten the impact of her clarity of thought, the power of her arguments and the sheer force of character and belief with which she expressed them that day. I've often been put in mind of this experience when reading about the Third Reich. Mrs Thatcher was not renowned for her great oratorial skills and yet she was able to inspire me like no other before or since. It goes some way to explain the extraordinary hold that Hitler - an acknowledged master of the spoken word - had on an entire nation.

A couple of years later I had a chance meeting with her and Denis out in the boondocks - she was charm personified. She polarised opinion - not many were neutral - and I think the British media and the political chatterati were and still are merciless in their assessment of her. She was that rarest of political animals - a conviction politician - one who actually believed in what she said and was prepared to fight for her beliefs -  the word compromise wasn't in her vocabulary. Once elected, she was a breath of fresh air after the grey men who preceded her. A great lady and she will be remembered long after all her lily-livered detractors have been forgotten - if that hasn't already happened. This is the Margaret Thatcher I remember - not an old lady unfortunately suffering in her final declining years alone.

21st February 2012. Back to the present. I was browsing the web looking for a particular image of Basque culture (I'll get back to you with this as soon as I've found it) when I came across this photo.. it's of the Port-Vieux of Biarritz and there's nowhere better than "La Casa Juan Pedro" for a quick lunch of sardines à la plancha and sangria than here. Touristy? Yes.. but excellent for all that.

Apparently the Duke and Duchess of Windsor selected Biarritz as their favourite holiday destination in the 40s - Wallis famously instructed her staff to "Chill the champagne, pack the pearls, and tune up the Bugatti" before setting off. We're no different! (ahem!) 

I've often mentioned the quality of the light here. There's a marked difference in its intensity just between travelling the few minutes between Bayonne and Biarritz. When reading about Van Gogh's experience when he moved south from Paris to Provence, it was the brilliance of the light that made such a profound impact on him and his work. Living in England (like living inside a Tupperware container as Bill Bryson once memorably observed), I couldn't understand what he meant until we moved here. For example, when I walked into town yesterday I needed sunglasses. I think the atmosphere at this time of year is clearer than later in the year and the sun isn't as high so the sunlight is unfiltered and it slants straight into your eyes. For some reason, this factor seems magnified at the coast.

Here's something that made me smile!

We can't be too many weeks away now from those first warm days of spring when we can start living outside again - this being one of the undeniable pleasures of life down here. To whet your appetite, take a look at this video that celebrates all that's good about food in the Pays Basque:

Here's a reminder of some of the best known products here in the Pays Basque and Béarn:

Visiting with children? No problem..

If you prefer to escape the hectic life on the coast and seek out the tranquillity of the mountains, there's no shortage. Even at the height of the season, you can have a mountain or a view all to yourself.

If your knees aren't up to a close encounter with the hills, there are so many interesting towns and villages to visit - we first visited this region over twenty years ago and we still haven't seen everything - far from it!
Basque culture.. where to start? I've kept away from this in all my previous posts, mainly because I'm unable to identify with many aspects of it: it's impenetrable to outsiders - even to French. Have a look at this bizarre clip of Basques from across the border. I believe these customs stem from pagan times. (If you google Joaldunak there's more on this)  

Here are some more, on the other side in the Spanish Basque country:

I'm still discovering the odd musical gem from years gone by. Here's "Waterfalls" - a Paul McCartney song that somehow passed me by the first time around.

23rd February 2012. First time down at the river during the week for a few months.. There were enough of us to put a coxless IV together - the difference this time we were rowing, ie, with only 1 oar each.

Looking at the others, they were all competent oarsmen so I knew in advance that we should have a worthwhile sortie. We said we'd warm up during the up-river leg and after the turnaround we'd row intervals. The plan for the return leg was that we'd start with 5 'normale' strokes, followed by 5 'rapide' (in England this would be called full pressure), then 10 & 10, 15 & 15, 20 & 20 , 25 & 25, 30 & 30 (I'm getting tired again just thinking about this!) and then the same thing in reverse back down again all the way to 5 & 5. We just managed to fit all that in before we were at the pontoon again. Phew! It's a long time since I've rowed en pointe but the crew soon gelled.. and the final series of strokes were quite impressive. Another 16km and a very satisfying sortie.

The club's Olympic hopeful Perle Bouge was out on the water looking extremely tidy in her single scull. She'll be representing France at this year's Paralympics. She already won Silver at the World Championships in NZ last year. Not bad for someone who only took up sculling a couple of years ago! If her determination and dedication are anything to go by, she'll take some stopping.

25th February 2012. We were the last boat out on the water today - went off up the river in a quad sculler against a very strong current and did 14km.

If you ever find yourself in Bayonne and your cake low level warning light is indicating steady red, then my cast-iron recommendation is Lionel Raux - just at the side of the indoor market. You won't be disappointed! The cakes are a treat for the eyes - if not the back pocket! Treat yourself to something - anything - from here and you won't be disappointed.

171. Now is the winter of our content..

2nd December 2011. After the quick trip down to Salon de Provence earlier this week I've been spending the last day or two catching up with all the trivia. However, there's one event that can't be ignored and it's one that's coming up fast over the horizon. I'm referring of course to Christmas.. I was looking at this French 'ard deescoont' site for Madame's favourite eau de toilette but they don't appear to stock it so a visit to the perfumed halls of Galeries Lafayette in Bayonne is called for. I must also pay a call to the chocolatiers in town for some of that dark, dark chocolate that she loves. If you want to spoil your sweetheart (and why wouldn't you?) take a look at some of the chocolatiers in the Pays Basque who have a web presence: here, here or here.

Here's a clip from our local beach at Anglet (just 5 mins north of Biarritz) - the perfect place for a post-lunch bumble!

Anglet

Yesterday afternoon we went down to the beach at Anglet and according to the car it was an unseasonable 20½°C (or 69° in Ye Olde half-timbered Fahrenheit) - on 1st December already! No complaints from me though. There was a thunderous surf running, huge rollers were rearing up and crashing with depth charge-like explosions of whiter-than-white foam against the end of the jetty, the air was heavy with salt spray and the dog's ears were flapping horizontal in the wind!

I've just found the following clip which was filmed at Anglet during some heavy seas last February. Scroll forward to start at 0:50.. At the mouth of the Adour there are a couple of breakwaters that we often walk out on to watch the sea. On days like the one in the clip below however, the council puts barriers out to persuade all but the eejits to remain onshore. You can see why at 4:06..! The sea front is dotted with German blockhouses that look as though they might just last for 1,000 years (as promised!). 

Lawn Update.. (you've been waiting for this haven't you!) We've been re-seeding the moth-eaten sections of the optimistically-named lawn with grass seed that claims to be 'Rustique Sud'. This is a grass that has a broader leaf and the Sud part of the name implies that it should be successful in these 'ere parts. Meanwhile the local bird population must be thinking that it's an early Christmas for them too! I think we have a couple of pigeons nesting in one of the trees and their idea of a good day out is to peck great holes in the lawn. Little treasures! This morning I set a net up over the grass in an attempt to give it a fighting chance of survival. We'll see. 

The Christmas Village in town opened yesterday.. I haven't been down to see it yet but here's a look at last year's: 

Meanwhile, these lines by A E Houseman have been running through my head - especially the "blue remembered hills":

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

3rd December 2011. A brisk outing on a cold river in an VIII sculler this morning - we finished up being pursued by another VIII, set up for rowing (as opposed to sculling). If you're unsure of the difference have a squint at this. We did 17km - with the last 2-3km being quite lively! Then into the clubhouse for an apéro as it's the first Saturday in the month.

I went into Spain this afternoon to stock up with a few essentials (think Scotland - that's all I'm saying!). In the steeply sloping fields of the border area I saw a few new-born lambs of the season tottering about in their mother's wake.. looking as if they were made of pipe cleaners. They don't normally make their appearance so early do they?   

4th December 2011. Just been out to the baker mentioned here for a baguette tradition - these are the best baguettes in Bayonne by a long way. I've been to this baker perhaps 3-4 times before and I've always asked for a baguette tradition bien cuite (ie, well baked) each time. Three or four times is not very often so today when I asked for a baguette tradition (forgetting the bien cuite), the lady turned around to select one and she added, "Bien cuite!" I congratulated her on her memory and she laughed.. I don't suppose she numbers too many Brits among her customers. (so much for my accent!!)

That's one of the aspects of living in a town this size that I enjoy - you do get to make contact with people. I was at the garden centre this afternoon buying a new lead for the pooch - he'd chewed his way through his present one in that endearing way of his and it parted this morning in the centre of Bayonne while I was en route to buy bread. Anyway, back at the garden centre I bumped into one of the girls from the rowing club - she greatly resembles Charlotte Rampling - and she planted a couple of bisous on my cheeks - this is one 'furrin' tradition that should be encouraged in England!

Spotted this picture (right) in a BBC TV report about the recent demonstrations in London against the government cutbacks. Somehow I don't think the Brits have quite yet grasped the noble art of demonstrating. This sign won't be giving David Cameron many sleepless nights!☺ It's completely in line though with an observation someone once made that if ever there was a revolution in England and the howling mob was told to 'take' a railway station, they'd all buy platform tickets. Revolutions don't work in mild climates. We've been brought up to be polite, not make a fuss, show consideration for others, say 'sorry' if someone bumps into us and so we don't really do rampaging.. It's not our style. I'm not trying to claim some form of moral superiority here but that's how it is.

While we're thinking about surf, have a look at these truly disturbing images of very large waves that are found just a little bit further south down the coast. It's the giant wave that breaks on the Belharra Reef, just to the south of St Jean de Luz.. Any takers? (Now tell me it's Photoshopped!)

6th December 2011. There are odd things I notice here that sometimes I wish I carried a dictaphone for to remind me.. I've got the memory of a goldfish these days. As it is, I was reminded by something on the radio just a few minutes ago of a cliché that's used here a lot in the media if they're discussing something British. Whatever it is they are discussing, if it's British it's always labelled "So British".. whatever that means. And another thing - it's become fashionable now for people in the media to use the word 'Yes' as a kind of exclamation mark.. One last one - I saw an advert in one of those free "What's On in the Côte Basque" magazines for a bar that promises drinks, ambiance and 'fooding'. Again, so British!  

With Christmas coming up, here's a little reminder of you-know-what:

11th December 2011. On Thursday I was at the rhumatologues for some injections in my knees. About 2 years ago, he gave me a series of 3 injections over 2 weeks in my knees of a silicon-like compound. On Thursday, I was there for an all-in-one shot via a needle about the size of a bicycle pump (only a slight exaggeration..). He preceded it with (look away now!) an anaesthetic shot into each knee, followed by the 'Big One'. Afterwards, I walked to the car feeling quite sprightly but later on I was hobbling around as the effects of the anaesthesia wore off. Sunday sees me still moving awkwardly but hopefully things will have settled down in a day or two.

Strange but nonetheless very welcome weather this year - yesterday afternoon it was a balmy 19C (66F).. It's difficult to imagine Christmas being a matter of only two weeks away. I went out and bought a proper desk chair yesterday. With all the time I'm spending stuck in front of this screen with work, my old Victorian wooden chair was putting a permanent flat spot on my backside.. so this modern cushioned swivelling tiltable adjustable jobby was sorely needed.

13th December 2011. Here's a Paul McCartney song that I was unfamiliar with until I heard it on the radio the other day for the first time.. There's something very nostalgic about the first few lines that reminds me of those 'Rupert' books that I used to read as a kid at my aunty's house. She always kept a few early ones under a cushion and they were much sought after. They were beautifully illustrated in a slightly surreal style - the professor in his smoking jacket, hot air balloons, castles in the clouds etc set against an iridescent background. I see from the link above that the current price is £70..

The Dubliners have long been a favourite of mine - here's Barney MacKenna with his instrumental version of 'Boulevogue'.. 

14th December 2011. Biarritz, our more glitzy neighbours just 10 minutes down the road, is putting on a spectacular light show this year: We'll definitely be taking a look..

  

48. A Year in Warrington

4th March 2010. The Pays Basque is one of France's best kept secrets (in my opinion). After discovering its delights, I tried hard not to extol its virtues too much with friends and colleagues in the UK as I selfishly wished to keep it to myself! We’d suffered the occasional booming voices and braying laughter of my fellow countrymen in 'our' restaurant in ‘our’ village and we didn't want to increase the risk of any recurrence. For that same reason, I keep my distance from expat forums and blogs on the internet.

I've always had a yen to write and once we'd re-located in the Pays Basque I started to keep a simple daily diary of our new life down here to 'get my hand in' again and start the juices flowing. I also started writing letters to my dear old Mum in England to give her more of a flavour of what we were up to than I ever could over the phone. After a while, this material started to accumulate and I thought about starting a blog to capture all these experiences in a more flexible, readable and joined-up format. In researching blogs, I discovered a whole new world of bloggers, blogs and forums for ex-pats (including many Brits) in France that I'd previously been unaware of. The more I looked, the more I found. There must be thousands of Brits widely dispersed around France whose only contact with each other is via electronic means. However, I've kept well clear of all internet expat forums as they seem to attract aggressive "keyboard warriors" and, for me at least, life's too short to waste time engaging with them.

  

It occurred to me the other day that this largely invisible expat community only exists here in France. It's all one way traffic. There doesn't appear to be a similar group of French expats living the reciprocal life in the UK. While there is a large group of French working in the UK - estimated to be some 300,000 strong - I would doubt very much if there's an equivalent number of French living in the UK for what might be called lifestyle reasons - retirees and people who've taken early retirement and have set up small businesses to complement their pensions. It's my guess that those 300,000 French are mainly to be found working in and around London where there's easy access to the Eurostar for weekend commuting.

Peter Mayle definitely hit a nerve with his seminal "A Year in Provence" as it tapped into the aspirations of thousands of baby boomers (like me) who'd experienced foreign travel first hand - and liked it - in a way that wasn't possible for their parents' generation. I'm excluding, of course, our fathers' wartime experiences overseas as they all mainly came to a grinding halt in 1945. Our fathers returned home never to travel overseas again for the most part and they spoke about it rarely. It was a period that most of them wanted to forget.

We, the UK baby boomers, were the generation brought up on a diet of dull post-war food (although we didn't realise it at the time) - Camp coffee, Kia-Ora orange squash, sliced white bread, evaporated milk, salad cream, tinned fruit (peaches, pears or pineapple usually covered it), tinned veg, packet soups, Kraft Dairylea cheese, meat that was cooked to death and rice was only seen in rice puddings. Cooking oil - what's that? Spaghetti - as we'll find out in a few paragraphs - came in tins in tomato sauce. As my Mum said years later, "after the war, we were just grateful to be eating anything.." I think it's fair to say that our knowledge and experience of food and drink - as a nation - was pretty minimal in the fifties and well into the sixties, so we were all in the same boat. The problem arose when England met Europe, and more specifically - France.

Madame once asked me if we used to have lobster at Christmas when I was a kid.. (Lobster! I thought.. suppressing hysterical laughter!) No, we didn't! Or oysters. Or broccoli. Or a thousand and one other things we now take for granted. My Dad used to stock up with a case of a dozen bottles of sweet Spanish Sauternes in early November in good time for Christmas. By the end of November, that case had mysteriously evaporated and he'd have to go out for another. Sweet Spanish Sauternes put me off white wine for a loong time.

Here's a little story that will illustrate what a complete numpty I was in food matters when I was young. I lived in London for a couple of years in the mid sixties. My bed-sit was on the first floor of a large semi in trendy Willesden Green(!). My landlady was Italian and the tenants were a cosmopolitan bunch. Among others, there was Ferry, a wealthy young Persian man (they weren't Iranians yet) on my floor and a Polish girl called Marta in the basement flat.

It wasn't too long before my beady eye alighted on Marta. I found out that she had supper with the landlady one day per week so I asked her what Marta liked to eat. It turned out that spaghetti bolognaise was her favourite. I asked Marta if she'd like to come up one evening for a meal and, to my surprise and delight, she said that she would.

I went out that evening to buy all the supplies.. (and don't laugh!): 2 large tins of Heinz Spaghetti Bolognaise, a large white sliced loaf, some butter, a 2oz tin of Nescafe.. two plates and two coffee cups and saucers. Oh yes, and a packet of sausages. I was going to serve Marta tinned spag bol, on buttered toast, with a couple of sausages sticking jauntily out of the top in the manner of an indoor TV aerial.. Followed by real Nescafe.. I can't remember if wine was involved.. probably not. What a feast to set before my date! (ahem..)

Come the evening in question and Marta arrived on time.. The spag was bubbling away nicely in a saucepan on top of my Baby Belling.. the sausages were under the grill.. the toast was ready.. and I was talking to the lovely Marta... Suddenly, blue smoke started pouring out from under as the sausages caught fire.. Without pausing for breath, I quickly slid the grill pan out, blew the flames out and then held it out of the window to let the smoke disperse.. In my mind's eye I can still see this cloud of acrid blue smoke slowly drifting down the neighbouring gardens..

Right - the toast is on the plates, each with a steaming dollop of spag, two burnt sausages stuck in a 'vee' like a bullfighter's bandilleros.. et voila! From there on, the evening was only going one way and that was downhill..

I never did see her again. Strange that.. (I've often wondered if she's ever recounted the tale to groups of totally bemused Poles..)

Three or four years later, my French sister-in-law was staying at the family home and she offered to make the evening meal for my mother. She wanted to make a spag bol (the classic sixties dish) so she popped out to the shops to pick up all she needed. When she returned with all her ingredients, I noticed she had a long blue packet (~half a metre long) under her arm. I asked her what that was and she gave me a curious look and said, "It's the spaghetti..!" The penny finally dropped. D'oh!

Coming to France from the UK was a genuine revelation back then.. particularly in food terms. Steaks had red juice (ie, blood) still in them. (Meat was always killed twice in England.. once in the abattoir and then it would be murdered in the kitchen - just to make sure..) If there was any lingering sign of blood in a steak, my father would proclaim "A good vet would have that back on its feet in 5 minutes.." He would have used a blowlamp to cook a steak if he'd been allowed.. (I think he'd been marked by 5-6 years of Army cooking) The big difference was that French food had taste. Salads with vinaigrette dressing (not salad cream). Crusty baguettes (not limp white bread). All the different varieties of cheese (not Kraft Dairylea).  Red wine. Real coffee..

All of the above goes some way to explaining why thousands of French retirees aren't buying up abandoned properties the length and breadth of Britain, living the dream and writing best sellers called "A Year in Warrington" with a follow-up called "Toujours Warrington"*. Imagine the rumblings if they colonised such outposts as British West Hartlepools, Workington or Rochdale with settlements of trimly moustachioed French pensioners and their hennaed wives! Getting on to the committee of the local Working Mens Club, walking their whippets, fancying their pigeons and breeding budgies, writing witty columns for French newspapers.. The horror of the Bowling Club committee as the newly arrived Frenchman launches his 'wood' up in the air on the local bowling green in the parabola of a pétanque player..! There's a parody waiting to be written here. The simple truth is that they live to eat. We don't. We eat to live and as Madame found, it's very difficult outside of the major centres in the UK to find the ingredients for cooking à la française.

* With apologies to the good folk of Warrington naturally!

I doubt if there's a better interpretation of Debussy's Clair de Lune than this one by Presti Lagoya..

45. French pop

19th February 2010. Contrary to what the UK media would have you believe, French pop music does exist and it comes in flavours other than Johnny Hallyday..! On the BBC, there is a constant drip drip of negativity towards any music emanating from across the channel. I remember when Andrea Bocelli (Italian I know) had a well-deserved hit across Europe with "Time to say good-bye" and some insular idiot on BBC Radio 2 introduced it by saying, "This has topped all the European charts over the last few weeks which means it's going to be a flop here.." (ye godfathers..)

Despite that introduction, it was a smash in the UK too. Johnny Hallyday is not rated at all by the UK pop music cognescenti either.. He's been around almost as long as Cliff Richard but that's where any similarity stops. Johnny puts on a dynamic stage show - he's got presence and power in spades and some great songs. He attracts an audience of all ages while anodyne old Cliff is the favourite of the mums & grannies.

Here he is with one of his greatest hits Que je t'aime.. (with a very Darth Vader-ish intro! - "Feel the force, Johnny!") (hard to see where he keeps his pension book in that suit!) This is how to make an entrance! Skip to 4.16 for the song:

  

There are a couple of good gizmos available for listening to French radio via a PC. RFM plays a mix of English language hits from the 80s and contemporary French songs with minimal blah-blah between them. (If you like it, right click on the RFM logo to create a shortcut to it on your desktop). We used to tune into RFM on the long drive south from Calais to the Pays Basque each summer and it wasn’t too long before we worked out what the ‘summer song’ for that year was as they seem to have a limited play list.

A classic summer song in 1971 (seems like yesterday!) that you couldn't escape from even if you wanted to was Michel Delpech's monster hit Pour Un Flirt. It still receives lots of air time even today. It's one of those annoyingly catchy tunes (aaagghh - those trumpets..!) that you can't stop yourself singing along to.

One that I would have liked to escape from would have been Tanita Tikaram's 1988 hit "Twist in my Sobriety" - played to death by RFM.

My only major gripe at RFM is that they do insist on playing James Blunt.. He should cut out the middleman and call the Samaritans direct thus sparing us from the misery of listening to his songs..

So who are the French pop music ‘greats’..? There’s the so-stylish and enigmatic Françoise Hardy – all cheekbones, hair, eyes and.. steady! She had a whole stream of hits in France – some of which she translated into English for the UK & US markets. And, although not a favourite of mine, let's not forget the evergreen Mireille Mathieu – never has the Marseillaise been sung with such passion and fervour as in her rendition. Liane Foly too is an extremely under-rated song stylist as well as being a very funny lady. See what you think of her intriguing and exotic sounding Au fur et à mesure..

Michel Fugain had a great deal of success (in 1972..) with this oh-so-French summer song:

Radio TSF Jazz broadcasts on FM in the Paris area and it plays cool jazz non-stop. 

That's enough to be going on with..! Apologies in advance if you start humming Pour Un Flirt all day!

And now for something completely different - the late great John Candy in "Trains, Planes & Automobiles".. If you haven't seen it, you've missed a very very funny film..

I know this has got nothing to do with the Pays basque but this is one funny film.. take a look at the trailer:

35. Seasonal thoughts

At this time of the year, our thoughts are inevitably drifting towards Christmas. We're going to be staying with family and friends in and around Paris over Christmas and the New Year and we've been thinking of what we can bring them.. One thing springs to mind as a "cannot fail" crowd-pleaser and that's champagne. The famous quote by Tante Lily Bollinger (right) of the eponymous champagne house says it all.. In reply to the question posed by a Daily Mail journalist, "When do you drink champagne?" - she offered this very memorable answer:

"I only drink champagne when I'm happy, and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company, I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I am not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it - unless I'm thirsty."

I wouldn't argue with a single word of that.. except to add I wish I could afford such largesse!!

The following summer after Madame and I were married, we were driving back up to England from the Pays Basque after our first holiday together there and we'd been invited to break the journey with P & A, two of her good friends. P was the marketing manager for Mumm champagne.. (you can see where this is going already can't you!) Anyway, we arrived at their lovely house at St-Maur on the banks of La Marne just outside Paris in the late afternoon to find P & A sat around a table in their garden with their two boys. After much vigorous kissing and handshaking, P disappeared inside the house, emerging moments later with a bottle of Mumm and some glasses.

"Pop" went the cork, glasses were clinked, toasts were drunk and Madame and I soon started to unwind after the long hot drive from the Pays Basque. It wasn't long before the bottle was "morte" and P went off to fetch another.. I'd not been accustomed to drinking champagne in quantity before - normally, a glass or two at a wedding, or maybe a bottle between friends... but this was different. P seemed to have an unlimited supply of the stuff in his cellar because when we went inside for dinner, another bottle appeared on the table. And I think another one or two after that. In fact, we drank nothing else from the time we arrived to when we finally (much later) crawled gratefully up the stairs to bed.

With it being available in such quantity, I felt able to experiment with different methods of drinking it. Firstly, the discreet economical sip (as practised at weddings - when there's some doubt as to whether or not there's going to be a refill). Then there's the "go for it" method, taking a large un-English mouthful and gulping it down. Or filling one cheek and squirting it from side to side.. Or, as in a personal fantasy of mine, filling a washing up bowl with champagne and going face-down in it! (one of these days!) The possibilities were endless.. This was another one of those "I could get used to this" moments. The perfect drink on a warm summer's evening.

I remember once overhearing a couple of women re-stocking the drinks shelves at a supermarket in England. One said to the other, "What do you think of champagne..?" to which her friend replied, "Well, it's only glorified apple juice innit.." I must be honest: years ago I never used to be that struck on it because my experience of it was limited to sipping it warm at wedding receptions.

If, for some reason, I had to be limited to only one drink for the rest of my life, it would be champagne. I just wish I could afford to indulge in a bottle* every day as Winston Churchill is reputed to have done.

* Winston's favourite was Pol Roger.

Other champagne-related quotes - but who said 'em? (Answers below)

1. Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

2. In victory, you deserve Champagne, in defeat, you need it.

3. There comes a time in every woman's life when the only thing that helps is a glass of champagne.

4. Champagne is the only wine that leaves a woman beautiful after drinking it.

5. Champagne's funny stuff. I'm used to whiskey. Whiskey is a slap on the back, and champagne's a heavy mist before my eyes.

6. My only regret is that I did not drink more Champagne.

7. I drink champagne when I win, to celebrate . . . and I drink champagne when I lose, to console myself.

8. The feeling of friendship is like that of being comfortably filled with roast beef; love is like being enlivened with Champagne.

9. In success you deserve it, and in defeat you need it.

10. I'm only a beer teetotaller, not a champagne teetotaller. I don't like beer.

Finally: how not to open a bottle of champagne:

Although why not!! Now where did I put that washing up bowl..?

________________________________________________

Answers:
1. Dorothy Parker
2. Napoleon
3. Bette Davis (from the movie Old Acquaintance)
4. Madame De Pompadour
5. James Stewart (from the movie The Philadelphia Story)
6. Lord Maynard Keynes, on his deathbed
7. Napoleon Bonaparte
8. Samuel Johnson
9. Winston Churchill (sounds like no 2 to me!)
10. George Bernard Shaw