27. All Saints Day

1st November 2009. Yesterday, I went to watch Aviron Bayonne, the local rugby union club, play Toulon (Jonny Wilkinson's new club). Unfortunately he wasn't playing as he's back in England training with the England squad in preparation for the autumn internationals. Toulon is coached by Tana Umaga, the former All-Black, so they are no slouches. I came by the ticket courtesy of one of the girls at the rowing club - she said that her husband Éric was going and could get me a ticket. We arranged to meet at the main gate at 2pm.. When they arrived, it turned out that it was a 'freebie' and, not only that, it was a VIP ticket as well with access to pre- and post-match hospitality. Yee-haar..!

We went in and headed towards the hospitality tent, spotting Amelie Mauresmo (the French tennis player) on the way. The level of support for the club was clear for all to see - just about everyone was wearing something pale blue - the colour of Aviron Bayonne. It seemed as much a social occasion as a rugby match with many elegant ladies evident. Entering the VIP hospitality tent, I was staggered by the quality of the offerings.. there were ~30 tables - each sponsored by local companies – laden with seafood and other delicacies. We quickly found the right table and, as it was very warm, we just had time for a cold beer before going into the main stand to find our seats. Bayonne are struggling at the foot of the Top 14 having just sacked their coach but despite that they were very lively. They could and should have put points on the board before Toulon did. However, as it was, Toulon were more clinical and it ended 8-14.

This is a video of the Bayonne crowd singing their "Hymne" - Vino Griego or "La Peña Baïona" - on another occasion. When Bayonne play at home and the crowd sing it, we can hear them at the house. Guaranteed to bring you out in goose pimples..!

  

After the game, we returned to the VIP tent and this time, every table had, as its centrepiece, platters of seafood and oysters.. and cheeses various. ("Only in France.." I thought) There were opened bottles of Bordeaux on every table as well which I just had to interview and there was a champagne bar which didn't appear to be doing much business after the loss.

After we'd drowned our sorrows a bit, we came back to our place and sat out on the terrace in the garden with some tea and cake that Madame had. All in all, a very pleasant afternoon.

Today is All Saints Day in France and it's the day in the year when families, friends and relatives set off to visit the graves of their loved ones in cemeteries all over France. Not entirely coincidentally, the weekend also rates very highly as a "Black Weekend" as far as road deaths are concerned as motorists take to the motorways in droves and embark on long journeys - to the town or village of their infancy - to visit the family grave.

Many of these drivers seldom travel outside their Department and so the prospect of a long road trip is more than usually fraught with danger. For the rest of us, it's a good weekend to stay indoors. For the last few days, the local regional TV news has been showing the Gendarmerie operating speed traps along the length and breadth of Aquitaine - all of which served to remind Madame to wag a cautionary finger at me - as my driving licence is hanging on - as they would say in the Eurovision Song Contest - by neuf points..

It is traditional to leave flowers at the graveside and the flower most often left is the chrysanthemum. (Warning: if invited to a French home, never be tempted to offer chrysanthemums.) Flower shops at this time of the year seem to sell nothing but pots of chrysanthemums (right).. I walked into Bayonne this fine Sunday morning - in shirt-sleeves (winter seems like another country) - to buy a couple of campaillettes (an extremely more-ish pointy-ended crusty baguette currently in favour with the Mem'sahib) from a baker with a traditional wood-fired oven in Petit Bayonne - just across the Nive. As I walked down the avenue, I couldn't help noticing the size of the chestnut leaves that have started drifting down - some were a good foot across. Our local florist had an amazing display of beautifully sculpted chrysanthemums in pots this morning.. as did all the other florists in town.

I stopped at a cash machine and when I'd finished, an old gentleman who'd been waiting behind me asked if I could help him. At first I thought I was being offered an opportunity to contribute to his lunch but then I realised he was asking me for help in operating the cash machine. I managed to get through all of this without asking him to repeat himself or without him asking me to repeat myself. All in French. Afterwards, I continued my walk feeling pleasantly pleased with myself. Another minor victory. I've had these unexpected conversations before where I've had to run up the white flag and confess to being an "Angliche" - being unable to dredge up the right words in time.

Into Bayonne proper at around 10am, the shuttered streets were fairly empty apart from a handful of chic Parisian tourists clutching their Guides Michelin. It was low water and looking down into the Nive, there were shoals of fat grey mullet hunting in packs for titbits. Over the bridge and into the bakers and the heady smell of hot fresh bread.. (Mmm!)

Job done - two hot loaves in hand - I somehow managed to resist the temptation to nibble the pointed end of a Campaillette on the return journey. Walking down the shopping street near home, I passed by 'our' estate agent.. Its window was full of property details and I noticed a smallish slim box with a slot in it affixed to the wall. It invited any party interested in a property to leave a Carte de Visite in the box. This struck me not only as an excellent idea but also a delightfully old-fashioned one at the same time - the assumption that a prospective house buyer would possess a carte de visite. How many people in England would have a visiting card - not a business card. Not too many I’d guess.

It's midday, the windows are wide open, the sun is shining and church bells are ringing all across Bayonne.

I don't know about you but I'm off downstairs to set the table.

Addendum. It turned out that Madame had other ideas. A pot of paint and a paint brush were waiting for me downstairs and she pointed me in the direction of the front door which needed another coat of paint before winter. She simply doesn't realise the importance of keeping this blog up to date!

We went for a walk with the dawg along the sea-front at Biarritz in the late afternoon as the forecast for next week is for showers (or bits and pieces of rain as the BBC weather girls say!). Although the car thermometer said 25C, it felt a few degrees warmer.. and there was quite a crowd out, with people swimming and surfing. It was still 24 at 6.30 when we arrived home - all this on 1st November!

We once saw the "Riverdance" show at the Sheffield Arena in England and it was a stunning performance. It was a fill-in act during the interval during the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest in Dublin and they took the place by storm. (Health Warning: Don't try this at home!) Fast forward to 4:45 if you're short of time:

When we saw the show in Sheffield, we were lucky enough to be seated near to the very talented Irish band. I'd've paid just to hear them.. they looked like they were enjoying themselves and would have played for nothing. The one who stood out for us though was Davy Spillane on the Uilleann pipes:

6. The house

Every summer for years, we'd base ourselves in the same small village that we'd found in the foothills of the Pyrenees. For us it was an oasis of calm and tranquillity in the evenings after the hustle and bustle of the coast during the peak holiday season. We’d stay at a small family hotel/restaurant that had 3-4 rooms upstairs and some of the best French country cooking I’d ever had. Demi-pension (half board) stayed the same price for years: 235frs each. (or ~£23) Later it became ~35€. For B&B and a four course dinner. And this was in the high season in the Pays Basque! Over the years, we became very friendly with M and Mme Landart and after their retirement, Bernadette & Philippe, the owners (at the time of writing), and were treated like family. The first day we arrived each year, the staff would rush out into the car park and insist on carrying all our bags in.

The style of their restaurant hit exactly the right note for us. Forget about Rubik Cubes of Freedom Fries and clichéd towers of designer food with some poor beknighted chef's signature black pudding, with 2 slices of carrot or whatever the latest fad is (on an oversize white plate, natch) arranged by an interior designer with an artistic 'swirl of jus' around it. No, here it was all brought to the table in serving dishes and it was left up to us how much or how little we took. Portion control was a concept that they didn’t understand. They selected what we were to have each evening for the starter and the main course and so over the course of a two week holiday we would work our way through their menus. Never the same dish twice. When it came to the cheese, they would just bring a 2 tiered cakestand-like affair laden with around a dozen cheeses to our table - only taking it away when we’d finished.

No doubt there are those today who would insist that they were doing it all wrong - but curiously there was seldom an empty table. . 

They kept the same staff year on year too and we got to know them all.. Each year, half way through the holiday, I’d go through to the kitchen and give Jean-Marie (their solidly built rugby-playing chef) a bottle of whisky and he, in turn, looked after us. One final evening he offered us a new dish of his to try - Magret de Canard in an Irouléguy reduction. We still talk about that..

One of the waitresses, Sandrine, had a droll sense of humour. They served a home-made pistachio ice cream that I always found hard to resist. Each evening, I'd invariably order pistache et chocolat, or pistache et cafe, or pistache et vanille in preference to all of the other choices on the menu. One evening, when Sandrine came to our table, after taking Madame's order she looked at me with a dead pan expression and said, "Pistache et quoi..?" before bursting into laughter!

Each day, we'd wonder what we were going to have that evening. For the final dinner of our stay there, Bernadette would give us la carte and tell us to order whatever we liked from her extensive menu..

We once had a memorable final lunch there. We'd planned on driving to Biarritz airport in the afternoon for the return flight home to England - and so we'd only ordered a half bottle of Madiran (a great red from the SW). The starter was an Assiette Gourmande which, when it arrived, we saw would have been more than enough but that was only the first course. Madame had ordered a poulet basquaise as a main course and when that arrived, it turned out that she'd been given half a chicken..! After eating solidly for a while Madame started shimmying her upper body like a limbo dancer. She explained she was making space! Of course, by the time Bernadette arrived with the cheese, the Madiran had inexplicably evaporated. She stood there.. looking at our empty bottle before observing with a laugh, "But you can't enjoy cheese without wine..!" We said yes but we're driving in a minute. At that, a charming couple at the next table turned around and offered us their bottle of wine saying that they'd ordered too much and we were welcome to finish the remaining half of their bottle.. It turned out that they were a couple of teachers from near Bordeaux and we chatted with them for a while. It was a pity we met them on the very last day of our stay.

When we started going there (in '91), they used to charge £3.50 for a bottle of their own Bordeaux.. (I know - “and then the Korean War came along to spoil everything!”) There was even a signed photograph of Charlotte Rampling on the wall in the dining room.. Another satisfied customer.

Bernadette would always offer us either an apéritif or a digestif. There is a superb Marc d'Irouléguy produced from the local Irouléguy wine which comes out at ~44° BV.. and it was this that she offered me once as a digestif. Marc is a pomace brandy that's made from the pressed grape pulp, skins, and stems that remain after the grapes have been crushed and pressed to extract most of the juice for wine. In short, Marc d'Irouleguy is a little-known brandy made from a little-known wine variety. Marc can be fairly rough and is often described politely as an 'acquired' taste but this Marc d'Irouleguy was anything but. She'd filled a brandy glass up the the point where the sides of the glass start to slope in again.. Ouf! After I'd finished it (churlish not to, m'lud), we thought it best to take a precautionary walk around the village before heading off home. Strangely, I had no trouble falling asleep that night. Another example of their kindness was when we would come to leave after our annual visit.. We would have paid the bill, I'd have a suitcase in each hand and we'd be saying goodbye when Philippe would produce a bottle of Irouléguy red wine, from behind his back and he would tuck it under my arm with the words, "Think of us when you drink that..".

If this next clip doesn't set your feet tapping, there's no hope for you! Take a break with some hot gypsy jazz guitar starring Dorado Schmitt (guitar centre left) from the 2004 Django Reinhardt Festival in New York:

Time for another quote – and this is an oh-so-true one from the pen of P G Wodehouse:

“Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Majestic at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to speak French.”

Meanwhile, back at the house search.. As I said before, we’d gone around all the agents in St Jean de Luz and Biarritz, left our requirements and contact details and not heard from any of them. We soon realised that there was no way that we’d find what we wanted in either of these places as the prices were waay beyond our means so we decided to look at Bayonne (only a 10 minute drive from Biarritz) and there we went into the first likely looking estate agents that we saw.

We gave the lady in the agency our list of what we wanted and to our surprise she said that she had just the place for us and, what’s more, that it was in the most sought after area in Bayonne as well.. The thought “Yers, a likely tale..” did come to mind - but we gave her the benefit of the doubt. She quickly locked up and took us there in her car. When we pulled up outside, we saw that she hadn’t exaggerated at all. The stone built house is in what's known as a 30s neo-Basque style - with the added bonus of a forty foot palm tree in the front garden. It fitted all of our requirements exactly. What’s more, it was only a 2 minute walk to a row of shops on the edge of the town centre.

On entering, there was a tiled hall with a polished wooden staircase on the left. The sitting room was square in shape with a raised fireplace in the corner. There was an arched walk-through to the good-sized dining room which had French windows that opened out onto a terrace. The kitchen - which needed modernising - was large enough for a table. There was also a small balcony upstairs at the front. There were 3 bedrooms. The house had belonged to an elderly lady and it needed re-decorating from top to bottom. There was a downstairs bathroom that could easily be turned into a utility room, and the upstairs bathroom needed replacing as the suite and the fittings were all very dated. There was a good sized garden at the rear and a garage. And a cellar.

Having found somewhere that met all our essential criteria so soon, we found ourselves in the position of having to move very quickly and in doing so, commit ourselves to spending more money than either of us had ever done in our lives. No pressure then! We questioned ourselves - was this the house that we really wanted..? There was no doubt that after that first viewing we both had felt that indefinable sense of being comfortable with the house - so much so that we decided to arrange another viewing for the following day.

There was something of a "Mary Celeste" feel about it.. It had belonged to a lady in her eighties who'd died a couple of months earlier and as her children had moved away there had been no-one on the spot to clear the house - even a little. She had clearly only been living in the downstairs section as there was still a made-up single bed in the dining room with a small bag of sweets on a bedside table, there was food still in the fridge, clothes in wardrobes and wine in the cellar.. and walking through the house we felt as if we were intruding on someone's privacy.

After this second viewing, we both knew it was the house for us.. Madame had inherited a fine English mahogany bookcase (over 2m tall by 2m wide) from her parents and it was crucial that there would be space for it. There was. We mentally blocked in all our pieces of furniture and amazingly there was a place for everything. We decided "Yes" there and then.

The kitchen had obviously last been re-fitted around the early days of the Fifth Republic and was in dire need of replacement. The key theme of the house was pink.. (think Barbara Cartland meets Liberace!) There was pink wallpaper everywhere, there were pink curtains and we found later that every shrub or flower in the garden had pink blossom.. The bathroom was a symphony in pink - with its pink bath, a pink lavatory, a pink bidet and a pink shower curtain with - yes, you've guessed it - a pink shower rail. And pink tiles. Aaaargghhh!

We asked the estate agent lady if she could recommend anyone for kitchen work or for bathrooms. The estate agent lady said she knew a Basque craftsman who had contacts with other 'artisans' who might be able to help us. More about this later.

Meanwhile, I started going to a language centre in Bayonne as they provided French lessons for foreigners. I had to have my French evaluated by a woman there and she said that it was very good! All those years of studying have finally paid off.. (ahem) I went back a few days later to take a 2hr written test (well, it was actually a 10 minute test but it took me – hey, you’re ahead of me!) so they could find out exactly where my French needs improving. I could have saved them the time and trouble!

Right, having adopted a suitably hangdog, furtive and shifty expression I'm off into Bayonne to negotiate the purchase of a fresh baguette...

In the immortal words of Captain Oates, "I'm just going outside and I may be some time.."

4. Bayonne

I should have mentioned at the outset that we did drag ourselves around countless estate agents and went through the long-winded process of explaining our situation and what we wanted with each and every one. Needless to say, we didn't receive a single call back or a referral from any of them. However, in fairness to the estate agents (and it's not often you read that is it?), it's a sellers market and there are more buyers than properties available so it's the buyer who must do the work.

What were we looking for? We wanted to live on or near the coast in a town because, when confronted with a bijou house down a lane deep in the countryside, Madame would inevitably ask “Yes, but where do you buy your baguette..?” Neither of us wanted to live somewhere where we’d need the car each time we wanted a biro, for example. Plus - ever practical - she convinced me that we needed to live somewhere with a good hospital. It sounds pessimistic but we are both in our 60s.. Say no more.

I made a list of all the features that we wanted: a small town house orientated east/west (for the sun); with a good-sized sitting room with a fireplace and a walk-through to a dining room; a breakfast kitchen; all rooms to have high ceilings with either parquet or wooden floors; 2/3 bedrooms; a utility room; a cellar; a terrace; a garden front & back and a garage. In an ideal world, we wanted the house to have belonged to an old person and thus likely to be in need of redecoration from top to bottom including renovating the kitchen and bathroom (to discourage other buyers). Finally, we wanted the house to be on a quiet road within 10 minutes walk of the centre including all the shops. No problem with that list, surely? (dreamer!)

Bayonne looking west down the Adour

After a week of pounding pavements in the warm September sunshine in what turned out to be a fruitless search in St Jean and Biarritz, we decided to open up our search to the north to include Bayonne, a short 10 minute drive from Biarritz.

Narrow streets of Bayonne

Bayonne, an historic town of some 44,000 inhabitants, is situated about 5km inland at the confluence of the Rivers Adour and the Nive. In fact, it forms part of what is known locally as the Agglomeration Côte Basque-Adour (ACBA agglomeration) - it used to be known as the BAB. Bayonne has been heavily shaped by its past because it lies behind extensive city walls, massive stone ramparts and fortifications, as it was fortified on an heroic scale in the 16th century by Vauban, France’s military fortification genius.

Vauban (1633-1707)

In former times, therefore, there was no possibility for town planners and builders to spread out and so the only direction new building could expand was upwards - and the limit, imposed by Vauban's fortifications on the outward expansion of the old town, is clearly visible below:

Bayonne

The streets of the old town are correspondingly narrow with 4-5 storied buildings being the norm. This has the advantage that the streets remain cool and in shadow, even on the hottest of days. This lends a very Spanish feel to it. Modern Bayonne, however, has spread out beyond the original city walls and ramparts and now there’s no discernible break between Biarritz, Anglet or Bayonne.

Bayonne Old Town Centre

Bayonne (centre left) and the Pyrenees

Prices here reflect the fact that it's not on the coast and so the price/sq m is correspondingly lower. It works out at about half that of St Jean de Luz. This was more our territory!

During the first week of August, Bayonne is “en fête”. Sheer madness reigns as well over 1m people (yes, a million) descend on the town for five days and five nights of prodigious eating, drinking, music, drums, folklore, funfairs, mass fandango dancing in the streets, fireworks and more. The inventiveness and parking skills of Basque drivers is stretched to the limit as conventional parking spaces are quickly taken, never to be relinquished for the 5 days. To take part in the Fête, you must be dressed all in white with a red scarf or a red beret. The town also has an active bull-ring; however, this is one facility that we definitely won't be taking advantage of.

Les Arènes (Bull ring)

But I’m getting ahead of myself here..