22nd April 2011. I can still feel last night's outing on the river..! Went out in a mixed VIII sculler with an unfamiliar face at stroke. A powerfully built oarswoman, she took us way up the river and it wasn't long before the usual chatter emanating from the fairer sex in the boat dried up (I'll get shot for that!) as the pace quickened. After a long sortie consisting of firm rowing interspersed with short sprints, we returned in one piece from the turn-around before completing the last 2km at racing pace. Afterwards I needed 2 hands to turn the ignition key in the car! 17km (Running total: 590km).
Unwinding on the terrace last night with a glass of cold rosé, I could hear the first unmistakeable sounds of a Basque band practising for the Fêtes de Bayonne later in the year. The drum section were rattling through what sounded like those classic slow drum rolls that were played (if you believe the movies!) when the tumbrils rolled towards the guillotine. Spooky sound.
The plan for attacking Urt tomorrow via the up-river route has been shelved due to the tidal conditions that will prevail. We'll still be heading up the Adour but only as far as Lahonce. The bottles are in the fridge already for my return.. (one each of rosé and oxygen!)
23rd April 2011. Plan A changed into Plan B and this morning, on the riverbank, it morphed effortlessly into Plan C..! We set off downstream for a change - through the centre of Bayonne (which is currently celebrating la Foire au Jambon) which was decorated with a ginormous inflatable jambon de Bayonne! We rowed out past the Port de Plaisance before returning.. 12km (Running total: 602km) 24th April 2011. I forgot to mention that as we returned upriver to the town centre, we encountered several all-girl traînières (I think from the Association Ibaïalde, Anglet - tell me if I've got it wrong). They all had a mightily impressive swing - from way forward to way back it looked to be around 120°.
Yesterday the town centre was choc-a-bloc with activities relating to the Foire au Jambon. There was a hot air balloon tethered and traditional marching and then the main programme began at 10am with the championnat de France de cuisine à la plancha. (you don't need me to translate that do you?)
Then, from 10.30am-midday, there was a démonstration de jeu de paume par le club jeu de paume de Navarre, at the Trinquet Saint-André.
Also at 10.30am there was a démonstration de traînières sur la Nive avec Ibaïalde (course exclusivement féminine) - this is what we saw from our boat. Then, slacken off your belts a notch, at 11am there was a concours d’omelettes au jambon avec les associations bayonnaises. (A ham omelette competition!)
At the same time, Basque choirs were singing at the Market Hall with the final being held in the Cathedral cloisters.. (Baiona Kantuz aux Halles avec un final au Cloître).
And at 2.30pm, Aviron Bayonnais were kicking off against the darlings of Paris - Stade Français. The town could have held a creative parking competition in association with this match as cars were parked all over town with a verve, imagination and complete disregard for the the rules matched only by the Neapolitans - who don't so much park their cars as abandon them. Bayonne scored an avalanche of tries to emerge with a thumping 54-20 victory.. Well done AB!
Here's the programme for today:
9am: Intronisation des nouveaux membres de la Confrérie du Jambon de Bayonne à la Maison des associations.
10am: Défilé des confréries de la Maison des associations vers la cathédrale.
11am: Messe traditionnelle de Pâques en la cathédrale en présence des confréries et animée par la chorale Errobi Kanta.
12am: Défilé des confréries de la cathédrale vers la Maison des associations.
5.30pm: Bal des confréries, à la Maison des associations.
8.30pm: Vulcanalia, spectacle équestre de l’artiste Gilles Fortier aux arènes.
25th January 2011. If a picture's worth a thousand words, then what d'you suppose is the going rate for a short film..? I've decided to give my keyboard a rest for this post and instead show you activities in and around the jewel in the crown of the Pays Basque - Saint-Jean-de-Luz.. You'll see traînières racing in the bay of St Jean; the Fête of the Rouge et Noir (when everyone wears black & red) and the Rue de la République - with all its restaurants - becomes alive with travelling bands; the mass fandango dancing in the Place Louis Quatorze, the Fête du Thon (Tuna Festival); the pelote players and the bulls stuffed with fireworks (crazy!):
This clip (below) was from the Fête de Saint-Jean-de-Luz (when many are in red & black)... at 4:03 they start singing Hegoak - the Basque anthem which is sung on both sides of the border: It's clear that an overwhelming majority of the people take great pride in Basque cultural events and participation is widespread among ages in the community.
Now is it me - or does this not look like a lot of fun..?
A cultural interlude now - Maurice Ravel was born in Ciboure - across the harbour from Saint-Jean-de-Luz - in the pale stone house just left of centre:
Some more culture of the musical variety:
Here are some students and concerts from the Maurice Ravel Academy:
The huge waves from the Belharra Reef are next - they're truly gigantic and hard to believe but they're here.. just a few kilometers south of St Jean de Luz:
Chistera
The fastest of all the ball games played in the Pays Basque is Pelote Basque. All the rules and variations are spelled out here.. When played with the chistera, the ball has been measured at speeds of 250-300 kph (155-185mph), which makes it the fastest racquet ball sport in the world.
Paddling one of these Polynesian pirogues in the surf looks like it could be fun!
14th September 2010. I'm back home after a truly amazing weekend spent in the company of some of the most inspirational people I've ever met. A short recap follows in case you missed my earlier posts on the subject of the Comet Line. (* = tongue in cheek!)
"Dédée"
In the wake of the German blitzkreig that smashedthroughthe defences of Holland, Belgium, France in May-June 1940 and forced the evacuation from Dunkirk of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), Andrée De Jongh, a young Belgian nurse, decided that she had to do something to help the Allied cause. As she herself put it in typically uncompromising fashion:
"When war was declared I knew what needed to be done. There was no hesitation. We could not stop what we had to do although we knew the cost. Even if it was at the expense of our lives, we had to fight until the last breath." Inspired to action by the deeds of Edith Cavell, "Dédée", as Andrée was better known, created the Comet Line, the purpose of which was to guide shot-down Allied airmen back to the UK to continue fight the war. Its motto was "Pugna Quin Percutias" ("Fight without killing"). The Comet Line comprised some 2,000 dedicated volunteer helpers and a chain of safe houses that stretched from Brussels to Paris and on down through occupied France to Bayonne in the Basque country. Unlike the aircrew who were protected by the provisions of the Geneva Convention, the volunteer helpers enjoyed no such protection and, if/when caught, they and their families fell into the medieval clutches of the Gestapo - followed by the concentration camps under Hitler's infamous Nacht und Nebel directive.
Florentino
Having escorted her small groups of evaders on the express train from Paris to Bayonne, she would join up with the legendary Basque guide Florentino Goikoetxea and together they would lead the airmen over the Pyrenees and into the hands of British diplomatic staff based in 'neutral' Spain. Hundreds of Allied airmen and others were helped by the Comet Line network to escape a bleak future confined in POW camps in the Third Reich.
Florentino was a smuggler by trade and after the war he was invited to Buckingham Palace to receive the King's Medal. While Florentino was waiting to go in to the room where the King was making the presentations, a courtier asked him what his profession was and Florentino replied without a pause, "Import - Export". A man of immense strength, he was not averse to pulling a knife on escapers to 'encourage' them if they said they couldn't take another step forward. Bob Frost (below) recalled how he fell into a hole at night during his escape and Florentino just reached down and pulled him out with one hand.
After a betrayal in January 1943, "Dédée" was arrested, interrogated, tortured and then sent to Germany where she spent 2 years in Ravensbruck and then Mauthausen. She survived the war and spent some 28 years working in leper hospitals in pre-independence Belgian Congo, Cameroon, Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and finally Senegal. In failing health, she eventually retired to Brussels where she died in 2007 aged 90.
I ask for your understanding for this necessarily abbreviated version of historical events and if I've omitted to mention someone - as I surely must have - I apologise.
The Comet Line is commemorated in many ways - one of which is an annual 'walk' over the exact same route out of France, over the mountains and into Spain and eventual freedom taken by the Comet guides and the evaders. It's organised locally by Jean Dassié.
Prior to the weekend, I'd contacted John Clinch, whose excellent website contains a whole slew of information about the Comet Line and the resistance in Belgium (highly recommended) and we'd arranged to meet at a café in the centre of Saint Jean de Luz on Friday in good time before the first meeting. This was to be a wreath laying at the War Memorial in St Jean de Luz followed by a vin d'honneur at the Town Hall just nearby. We were fortunate to be joined by a wartime Comet helper and three aircrew veterans who'd come down the Line and made it back to the UK.
The veterans
"Nadine"
Here we are at the War Memorial with 3 RAF evaders - from left to right: Bob Frost(Wellington tailgunner) shot down on his 28th mission; George Duffee(Halifax pilot) shot down on his first trip as 2nd Dickey; Andrée Dumont (English translation here) - known by her wartime codename "Nadine" - she courier'd the aircrew from Brussels to Paris. Captured & tortured, sent first to Ravensbruck then to the infamous Mauthausen. Received the OBE in 1946. A real heroine! Gordon Mellor(Halifax navigator) - shot down on his 17th trip. Next is a deputy mayor from St Jean de Luz. Raymond from Rheims (on the extreme right) was in the Resistance and was deported and jailed. He spent a few years in a cell with a couple of RAF aircrew - where he learnt his English.. I felt honoured and privileged to meet all of these Comet helpers and WWII aircrew over the course of the weekend.
Ramiro Arrue painting in the town hall at St Jean de Luz
Mr Jean Dassié †
Lucienne Dassié †
(devenue
Mme André Saboulard)
After a friendly welcome at the Town Hall where, incidentally, one of our hosts was kind enough to show Nadine and I three magnificent works (one of which above) by the noted Basque artist Ramiro Arrue - we all separated for lunch before travelling up to Bayonne for another wreath-laying ceremony at the grave of the Dassié family. Both Mr and Madame Dassié actively supported the Comet Line along with their daughter Lucienne (aka "Lulu"). However, all three were betrayed and they were arrested by the Gestapo and spent two years in Buchenwald and Ravensbruck respectively. The Germans left young Jean, aged 7, at home on his own.. After the father was released in 1945 he was repatriated to Paris but he died in hospital on the day that he arrived from the ill-treatment he had received in the camps. Madame Dassié died in 1948 due to ill-health resulting from her experiences in the camps. Both "Lulu" and Jean were present for this commemorative weekend.
As it is today*
Then we continued on to nearby Anglet to visit the unassuming Villa Voisin - the safe house where many of the escaping airmen stayed (5 mins from where I write) and where the southern end of the network was controlled by Elvire de Greef (aka "Tante Go"). It doesn't appear to have changed too much - if at all. We then made our way to the War Memorial in Anglet for a further wreath laying there followed by a vin d'honneur in the Town Hall.. Then we all sped off to a local restaurant for the evening. There must have been between 50-60 of us altogether.
* Edited to add: Sadly, the Villa Voisin was demolished in 2016.
Kattalin Aguirre
At Florentino's grave
The next morning saw the start of the hard work. I arrived early at St Jean de Luz (in the hope of finding a parking space) and walked around the beautiful bay to the cemetery at Ciboure where there was another wreath laying ceremony at the graves of two of Comète's most celebrated members - Kattalin Aguirre and Florentino Goikoetxea, the Basque man of the mountains.
On the Saturday, the group split into two - the walkers and those who would travel between RVs by bus.. After breakfast at a beachside cafe nearby, the walkers set off for Urrugne which is where we were going to have lunch.. (provided by the commune) For us, we were glad to be finally moving and it only took us an hour or so to reach Urrugne, a small village en route to the mountains. After a short ceremony by the War Memorial, we walked the short distance down to a local school where a copious lunch of ham, cheese, fruit, bread, cider and wine had been set up in the sunshine. I broke the habit of a lifetime for once and ate sparingly and kept to water.
Bidegain Berri
Then we set off for the mountains.. although there was one final final stop at "Bidegain Berri", the farm in the foothills that was used by the escapers as the jumping-off point and where Dédée was arrested in January '43. This was the farmhouse belonging to brave Frantxia Usandizaga, who sheltered the airmen in the last safe house in France as they waited for nightfall before attempting to cross the mountains. She was betrayed, along with Dédée De Jongh, but unlike her, she didn't return and sadly she died in Ravensbruck a month before the camp was liberated. The house itself had been modernised and appeared anonymous, bearing no witness to the dramatic events that had taken place there so many years before. Yet again we heard speeches extolling the bravery of those who had given their lives in the cause of freedom.
This was the start of the walk proper, and it was time for anyone who could not complete it to get on the coach, as there would be no way back. This is where the pain started.. We set off briskly and gradually the road turned into gravel and grass, then we turned up a steep track that was loosely surfaced and then we were on the mountain. It was difficult to set a rhythm when part of a long snake of other climbers stopping and starting on a crumbly, sometimes muddy, slippy underfoot, uneven, steep rocky surface. It was hot too - according to a fellow walker with a multi-function watch it was 35°C (95°F). And it was humid.. All attempts at conversation ceased now as we tried individually to find our own pace. Each time I reached what I thought was a summit, the mountain opened up to reveal another even steeper climb before me.
My legs became heavier and heavier, I was stumbling, sweat was pouring off me and I could feel my climbing ability reducing with every step. I stopped now and again to ease the burning in my legs but there was no respite from the sun which beat down on us. I did start to think the unthinkable (i.e. going back..). I thought my rowing training would have stood me in good stead but the magnitude of the effort required for this took me by surprise. I thought it would be hard but I just couldn't see myself being able to finish this. I decided not to look ahead and to take it one step at a time. Even then I had to stop every few yards. Luckily some kind soul (I never did catch his name*) stopped with me each time and after a few seconds rest, encouraged me to my feet with an "Allez allez!" (I found him at the finish and thanked him)
* Edited to add it was Brice Esquerre..
I kept telling myself that the airmen who tackled the climb during the war did so in the dark, wearing espadrilles, perhaps weak from enforced inactivity and injury, plus they would have the ever-present fear of capture, which could have meant imprisonment, torture and execution. That they found it a gruelling climb is no surprise - that they were able to complete the walk is a tribute to them and perhaps also to the encouragement offered by Florentino and Dédée. By all accounts, many were tempted to give up.
Suddenly we were at the summit and a magnificent panorama stretched out before us with the outline of Fuenterrabia in Spain clearly visible below.. I lay as if pole-axed for a few minutes before getting to my feet again for the descent which was not as easy as it appeared on the slippery rocks and loose surface.. My water bottle was now all but empty and I was unable to swallow an energy bar. The morale in our small group rose sharply when we came across a trickling spring of cold water. A lifesaver..!
The sound of the Bidassoa river was now clearly audible below and our pace quickened as we scrambled down the final hurdle of a steep descent of a slippery rock face. We emerged from the woodland and there before us lay the Bidassoa. What a relief to step into its cool fast flowing waters! Cheered across by the veterans and others, we made it across the slippery river bed and up the other side to be met with cold rough cider and grilled sardines prepared for us by our Spanish Basque helpers..
I was too tired to even eat a sardine which must be some sort of a record for me! The coach taking us back to our hotels that night was very quiet, as we were all too exhausted to speak. We were told the next day would be equally as arduous, but as we would be starting early we would feel stronger. That was it for me.. This was the hardest physical challenge I've ever done and I was really at the end of my tether - rubber legs, the ground moving, pounding in my ears et al. Madame reminded me when I returned home that my doc had told me no climbing with my creaky knees! So, as I'd just paid my rowing subscription for the year, we decided that discretion would be the better part of valour etc so the following day saw me on the bus.
I've 'lifted' this description (from John Clinch's site) of the second day from Anna Moreland who completed it in 2004:
Next morning saw us up before dawn without even time for breakfast and marching off to join the coach which would relay us to the point where we had finished the night before. The giddying ascent started immediately and our calf muscles aching from the day before were soon searing with pain. Again we climbed and climbed in single file, with some paths so steep that we were looking for any handhold just to stop sliding down. Just when it seemed that we were at the very end of endurance we stopped on a grassy knoll. Looking about us in every direction we could see nothing but other mountain peaks, equally majestic, encircled with swirling mists. Their sides were lush and verdant, buzzards soared, the air smelt of spruce, wild mint and mountain thyme, and the view was giddying with no sign of humanity. It felt as if earth had touched the heavens in that one magical spot. I'm sure those like myself who had never done any real climbing must have felt all the effort worthwhile just for those few moments.
We were offered a packet of biscuits by a couple who spoke only Euskera, the language of the Basques, and we ate them gratefully, sharing those magical moments in a companionable silence. We could have stayed there for ages, drinking in the view, but Roger soon had us moving on again as we had deadlines to meet.
Sarobe Farm
The next few hours passed in more painful ascents, crossing a busy road that of course had not been there originally, and then, at last, a gradual descent through the woods towards Sarobe farm. We arrived at about midday to find a farmhouse untouched by the years. It was not hard to imagine the relief the aircrew must have felt as they staggered through the door into the warmth and shelter of a large kitchen where a table would have been laid with food and warm drinks for them, and bowls of salt water would be provided to soak their bleeding and blistered feet. Then they would be shown to a hay loft where they were given blankets and allowed finally to sleep. The farm is still owned by the same family, and their welcome was sincere and touching. Refreshments of their own home made cider and bread and nuts were provided on a long trestle table outside, as we wearily awaited the coach with the veterans, who had been delayed.
Having arrived here by a small bus, I rejoined the walkers at this point.
15,000 litre cider barrels (3300 gallons)
We set off on the last stage of the freedom trail down a tarmac road under the heat of the midday sun. This was just a hard slog to the finish. Pressing on, we encouraged each other to keep going and eventually we found our buses.. which took us to our cidrerie - which was full of Spanish Basques all talking 20 to the dozen.. We sat at long tables and some very welcome rough cider appeared followed by some powerful local Rioja.. These cidreries (ours was #5 on this list) are popular in the Spanish Basque country.
Food arrived unbidden.. served on one large communal plate between every 2 or 4 people.. an omelette with cod, followed by cod with green peppers and then a cote de boeuf between two. This had been shown a grill - briefly - and, as my father (a graduate of the Blowlamp School of Cooking!) would have said, a good vet could have had it back on its feet in 5 minutes..!
From l to r: Cod omelette, cod & peppers, cote de boeuf, cheese with quince & honey
They race 13 man boats known as traînières in the Spanish Basque country - I've rowed with them a few times at San Sebastian out on the long rolling Atlantic swells (right) and difficult it is too - and it just so happened that the local club to our cidrerie had won the final of "Le Drapeau de la Concha" and they were celebrating in the adjacent dining room. When they heard that our three veterans were in the next dining room, they all poured in. They love singing and an accordion appeared and they started (below) with a song of farewell (one that they used to sing as the fishing boats left) which was for the Veterans - and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.. or a lump-free throat. It was incredibly moving.. and I'd have thought it almost impossible to capture the atmosphere with a camera.. but John Clinch managed it brilliantly with his short video:
They then sang Hegoak, a Basque song (roughly equivalent to Flower of Scotland) that's sung across the Basque country on both sides of the border. Here's a short clip of trainieres at San Sebastian rowing out at speed into the Atlantic and also some youngsters at Saint-Jean-de-Luz:
Our final stop of the day was at Florentino's birthplace in Hernani, a small Spanish Basque village. There, a small memorial to their greatest son had been set up at the roadside and it was here that we assembled - together with Florentino's brother Antonio (an astonishingly sprightly 93!) and his family. After some heartfelt thanks from the 'vets' - which, incidentally, were translated into Basque by Joe, an Irishman living in San Sebastian - about 10 ladies gave an extremely moving rendition of Hegoak.
Everyone there at the Comet weekend had a story to tell. One woman had come all the way from Australia to re-trace her Dad's footsteps. Another daughter came from California. The story of the Comet Line is a very human story and it showed humanity at its best - and at its worst.
Almost finished - as I write, Suzanne Dando, a former British Olympic athlete, is participating in a similar event further east - le Chemin de la Liberté. this involves a 4 day crossing of the Pyrenees at altitudes of up to 8,000ft. I wish her and her team of women every encouragement. Well done ladies!
15th September 2010. Finally, I went rowing yesterday evening - had an excellent solid outing in an VIII on a beautiful evening. 12km. (running total 165km)
23rd September 2010. Rowing tonight - good sortie in a IV - 13km. (running total 178km)
