10th October 2010. I had an outing in the VIII yesterday (à pointe - ie, rowing as opposed to sculling) which generated a new set of blisters on my right hand.. Unfortunately I think they will rule out rowing for a few days until they've healed a little.
This evening, I went to the Amlin Challenge Cup match between Bayonne and Harlequins as the guest of one of the guys from the rowing club. It had been raining steadily all day and, as kick off time approached (6.45pm), the rain gods cranked up the volume until it was coming down in great sheets that swept across the pitch in waves - and it continued to rain throughout the match with no sign of easing. Small lakes formed and the ground soon resembled a paddy field. It was obvious that the game would be a forward battle and, with the ball like a bar of soap, "up and unders" would be the chief tactic. Bayonne scored two tries while the 'Quins kicked their points. Unfortunately the freakish weather reduced the game to something of a lottery.
12th October 2010. We've had our Basque tiler in to tile the bathroom walls and to extend some tiling in the kitchen. This afternoon I fixed the heated towel rail back on the wall which involved drilling holes in the new tiles - a nerve-racking job! - but everything went OK and now everything is back in its place. The plumber was round as well to fix a few probs with the shower. One job less!
13th October 2010. The main item of domestic news in France is the blessed series of one day strikes by the unions in protest against the government's decision to raise retirement age from 60 to 62.. Is it me but surely unions exist to defend workers rights with employers - not the State. In my view, people having a complaint about government policy should exercise their rights to complain via the political process through their elected political representatives - not via the trade unions.
As it is, 1.5 million (Govt figures) or 3.5 million (union figures) - depending upon who you believe - people were out on strike and demonstrating in the streets against the plan to raise retirement age. I think they're living in cloud-cuckoo land. The unions have seized the political agenda and are using the proposed change to retirement ages as a stick to beat the government. And of course the media shows endless footage of it all on the news bulletins and they seem to have difficulty finding people to express a contrary point of view to those of the strikers.
Yesterday I was walking into town and the police were busy holding up traffic down one of the major boulevards around Bayonne. I asked a policewoman what was happening and she explained that schoolkids were demonstrating against the changes in retirement policy. Sure enough, minutes later, a column of slightly self-conscious teenagers came lolloping along. Successive French governments have bowed to union power over the last few decades and now the country is paying the price. For example, SNCF* workers retire at 50 and can travel free in first class. Retirement at 50 was maybe a good idea when life on the footplate was considerably harder work than is the case today. However, today's train drivers have a clean sedentary job without the physical exertions of the past. Another factor in the equation is life expectancy. This has been steadily rising in France to the extent that French life expectancy is right up there in the World top 10. Economically therefore, it has become increasingly difficult to fund a pension system that has to provide for 2 decades (or more) of retirement. I think the State should have done more to explain the rationale behind the changes.. (Edited to add: Nothing has changed in 2023!)
*French state railways
Here's a quirky (and jerky!) film about Bayonne that takes you into the heart of the town:
My image of the week:
If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand..!
15th October 2010. Before the strikes in France start squeezing fuel supplies, I thought I'd go and fill the car up over the border in Spain yesterday. Driving through Ustaritz en route to Dancharia there's a spot on the road where I usually expect to see a broad sweeping view of the western Pyrenees. Not so yesterday.. We're definitely into the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness here now. The hills were partly masked behind clouds of mist in the pale gold morning light. It was hard to believe that the darker outline that showed through the clouds now and again was actually composed of solid rock. Leaves have also started to fall and in the high mountains, hunters will soon be reaping the annual harvest of thousands of palombes (wood pigeon) which will appear in local restaurants as salmis de palombes. There are links to some other great Basque dishes too - plus many of the Basque specialities you'll need to stock your winter cupboard with. Naturally, where there's a choice delicacy in France, you won't be surprised to find a Confrérie lurking in the wings..
Recipe for salmis de palombes
Les ingrédients:
2 wood pigeons, 1 slice of Bayonne ham 10 onions, 6 shallots, 1 clove garlic 1 small carrot ½tablespoon flour 2 glasses of full bodied red wine 1 bouquet garni (parsley, thyme and bay leaf) salt and pepper 1 litre of stock 1 tablespoon flour some mushrooms croutons of bread fried in butter 1 glass of brandy
Cooking time: 1½hrs
Preparation:
Cut each pigeon into 4. In a pan, fry the pieces in olive oil. Add onions and minced garlic, chopped shallots and diced ham. Sauté quickly & remove from heat when the flesh is stiff (5 min). Remove and keep warm. Keep cooking oil. Return it to low heat and mix it with flour, stirring constantly. Bring the red wine to the boil. Then add the oil and flour mixture and whisk well. Add the pigeons, garlic, onions, shallots, ham. Add the stock, salt and pepper. Simmer on low heat for 1½hrs. Half an hour before the end of cooking, remove the pigeon quarters, flambé with brandy and return to the sauce. Check and adjust seasoning if necessary.
If it was me, I'd be opening a bottle of Madiran with this.. and not just for the advertised health benefits either. Available in the UK from here.
Friday 24th September 2010. This time last week I was picking up three of my relatives at Bordeaux airport who were going to be staying with us for a few days. The first to arrive were my cousin M and her Canadian husband R who had flown over from Toronto via Paris; they were followed a short time later by S, my cousin from England. We'd been greatly looking forward to their visit since we first invited them over a year ago. I'd been looking at the long range weather forecasts for weeks and, after a prolonged spell of great summer weather down here, clouds and rain were being predicted over the five days of their stay in the Pays Basque. I shouldn't have worried as far as they were concerned - for Canadians like M & R, anything north of freezing point is a bonus! They'd have been just as happy here if it had been snow and ice!
Hotel/restaurant Ramuntcho, St Jean Pied de Port
As it turned out, despite all the gloomy predictions of the weather forecasters, they were treated to perfect weather every day they were here.. it couldn't have been better for them with blue skies and temperatures up in the mid twenties. They really saw the Pays Basque at its very best. For me, one of the many highlights was a lunch we had one day at St Jean Pied de Port. We had thought of taking them to one of our favourite places, the hotel/restaurant "Ramuntcho", an excellent family-run traditional establishment set squarely in the historic part of town.
(Edited to add in 2023: It appears that the restaurant could be closed. Worth checking)
Unfortunately, when we arrived there we found it was their closing day so, after exploring the picturesque street with its Pilgrim* signs everywhere and walking along the old fortified walls of the town, we found our way across the main road to the Hotel Central** (below), situated on a bridge high above the Nive. While its stylish and cool dining room was tempting, we found a shaded table for five out on their terrace that overlooked the river and - well, all I can say is: try it for yourselves..! That lunch will live long in the memory.
* Santiago de Compostela **Needless to say, I have no commercial interest in this hotel or any other business recommended here.
We also took them to San Sebastian and stopped for a lunch of pintxos (tapas) at our favourite dog-friendly bar Aralar (follow the link for photos) in the heart of the old town.
There was the usual colourful and mouth-watering display of pinxtos - bite-sized appetisers made with prawns, fish, crab, croquettes, tortilla, jamon, egg, red peppers stuffed with cod and many other tasty morsels too numerous to mention - set out all along the self-service bar-top which you then take to the friendly multi-lingual barman (who speaks at least 5 languages) for him to total up.
Aralar
What to drink? Sangria is the drink of choice at Aralar which they serve in an oversized glass (tough job but someone has to do it!). After a bracing 130 octane unleaded extra virgin cold pressed Spanish espresso to finish off with, we emerged blinking into the sunlight, stuffed to the gills, feeling suitably mellow and riding 'very low in the water'*, to wander around the beautiful old streets of San Sebastian for a while in the late afternoon sun.
* A saying of Bill McLaren's, rugby's greatest ever commentator.
La Concha, San Sebastian
We narrowly escaped bumping into Julia Roberts who was breezing through town and due in a plush downtown hotel on a whistle-stop tour around Europe to promote her latest film. Her loss! This review suggests to me that the film has all the essential ingredients that any successful chick flick needs. Without being too dinosaur-ish about it all, when it plays in Bayonne I reckon I'll be otherwise engaged giving my sock drawer the Mother Of All Tidyings ..! Anyway, don't let my curmudgeonly ramblings put you off. Here, for all you ladies out there, is the trailer.. (tell me I'm wrong!)
Another unexpected bonus occurred during a visit to a sunny St Jean de Luz.. We found out on arrival that the Patrouille de France were going to be displaying a little later over the bay.. so we found a good vantage point on the sea wall. The team is led this year by a woman - Commandant Virginie Guyot.
We took our visitors around all our favourite places in the Pays Basque - as well as San Sebastian, St Jean Pied de Port and St Jean de Luz, we visited Ascain, Sare, Ainhoa, Saint Etienne de Baïgorry (where we bought some Irouléguy from the cooperative), Biarritz and of course Bayonne. It was great to see them here but suddenly it was the day of their departure for Carcassonne and their stay with us was over all too soon. It seemed as though we'd only just said hello to them before we were saying goodbye. There is so much more here we could have shown them. For instance, one of our favourite villages is Sare - notable for the distinguished old Hotel Arraya in the centre. We had lunch there one day - it was worth the trip just to see the dining room (below)..
Being totally honest, we both found the portions on the light side - even accepting that in these days of nouvelle cuisine, a groaning table is a thing of the past.
If you do visit the region, you have to try the wines.. They're not quirky oddities, they don't fall into the "don't travel" category and you definitely won't regret it. Just ensure that both the reds are not cool from your cellar.. pop them into your airing cupboard to bring the temp up a few notches.
Having tried many of the Irouléguys I'd recommend the Irouléguy Gorri d'Ansa (expect to pay ~8-9€ in a shop). There is a white Irouléguy butI've not tried it. I'd say 9 out of 10 bottles of Irouléguyare red. (Edited to add: these are 2010 prices)
Madiran? Chateau Peyros would get my vote. Yes, there are cheaper alternatives but as always... fill in the rest yourself!
As for the Jurançon, I don't know it sufficiently well to recommend one above another. You can find dry and doux (sweet) Jurançon. The dry is excellent with seafood whereas you should save the doux as an apero or with foie gras or dessert. (Edited to add: We had a Domaine Cauhapé recently.. wonderful!) If unsure which one you're looking at, the doux Jurançon has a hint of amber in the colour whereas the dry is very pale.
If you find yourself standing in front of a shelf feeling a tad confused, always remember this tip.. Look at the label to see if it gives the name of the Propriétaire - it might say Mis en bouteille par - bottled by Gaston Dupont (made up name). As a quick rule of thumb, I think if someone is prepared to put his name on his wine it counts for more than one produced by a Société.. How will you know if it's been produced by a Société..? At the base of the label,you might see the word Société or you might see an acronym - something like SCEA or something close to.. That means the wine has been produced by a number of growers and well.. human nature being what it is etc etc. Reading the label though is no substitute for tasting a wine at the right temperature and with food. At this point I'll put my tin hat on and await the incoming!
25th September 2010. The skies looked a bit threatening this morning on my way down to the rowing club.. The river was in full flood mode and there was one heck of a strong downstream current. We had about 3 yolettes (beamy 'fours' for beginners) out on the water and they were barely making any headway up-river. I went out in a quad sculler and, sure enough, fifteen minutes into the outing there was a downpour.. Ah well, 'tis only water.. Did 12 km (running total 190km).
26th September 2010. Down to the beach at Anglet this afternoon to enjoy the sunshine and we sat and relaxed watching the rollers surging in and bursting in explosions of foam and spray against the jetty there.
28th September 2010. My cousin brought me a fascinating book about the Royal Flying Corps and that's enough of an excuse for me to replay the late Rik Mayall at his very best:
Out in the VIII (rowing, not sculling) this evening.. Set off late due to a small tech problem so we headed off down river to join the wide open spaces of the Adour. There was a rolling swell as we neared the sea which made for uncomfortable rowing so we turned about and came back. 12km(running total 202km)
30th September 2010. We went to Biarritz this morning - Madame had an appointment at the hairdressers there so I ambled around with the pooch doing pensioner impressions for an hour - shouting at passing traffic, blocking pavements, pulling doors marked push - that sort of thing. Then, after she'd finished, we had a pizza in a place opposite Barclays Bank (near Hotel Windsor). Delicious pizza - highly recommended..
Went rowing this evening in a quad sculler - 12km (running total 214km).
2nd October 2010. 15km this morning in a IV. (running total 220km)
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)
