Arrived mid-afternoon into the little chic airport in San Sebastian, a truly charming town on the northern coast of Spain. We dropped our bags and declaring ourselves famished, we walked the seaside promenade and grazed: eating tapas and drinking wine, eating tapas and drinking wine, repeat. Mushrooms were in season and we gorged on an enormous platter of morels and locally foraged chanterelles studded with foie gras and paired with white Rueda. Heavenly.
San Sebastian is a beautiful town; very wealthy, very Catholic, with tons of great food. The area is graced with an interesting mix of people: well-dressed older white people and hot young surfer dudes sprouting dreads, who descend on the town from around the world, looking for the perfect wave.
I explored this lovely small, wealthy coastal town by bicycle. I haven’t been on a bike in years and my ass was so sore. Perused the antique shops and boutiques, situated along the ocean. Beautiful pottery and richly textured textiles grabbed my attentions. Found a cute local surfer boy smoking a fat spleef and joined him seaside. I then met my girlfriends for lunch at an outdoor cafe. The restaurant was situated right on the dock. We sat under the blue and white striped awning and looked out over the harbor. The octopus, sardines and langoustine we feasted on were pulled from the Atlantic that morning. We drank sangria and spoke about buying a flat overlooking the harbor. We recuperated from our long lunch on the beach and went swimming in the warm sea, watching the surfers just beyond the break catch waves.
Friends sent a car and driver who picked us at sunset. We meandered through the hills, arriving at a lovely Michelin-starred restaurant for dinner in the countryside. Drank ancient Rioja and ate the best pigeon of my life in this 400 year old dining room.
I’m craving a salad.
The next day, after a breakfast of almond croissant and coffee, I bodysurfed for hours under the warm Basque sun, then crossed paths with another cute local smoking a bit of hash. He shared. I bought us both the creamiest coffee gelato and we sat on the rocks overlooking the harbor, communicating in our broken bits of languages.
Indeed, this wouldn’t be a bad place to retire.
My travel mates had read about a wonderful restaurant on the water that was several hundreds of years old, and we drove through the hills to find it. There was an enormous hole in the middle of the restaurant floor. We looked down and saw the ocean below; a spotlight shining on submerged pens of lobster and langoustine. The old lady who owned the joint worked the ancient pulley to hoist up the baskets. We chose our crustaceans and they were sent to the kitchen to be grilled. We started with snails, platters of Iberico ham, white asparagus (in season!) and razor clams. We drank Albarino and Rioja until we were giggling. A truly great last supper in Spain, and we didn’t sit down until 10:45, but then, I am a late eater…
We had lunch and a walk in the lovely town of Biarritz. I bought piment d’espelette for the cured ham and sausages I make at home. We bid adieu to Spain and flew back to Paris.
The Basque coast is truly lovely; its architecture, gardens, fountains, and the people were so warm and kind. I’m not one to just lay on a beach, but was glad to have a couple of relaxing days after the sights, sounds, smells of the first two weeks in Morocco.