Saying goodbye to Eve at the Bordeaux train station sucked a lot. I would have given almost anything for her to have been able to step up onto that train to Spain with me. But sadly, this was not to be, and we gave each other one last fierce tearful hug before I headed off into Basque Country and she headed off to Paris for a day before her long flight home.
Train to San Sebastian was easy enough, except I had to change in Irun, and literally got off the train one stop too soon! Thank God I realized my mistake immediately and was able to jump back on my train before it left the station. I made friends with an Australian guy, Martin, and we had a good time passing the hour in Irun before boarding our 15-minute train to San Sebastian.
My first attempt to find a hostel by myself was a dismal failure. I bought a map, and thought I was golden when I found the address. Except this hostel needed to buzz me in... and none of the door name stickers matched what I was supposed to be looking for! So frustrating. I buzzed a couple random apartments and got told off in Spanish. Eventually Martin suggested we both go to his hostel, so I could use the wireless there. Good idea. We do, and of course find his hostel with no problem and he gets buzzed right in. Some people just have the most boring travel experiences. I call my hostel, and they assure me they are right where they are supposed to be. I disagree. Dude says he'll come outside and wait for me. Fine. I leave, and Martin and I agree to meet in an hour for a beer, "where my hostel is supposed to be."
As I walk back, map in hand, I near my hostel's area, take a fresh look at the street signs, and suddenly realize that I had not, in fact, been in the correct place at all. Ah, so this would be why none of the door buzzers matched! I quickly and easily corrected myself and found the hostel with no problem at all. Dude was not actually waiting for me as promised, but that didn't exactly matter now that I knew where I was!
5 Stars Hostel is not five stars. It's in truth one of the dumpier hostels I have stayed in, but the staff were extremely nice and the location couldn't be beat. I checked in and went out again to meet Martin, where my hostel was "supposed" to be, which I assumed meant where we'd thought it was earlier. So I go there, and as I do it starts to pour. Pour. I put up the hood on my mighty North Face rain jacket and wait in the rain for 15 minutes before giving up and going into the Old Town myself. No harm no foul, I thought. Guess he got busy or out off by the rain or whatever.
I actually had a really fun night bar-and-pintxo-hopping around the San Sebastian Old Town. I walked in the rain waiting to be brave enough to duck into a restaurant (which sometimes can take a while; I have extremely specific requirements, especially when dining alone), when suddenly the skies opened and it really began to come down. I selected my first pintxo place of the night on the virtue that it happened to be exactly to my right at that moment.
Pintxos (pinchos) are kind of like tapas -- appetizer/finger food arranged on plates and spread over the bar. You ask for a plate -- or, if you're me, you point to the food and then make a circle with your hands while wearing a big dopey hungry smile -- then you choose what you want and they charge you for whatever you ate. After France, I was extremely leery of ordering things without knowing the exact price beforehand (have I mentioned the SEVEN EURO DIET COKE???) so only got three tapas and one draft beer. When my bill came to I think eight euros, I smiled. Clearly I was not in France anymore.
However, as I was debating whether to get another tapas plate or go, I did see the big disgusting cockroach scuttle along the floor towards the kitchen. I left.
Minus the cockroach part, that kind of set the tone for the evening. I wandered in and out of cute cheap bars... glass of wine for one euro in one, more tapas in another. Taking shelter whenever the rain picked up. At one point I walked out to take a look at the angry Atlantic, and as I did so I heard my sister's voice in my head as if she were with me -- "Sure we can go look at the ocean at night in the pouring rain!" with absolutely nothing but cheerful acceptance in her voice because she loves me, and of course would go to look at the ocean at night in the rain if I wanted to. I missed my sister quite a bit, this first night on my own.
But even with all this excitement, I still managed to get home to the hostel before too late. Sacked out early in anticipation of a packed day tomorrow...
Which dawned bright and clear -- a huge unexpected happy bonus since I'd been told to expect a day of more rain like last night. I headed off to take a look at the surfers' beach while in search of diet coke, and slowly came to the uncomfortable realization that kind of every single freaking shop, bar, market, cafe, or restaurant was absolutely and utterly closed. What on earth was going on? As I neared the beach there was some kind of march or protest happening, but I used to work in DC where there was some kind of stupid protest every goddam day, so I ignored them, especially since I had finally spied an open market.
The surfers' beach was of course beautiful, made all the more impressive by the huge waves courtesy of last night's weather.
I walked on the beach in my pants and sneakers, and got rewarded for this stellar thinking by getting to walk around in salty wet socks for the rest of the afternoon. But that was okay, because it was a beautiful day, I was in San Sebastian, and was about to get myself some pintxos and maybe a beer before hiking up this hill to a giant statue of Jesus. (Not the Paris hostel cat. The other guy.)
I crossed the bridge into the Old Town, past more marchers and a bunch of giggling girls plastering a giant poster on a door. What was going on??? I walked into the graveyard that was Old Town, and shared sympathetic clueless frustrated smiles with other tourists as we passed shop after restaurant after bar after kiosk that was just.... closed for business.
I was not going to hike up anything without at least a bottle of water (learned my lesson the hard way back in Mestia), so finally in utter frustration and defeat I left the Old Town and headed back to my hostel, thinking that if nothing else I could vent my feelings by yelling at them for not warning us about whatever the fuck was happening.
But as I crossed back over the river and into my neighborhood.... I suddenly saw a bar that was open! OPEN!!! I mean, the metal security gate was a quarter down like he was thinking of closing any second, but there was a couple enjoying a beer outside and I could see movement within. Feeling like Moses in the desert, I ducked in and plunked myself at the bar. Very soon I was blessed with a cold beer, but was also blessed by the fact that my neighbor at the bar was this adorable tiny old guy who spoke very good English, and I was able to ask him: "What on EARTH is going on???"
So apparently this was the day that San Sebastian -- the capital of the unrecognized and separatist Basque Country -- was engaging in a city-wide strike to protest being a part of Spain. Seriously, I have the best luck.
On the bar were two pintxos that the bartender had probably made himself -- toast with anchovies and an egg-potato frittata thing. I ordered both gladly (first time I have eaten anchovies) because as far as I knew this would be the only meal I would get all day. I ordered a second beer too. And as dude brought it over I noticed a dark oval spot on the glass...
That turned out to be a tiny baby ROACH. On my beer glass. (On the outside thank God!) OMG. What to do? Welp, what I did was kill the roach, wipe off my glass, and drink that baby down. When there's only one game in town I guess you have to play by house rules.
But I left after that. As I neared my hostel though, I saw another half-open security gate! Hooray!! Maybe they'd even have real food, as my piece of omelette and anchovies-on-toast had really not satisfied my calorie requirements for the day.
There were a few other expats in this bar, and we commiserated on our very unique set of circumstances. I also saw some Spanish people eating plates of meat and potatoes, and was politely but unwaveringly persistent until I received my own plate of fried meat and potatoes. Which, let me tell you, may not have been the most attractively plated meal I've had in Europe, but the beef had been fried in garlic and spices which made it absolutely delicious. I would take this over a French baguette sandwich any day.
As I was eating though, it became clear that the two owners/bartenders were starting to get really nervous. They pulled the gate down almost all the way, pretending to be closed.
So no one else came in, and by the time I paid and left, I was the last person in there, and they locked up tight behind me. I've never been so grateful for a lunch in all my life!
I went back to the hostel and opened the bottle of cheap French wine I had brought with me from Bordeaux, and set about using the afternoon to plan the rest of my adventures. Not a bad way to spend the day. Towards the late afternoon I went out again, laid on the surfer's beach for a while, and then as I walked home I saw a couple more bars had opened up after all, so was able to grab some pintxos for dinner.
Not a bad introduction to the Basqueland, if I may say! And thank goodness I knew I had another full day there. No one can ever say that my first 36 solo hours on this adventure were boring.
Train to San Sebastian was easy enough, except I had to change in Irun, and literally got off the train one stop too soon! Thank God I realized my mistake immediately and was able to jump back on my train before it left the station. I made friends with an Australian guy, Martin, and we had a good time passing the hour in Irun before boarding our 15-minute train to San Sebastian.
My first attempt to find a hostel by myself was a dismal failure. I bought a map, and thought I was golden when I found the address. Except this hostel needed to buzz me in... and none of the door name stickers matched what I was supposed to be looking for! So frustrating. I buzzed a couple random apartments and got told off in Spanish. Eventually Martin suggested we both go to his hostel, so I could use the wireless there. Good idea. We do, and of course find his hostel with no problem and he gets buzzed right in. Some people just have the most boring travel experiences. I call my hostel, and they assure me they are right where they are supposed to be. I disagree. Dude says he'll come outside and wait for me. Fine. I leave, and Martin and I agree to meet in an hour for a beer, "where my hostel is supposed to be."
As I walk back, map in hand, I near my hostel's area, take a fresh look at the street signs, and suddenly realize that I had not, in fact, been in the correct place at all. Ah, so this would be why none of the door buzzers matched! I quickly and easily corrected myself and found the hostel with no problem at all. Dude was not actually waiting for me as promised, but that didn't exactly matter now that I knew where I was!
5 Stars Hostel is not five stars. It's in truth one of the dumpier hostels I have stayed in, but the staff were extremely nice and the location couldn't be beat. I checked in and went out again to meet Martin, where my hostel was "supposed" to be, which I assumed meant where we'd thought it was earlier. So I go there, and as I do it starts to pour. Pour. I put up the hood on my mighty North Face rain jacket and wait in the rain for 15 minutes before giving up and going into the Old Town myself. No harm no foul, I thought. Guess he got busy or out off by the rain or whatever.
I actually had a really fun night bar-and-pintxo-hopping around the San Sebastian Old Town. I walked in the rain waiting to be brave enough to duck into a restaurant (which sometimes can take a while; I have extremely specific requirements, especially when dining alone), when suddenly the skies opened and it really began to come down. I selected my first pintxo place of the night on the virtue that it happened to be exactly to my right at that moment.
Pintxos (pinchos) are kind of like tapas -- appetizer/finger food arranged on plates and spread over the bar. You ask for a plate -- or, if you're me, you point to the food and then make a circle with your hands while wearing a big dopey hungry smile -- then you choose what you want and they charge you for whatever you ate. After France, I was extremely leery of ordering things without knowing the exact price beforehand (have I mentioned the SEVEN EURO DIET COKE???) so only got three tapas and one draft beer. When my bill came to I think eight euros, I smiled. Clearly I was not in France anymore.
However, as I was debating whether to get another tapas plate or go, I did see the big disgusting cockroach scuttle along the floor towards the kitchen. I left.
Minus the cockroach part, that kind of set the tone for the evening. I wandered in and out of cute cheap bars... glass of wine for one euro in one, more tapas in another. Taking shelter whenever the rain picked up. At one point I walked out to take a look at the angry Atlantic, and as I did so I heard my sister's voice in my head as if she were with me -- "Sure we can go look at the ocean at night in the pouring rain!" with absolutely nothing but cheerful acceptance in her voice because she loves me, and of course would go to look at the ocean at night in the rain if I wanted to. I missed my sister quite a bit, this first night on my own.
But even with all this excitement, I still managed to get home to the hostel before too late. Sacked out early in anticipation of a packed day tomorrow...
Which dawned bright and clear -- a huge unexpected happy bonus since I'd been told to expect a day of more rain like last night. I headed off to take a look at the surfers' beach while in search of diet coke, and slowly came to the uncomfortable realization that kind of every single freaking shop, bar, market, cafe, or restaurant was absolutely and utterly closed. What on earth was going on? As I neared the beach there was some kind of march or protest happening, but I used to work in DC where there was some kind of stupid protest every goddam day, so I ignored them, especially since I had finally spied an open market.
The surfers' beach was of course beautiful, made all the more impressive by the huge waves courtesy of last night's weather.
I walked on the beach in my pants and sneakers, and got rewarded for this stellar thinking by getting to walk around in salty wet socks for the rest of the afternoon. But that was okay, because it was a beautiful day, I was in San Sebastian, and was about to get myself some pintxos and maybe a beer before hiking up this hill to a giant statue of Jesus. (Not the Paris hostel cat. The other guy.)
I was not going to hike up anything without at least a bottle of water (learned my lesson the hard way back in Mestia), so finally in utter frustration and defeat I left the Old Town and headed back to my hostel, thinking that if nothing else I could vent my feelings by yelling at them for not warning us about whatever the fuck was happening.
 |
| This poster was suddenly everywhere. |
So apparently this was the day that San Sebastian -- the capital of the unrecognized and separatist Basque Country -- was engaging in a city-wide strike to protest being a part of Spain. Seriously, I have the best luck.
On the bar were two pintxos that the bartender had probably made himself -- toast with anchovies and an egg-potato frittata thing. I ordered both gladly (first time I have eaten anchovies) because as far as I knew this would be the only meal I would get all day. I ordered a second beer too. And as dude brought it over I noticed a dark oval spot on the glass...
That turned out to be a tiny baby ROACH. On my beer glass. (On the outside thank God!) OMG. What to do? Welp, what I did was kill the roach, wipe off my glass, and drink that baby down. When there's only one game in town I guess you have to play by house rules.
But I left after that. As I neared my hostel though, I saw another half-open security gate! Hooray!! Maybe they'd even have real food, as my piece of omelette and anchovies-on-toast had really not satisfied my calorie requirements for the day.
There were a few other expats in this bar, and we commiserated on our very unique set of circumstances. I also saw some Spanish people eating plates of meat and potatoes, and was politely but unwaveringly persistent until I received my own plate of fried meat and potatoes. Which, let me tell you, may not have been the most attractively plated meal I've had in Europe, but the beef had been fried in garlic and spices which made it absolutely delicious. I would take this over a French baguette sandwich any day.
As I was eating though, it became clear that the two owners/bartenders were starting to get really nervous. They pulled the gate down almost all the way, pretending to be closed.
I went back to the hostel and opened the bottle of cheap French wine I had brought with me from Bordeaux, and set about using the afternoon to plan the rest of my adventures. Not a bad way to spend the day. Towards the late afternoon I went out again, laid on the surfer's beach for a while, and then as I walked home I saw a couple more bars had opened up after all, so was able to grab some pintxos for dinner.
Not a bad introduction to the Basqueland, if I may say! And thank goodness I knew I had another full day there. No one can ever say that my first 36 solo hours on this adventure were boring.
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