Adios San Sebastian

The city wept as we left, saddened by our departure. A million tears the size of raindrops fell on us as we dragged our bags down the dark, early morning streets in search of the bus depot. The building, once found, was a younger nondescript amongst a family of older beauties, functional and little else. But tickets were soon in hand and we stood in the rain waiting to leave the city in the same damp mood as when we arrived.

It’s been a wonderful week. The cooler, earlier days gave us a chance to see the city and the warmer, later days gave us the beach holiday we’ve been looking for. In all, the perfect holiday.

The Spanish are somewhat friendlier than the French but not a lot. There’s little accomodation made for non-Spanish speakers - menus were a challenge - but the authenticity made up for the challenges. It’s a sparkling clean city, very modern conveniences worked into its heritage. We never quite got a handle on the hours of business but we never went hungry or failed to do/get what we needed.

While I normally the healthiest guy I know, I managed to adopt Deb’s virus the day we arrived. It announced its arrival with a powerful sore throat that woke me up our first night there and moved down my back sucking all the energy from my body as it went. No fever, no nausea just tough to swallow and a feeling like I’d survived a baseball bat attack...barely. It held me in its grip ‘til the last day when I managed to pass it on to Luka; tag you’re it. He awoke last night at 4AM with a cry; “Mom!” It promised to be an ugly departure but with a bowl beside his bed and his Mom beside him rubbing his tummy he woke a few hours later with enough energy to help us get out the door in time. What a trooper.

So we’re now in Biarritz and will be here for just the one night. The clouds have parted, inviting us to explore the glitzy environs and Luka tells me I’ll be joining him in the (freezing!) ocean. Off we go...

Sculpture by Chilleda, muy popular aqui

Too lazy too stand up and take a pic

Still lyin' down

The buildings are a blend of the old and new

The Bay of Biscay

I Believe I Can Fly

Statues abound

On Our Bike Tour

Concha Beach

A Boy and His Son

The Lookout

The Other Beach

San Sebastian

Tasting and Tanning

Almost done in San Sebastian (it’s Thurs nit) and I’m pleased to report that the weather improved as the week sped by. We still daren’t go anywhere without our raincoats as those thick clouds rolling overhead occasionally tinkle on us - I think God has a prostate problem. It’s actually worked out quite well as we spent the first, cooler, wetter days exploring the town by bike and foot.

But the last two days have been mostly at the beach and the sun’s been around enough to get us a little crispy. When not tanning we’re dining and imbibing and this has turned into the tastiest vacation I have ever been on. The food here is unequivocally the best of any city I’ve ever visited (Paris is close). With all the standing as you try wine and appies it feels like one big cocktail party.

Still trying to understand the rhythm of the Spanish day, I feel like a dancer with two left feet. At first I thought they just did everything a few hours later than I was used to; dinner starts at eight, lunch at 2:30. But the stores all close at various times throughout the day. Some I’ve never seen open, some are only open in the morning. The concession stand closed at the beach today at noon. He didn’t go anywhere or even put up a sign, he just stopped responding to requests. Weird.

But I love it here and here’s my top five reasons:

1. The beach is topless.
2. The food is fantastic.
3. The beach is topless.
4. There’s bicycle lanes all over the city and they’re inaccessible to cars.
5. The scenery, the architecture, the wine is the cheapest and tastiest ever and the beach is topless.


But there are a few things I struggle with:

1. Dog shit. It’s everywhere. OK not everywhere but they don’t clean up after their dogs.
2. Most of the topless women on the beach are over 60.
3. That’s it.

There’s very little English spoken here and little accommodation for it. The signs are bilingual in Spanish and Basque but Deb’s fluent in French which is pretty darn close and Spanish was the one class I didn’t sleep thru in hi school. The few English speakers don’t hit the beaches til later in the day, perhaps nursing hangovers in the morning, but the Spanish - especially the gaggles of chunky old ladies - are out in force much earlier. By mid afternoon the locals have gone off for the two hour graze leaving the beaches for the noncognito.

Tomorrow we’ll breathe as deeply as possible and hopefully the beauty of San Sebastian will settle into some of our adipose tissue along with the pollo carmelizado and go with us to Biarritz. But that’s tomorrow, right now I have to go to bed.

If Only I Spoke Spanish

It was raining when we left the house and it rained on the way to the airport. It was raining when we saw the sign that said the access to the highway was closed and did not see any sign for an alternate route. It was raining as we drove in ever wider circles looking for another access and still raining when we got directions from a passerby.

It was raining when we got to the long term parking and the guy told us they’d overbooked and we’d have to follow his convoluted directions to alternate parking. It was raining as we waited - and waited - for the airport shuttle. It was raining as we scooted indoors and searched for our checkin desk.

It was raining when the announcement board started showing more flights delayed than boarding and it was raining when they announced our flight had been diverted from Bristol to Cardiff. It’s still raining and we’re still waiting. We were supposed to depart at 11:25 but it’s now 12:25 and departure time is still undetermined. Some have been cancelled outright and as our plane is now in the city we drove from this morning I suspect ours may be cancelled as well. So we wait. And watch the rain.

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We were lucky. Some of the flights were cancelled, some delayed for twelve hours or more but we took off two and a half hours after our appointed time and were quickly above the clouds. As we drew close to our destination, the clouds parted and gave us a view of Biarritz from the air. We landed on a dry runway and stepped out into glorious sun. We were in France and the sun was shining.

Our destination was San Sebastian, a cab ride, two trains, a country and a ten minute walk away. Deb called the woman who was waiting for us at the apartment. She was as unimpressed with the British weather as we were. It seems she’d been waiting to go to Madrid and couldn’t until we arrived. We explained the next train left in an hour and while it wasn’t far by car, the transfers and walk put us a few hours away. She decided to pick us up. Twenty minutes later we were in the back of her BMW as she grumbled at us and coo-cooed her lap dog. She got on the highway and almost immediately the clouds from Bristol caught up to us, closing us in and opening up with a pounding rain that sang “you thought you could get away...”

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The view from our apartment

The rain relented shortly after we arrived and we were starting to get hungry, time to hit the streets. Even in a cloudy dusk, San Sebastian is beautiful. It sits on beautiful bay on the north coast of Spain in the heart of Basque country. I’ll let the pics do the talking, my words can’t do it justice.

We walked by one closed shop, bar, restaurant after another and eventually realized that they do things differently here. Yes, there are lots of tourists but the vast majority are Spanish and the Spanish eat late. It was seven o’clock, a full hour before dinnerfest began which runs until midnight. Ah well, gave us some time to see and sigh and get oriented.From the castle facing west

The local cuisine is famous for Pintxos (peenchos) and wine. Pintxos are essentially tapas but vey high end and very tasty. Portions of food and wine are very small but the custom is to go to several places in an evening and sample and savour the various creations. Wine is selected by the owners perhaps to best complement the food, perhaps to unload an excess. You can stand as you eat and drink, as most of the locals do, or you can sit at the bar for a little more. For a little more than that you can have a table and a waiter and I’m guessing at some point we’re going to want to sit down. I’ll let you know how that turns out.

Having travelled all day the thought of travelling from bar to bar was more than we could do our first night. We found one, ensconced ourselves at the bar and began to decipher the chalkboard menu. I recognized words like pollo and foie and pointed excitedly at a plate of squid that went by so we ate well and kept the waiter busy refilling our glasses.

We stopped at a small store on the way home and with more pointing and one word sentences managed to leave with bread, cheese and pastries for brekkie and some wine in case we didn’t crash immediately back at the apartment. The wine survived the night unmolested, it had been a long, long day.

We're Off! (again)

This time it's San Sebastian via Biarritz. And it is pouring rain. I wanted the south coast, we're not sight seeing, we just want to escape Wales for a week and suck up some sun. But no, She said. "San Sebastian is on the north coast of Spain but parallel to the south coast of France. It'll be fine" Forecast: rain, rain and more rain. I checked the weather forecast for Tenarife - just for fun - sun, sun and more sun.

So an overpriced, dreary resort town it is then. Sounds like fun.

On the upside, San Sebastian is in the heart of Basque country, Spain's own homegrown terrorist central. Perhaps things will heat up...

Tunisia and The Elusive Voice

I've got a story to tell. Lots of stories actually and they begin with being born in the middle of a litter of twelve and ends... well, it's not ended yet. It's a story that meanders through jobs that had screaming fans and brains being scraped off the floor. No, not the same job and yeah, human brains. At times it slams into breathtaking loss and at other times it dances in joyful gain but it's all threaded together with the constancy of my family and evolves as my generation moved from black and white TV to the internet.

I'm a psychiatric nurse, trained to assess and assist people with mental and emotional difficulties. But I can't help but turn the lens towards myself, maybe that's why I'm here. The profession has given me some insight into why I do what I do but it hasn't given me a voice. And I need a voice to tell my story. A voice that can sing and cry and laugh and tell the story as it needs to be told. I'm still looking for that voice, trying out a few like a singer warming up for a performance. But until I find it I'll continue to fill this space with my travelogue and other wonderings.

This piece is about our trip to Tunisia last October/November. I hadn't 'reignited' (thanx Mare) the blog yet so had put it on facebook. I'm putting here just cuz I can and I'm still working on the voice thing so...enjoy.

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A week at an all-inclusive resort means seven consecutive hangovers. And I’m ok with that. I earned every one of them through diligence, perseverence and indulgence and that’s what “all-inclusive” is all about. I’ve not done an all inclusive before but there’s a culture that the incogniti know and I had to learn.

We were there at Halloween

If you want a beach chair, you’re up by 8:30 and with towels in hand you recruit 2 chairs for the missus and you (she’s off staking out a breakfast table), cloak them in your terrycloth and stagger still bleary-eyed and hungover towards the food. You know the direction from the smoke and din and join the first lineup you see: coffee. From there it’s the toast lineup or, if you want your toast warm enough to melt your butter substitute and don’t mind cold eggs, you join the egg lineup first. From there you negotiate your way through the crowd, plate in hand, towards the table your spouse staked out.

We went for the sun and found...some

Following the breakfast bob n’ weave, you decide if the beach was a good idea or, if wind/weather are uncooperative, you should consider the wind-blocked pool area. Lots of others making the same decision so be quick about it. “Maybe we should check out the local town” she says and a sortie to Sousse begins. It’s about 10 kilometers north, eight dinar the negotiated rate and , like Turkey, the lines on the road indicate nothing. Drivers drift left or right as the mood or wind takes ‘em and if there’s no traffic to compete against they’re most comfortable straddling the centre.

What's not to like about a cemetery at dusk

Sousse is Tunisia’s 4th largest city and like all cities in north Africa has a medina or old town. It’s usually the original settlement and so draws the tourists and their wallets which the locals are happy to empty any way they can. “I am a waiter at your hotel. Don’t you recognize me? Come into my brother’s shop, just for you I get you a good deal” With all the guys claiming to be my waiter that day, there would’ve been noone back at the hotel pouring drinks.With the obligaory tshirt and drum in hand (I’ve been collecting percussion instruments as we travel including a full set of electronic drums in Cardiff) we speed back to the hotel for the lunch frenzy.

The President's mausoleum.

It’s difficult to meet people when you don’t speak the same language and while the staff are mutlilingual, the guests are not. The French don’t respond to “hello” and once they realize you speak English refuse to make eye contact. The Germans were more outgoing but impossible to understand. The few Brits we arrived with were quickly swallowed up amongst the 1200 plus guests and, dammit, they looked like everyone else. They’re not particularly outgoing so I had to say hi to everyone to weed out the few English speakers. It wasn’t til the third day that I discovered the couple with kids next door (and a boy Luka’s age!) were English. We were saved. Not only did I have someone to whine to about the other guests, Luka was no longer attached to my hip. He was having as much trouble connecting to the other kids as I was with the adults. They weren’t just aloof like their Moms and Dads, they were mean and I had to threaten one of the little bastards after he kicked my son. He had no idea what I was saying, but my tone and finger-wagging spoke loudly.

Looks seventy, probably forty

Okay, I’m almost done. Going to Tunisia was not a cultural adventure but strictly an attempt to escape the dreary Welsh weather.

I wonder what they do when they're not watching the tourists?

Unfortunately we took it with us. We were occasionally chased indoors by clouds, wind and rain where we’d switch from beer to red wine and play a game or two. It never lasted long and we managed to burn our paler parts before climbing back on the bus for the airport.

How come we don't have shoe repair guys sitting on the streets of Vancouver?

I liked it. We didn’t indulge in a lot of Tunisian culture (I’m pretty sure over-imbibing isn’t common there) but did visit 2 medinas and the President’s mausoleum (morbid but beautiful) at Monastir. The country's as old as anywhere else on the planet but lacks the visible history we've seen elsewhere so when the sun's not shining ... Ah well, the people are beautiful.

Wales From Top to Bottom

We’ve been in Wales for nine months now but outside of traveling to airports (mostly outside of Wales) we haven’t seen much of our host country. Oh sure, we’ve been out to Gower, a magnificent windswept peninsula about an hour and a half east of here and were impressed with the rugged coast line offset by the long stretch of Rhossili beach. And we’ve visited cousin Dreda and clan in Swansea. We visited Brecon Beacon national park shortly after arriving last August but that’s just an hour north of here and our little peek didn’t show us much.

But Monday morning found us in Liverpool where we’d delivered Sis ‘n Hubby to the rellies to continue their six month European Adventure. We had a choice to make: head south to Cardiff via the ‘M’ and be home in three and a half hours or head out west to the coast for Caernarfon, a walled town and castle on the north welsh coast. We reasoned it was time to see Wales and time was running out.

Life in the shadow of the castle

So departure to Caernarfon was set for 8:30AM with a plan to see the castle then inland to Llanberis, the launching pad for Mt Snowdon, the tallest mountain in the country. We were to get on the small train to the peak then get on the secondary highway that traveled the heart of Wales. Didn’t work out that way.

I’d left our most faithful traveling companion, our computer, at my cousin’s house the night before. We were spending the night at another cousin’s home and when I called cousin 1 in the morning they said they’d bring it to cousin 2 but were stopping for breakfast. No prob, a few hours delay but a relaxed start to the day. We shipped off at 11:30 and about a half hour down the road the car starts clearing its throat. It’s getting louder. And louder.

It was "The Black Boy" for lunch

I’d had the catalytic converter replaced shortly before we left Cardiff and the vigorous install caused the center connection to slowly release itself from the end section. By the time we hit the traffic jam halfway to Caernarfon we were in full roar. It sounded like a Harley as we crawled along and heads turned. I put on my sunglasses and slunk down in my seat.

There's something anti-warm n' fuzzy 'bout castles

Caernarfon is indeed a beautiful town but the noise had worn me down and wound me up. “I need a beer” says I and off to the nearest pub we went for fish, chips and beer. With a quick tour of the town total time in Caernarfon was about an hour which, with the late start and traffic delay, put us several hours behind.British directions: "I live just past the castle.."

We roared into Llanberis a half hour later and found the next train was in 45 minutes. Then 45 minutes to the top, 30 minutes to stroll, 45 minutes back down.... almost three hours. We settled for a piddle and a peek at the visitor center.Stark beauty

The secondary highway is the A470 and it’s a fickle road that weaves and swoops and climbs the hills of Wales heartland. It meets other roads, gets engaged for a while then divorces abruptly. My navigator had to be sharp to keep us with the intended and godblessher, the road only shook us twice. At one point it wasn’t until we noticed the sun was now on our right - Magellans that we are - that we realized were heading north.

And the countryside was worth the effort. Snowdonia is a mountainous region, hilly by Canadian standards, but beautiful in their nakedness. There are a few stands of trees but it’s primarily rocky cliffs and reaching peaks that stand like silent sentinels guarding the twisting valleys. The grass on the slopes fed the sheep, the cliffs challenged the climbers who were out in abundance.You may have to click the pic to see the climbers

The black snake that was our road continued out of Snowdonia and slithered its way through Wales. One unpronounceable town after another greeted us with its lower speed limit. We averaged maybe 40 mph and what we thought would be a four hour cruise became six. But hey, life’s a journey, right? Go too fast and you miss it. No fear of that here.

We stopped briefly in Brecon Beacon for a stretch and a pic then pounded out the last hour, noisily announcing our arrival to Cardiff.

Buzzin' By Brecon Beacon

So we did it. We invested one day out of the year to seeing this beautiful land. We saw churches and castles, mountains and rivers. We saw some of the best that Wales had to offer and we weren’t disappointed. There’s a few more spots I’ve bookmarked for weekend ventures afore we depart but they’ll come later. Right now it’s time to get ready for Spain; we leave next week.

Flowers for his Mom

Bathing Beauty

The Bath

Ok, so I went to work. I said I was going to go at the end of the last post so I went. Then I came home. Then I went back to work. My life is so boring.

I said I was going to write about the second leg of our last journey (Bath) but either I was underwhelmed by what I saw or the forgetfulness of old age is upon me; I remember very little. I remember meandering along the twisting streets in our car until happening across a parking lot. Then we meandered the same streets on foot until we came across the town’s namesake, the roman Bath. Those Romans loved to bathe and even got kinda religious about it,Look at that... a swastika and the CF logo.... buncha thieves

appointing a goddess of the hotspring. To this natural wonder they added their technological knowhow and soon had the hot water running beneath floors from hot rooms to cold rooms and steam rooms and...hey! It’s slowly coming back as I type. I do remember.
They added a temple for...Minerva? The cold room was called the frigidarium and the warm room was the tepidarium (although it sounds like someone made this up).

All that remains are scraps of its former glory and the Victorian gilding. The ‘Roman’ statues were placed there a hundred years ago so have enough weathering to be not too far out of place. The pool itself is no longer used and has turned a lovely shade of green but the video screens show computer-generated films of how it was developed and used 2,000 years ago. I could have seen that on TV. Still, the best part of travelling and life is the getting there; the journey not the destination.

I think she's trying to tell me something

And the journey was great. With the little guy left with a neighbour it was four adults enjoying one another’s company, free to share adult stories and drink beer. Conversation never dragged and the route was convoluted enough to make a simple daytrip an adventure. Next time though, we’ll have to leave enough time to actually see the town. This time ‘round it was rushrush, into the bath, take a pic, “oh,is that the time?”, a quick walkabout of the town, get in the car and fly back to Cardiff. But whether or not there isn’t a next time isn't as important as being able to say “Oh,yeah, I been to Bath...”

The Other Henge

We’ve been traveling Europe seeing and checking off the sites: pyramids - check, Ephysus - check, Stonehenge - ummmm. The guidebook said avoid at all costs. A boring bunch of rocks roped off beyond reach with a noisy highway beside. “But I’ve always wanted to see...”, “No!”, She said, “there’s better at Avebury”. And She was right. But who the heck has ever heard of Avebury? I want to brag..”and here’s me at...” but no.

She was right (She usually is, just ask her), Avebury lived up to its recognition as a world heritage sight. There’s a tiny village beside it to quench the thirst of those capable enough to navigate the swirling maze of roads between the “M” (major highway) and our stone Mecca. So our first stop was the pub. We wanted to work up to the visit and sitting at a picnic table quaffing Guiness with the Stones in view seemed to be the best way to start. And one pint became two so by the time we’d decided to it was time to get more intimate with the Stones they’d become epic in their mysticism and beauty. “These are great rocksh!” “Whoa! Look at those fields!” and so forth.

The Stones truly are wonderful. They’re big and heavy and put in place a few thousand years ago by someone with minimal technology. The experts agree they came from a long distance away but disagree on how they got there. “Glaciers”, say some “Druids dragged ‘em”, say others but we’ll never know for sure. What is certain is they’re very good for tourism so maybe they were dragged there by the locals in the still of night. What came first, the Stone or the Pub (that age-old question).

From there we braved the maze to Bath. ‘We’ is She and me with my sister who’s visiting from Canada and her hubby. We found Bath and only had to stop for directions once. That’s pretty good really even though we had google maps printed off, a guide book and map book. But I’ll have to tell you about the only hot spring in the UK next time because it’s time to go to work.

Balance

The silence of the bike ride,
the thrill of the ‘discussion’,
the flex of a muscle,
the smell of the flower,
the sound of the music,
the feel of the rythym,
the buzz from the booze,
the sound of the rain,
the pull of perfume,
the pat on the back,
the tear of joy,
the warmth of my wife,
the ache from the workout,
the challenges at work,
the clamour of children,
the thrill of adventure,
the sight of the unseen,
the glimpse of the forbidden,
the calm of the walk,
the look in the mirror,
the crackle of the fire,
the taste of the tasty,
the smiles from memories,
the rush of anger,
the perspective from reflection,
the weightlessness under water,
the excitement of the game,
the blue of the sky,
the green of the grass,
the awe of talent,
the sweat in my eyes,
the stirring below,
the touch of her skin,
the sparkle in his eyes,
the danger of speed,
the contentment of slow,
the harmony of colour,
the comfort of the pillow,
the stretch in the morning,
the aha! of understanding,
the freshness of the new,
the fear of the unknown,
the fuzziness of the future,
the purr of the cat,
the reflection on history
the wonder of life.