Euskadi

5 – The crying Gods of Euskadi

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Wednesday, July 23rd: The patron saints of the Basque language are apparently very chatty and told all of the other Gods about my untended mutilation of one of their names and they all started to cry at the same time. Otherwise I don’t have an explanation for what awaits us this morning. The nine o’clock rain hits us at about 3 in the morning, without the tiniest chance to pack up anything. At least I get to close the windows in the front of the Grrrmaneta this time. The door in the back I leave open, so the mattress and the pillows get moistened a bit. But surely they would dry later on. What a naive thought. It takes us some time to pack. I manage to rebuild Grrrmaneta into a five-seater with the kids inside and barely stepping outside myself. But by the time we have everything in the car, we are completely soaked through. And all of our stuff is soaked through. Especially the clothes we washed in the evening and wanted to dry outside overnight. I decide to head over to the reception and pay our bill in my pyjamas because I don’t have any more dry clothes at hand. We leave beautiful Hondarribia accompanied by the tears of the Gods who must be very, very pissed because the rain follows us until we reach Pamplona. There they apparently hand over to some Gods of wrath.

We intended to stop in Pamplona, maybe visit the town center and get some breakfast. Impossible. We don’t get around in the town, we are circling everything multiple times, but can’t find even a place to park. Okay then, no breakfast in Pamplona, I get it. At a roundabout I nearly crash Grrrmaneta when a driver from the inside lane decides to suddenly take the exit while I was still looking for the correct path out of this hell. Good thing I sometimes have a sixth sense and so I had already slowed down before suddenly stepping on the brake. For the rest of the trip (and probably a long time after), cars with scratches and dents get labeled „they tried to have breakfast in Pamplona“.

Breakfast turns into snacks from the car and we skip coffee. At a very dusty and run down parking spot near a vineyard we decide to take a break. My husband unpacks the tent and lays it out flat to dry for some time. I do the same with my damp clothes. It’s not raining anymore and it’s about 24 degrees already. We must be close to the desert now. I decide to change since I still wear my wet pyjamas and have been driving in my chunky beach sandals, and like a foreshadowing of things that will happen about a week later, the vineyard farmer decides to take care of exact that row next to the parking space the moment I am standing there with no pants on. But I don’t care, all I know in this moment is I have dry clothes on and warming up. Next stop Zaragoza.

4 – We are finally here!

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Tuesday, July 22nd: After a perfect night of sleep in the car resp. the tent, we wake up with no intentions to drive today. We ask at the reception if we could stay one more day. They are struggling a bit with this request, but the nice lady then gives me a thumbs up: „We will manage. Stay.“ I already love the people here. So we walk into the town. Only metres away from the camping site a guy with a bike asks us to take a picture of him and a road sign. He’s from Belgium and apparently this town is part of a famous bike race in which Belgians are very successful. I don’t know about bike racing, but I recognize a fan face when I see one. He is very pleased to see this place for himself. That’s something I know and totally understand.

On the next corner we are checking the map when a woman approaches us and asking us something we don’t understand. She then gives us directions in clear Spanish, about how that one street is easier to walk than the other if we wanted to see this spot in town. She switches back mid-sentence, but her smile does not need any translation. I feel a bit dumb for not understanding everything, but she sounds nice and smiles supportive and we decide to take her advice.

We arrive at the town center and immediately stop like tourists to take pictures. It’s breathtaking beautiful here!

And the first black cat is crossing my path. Apparently I am Alice, but following black cats to Wonderland instead of white rabbits.

We walk down to the promenade and try to get some coffee or a snack. Drinks are no problem, but when we try to order food, the waitress ignores us. We have the menus and already decided, but that woman does not return to our table. Well then.

Next stop beach. We finally get to dip our toes into the Bay of Biscay, but the kids decide it’s not only the toes. That we don’t have packed things to change is no reason for them to hold back. At least we have sunscreen.

The way back is hard. We find a supermarket and buy something to eat and drink, but we are all exhausted. We can’t find a bus or at least information if any of the busses will go anywhere near the camping site. We try to get a taxi, but it’s not working here as usual. Here, you apparently have to call the cab company. There are two numbers on the table, both are not working. I walk into a bar and ask if they could call a taxi for me, but they won’t. I check the internet and find a third number and call them. „Hello? Do you speak English?“ – „No, thank you!“ Yay, information and opinion in one short sentence, thank you, Sir! But I didn’t deserve my 660 day streak on Duolingo if I wasn’t capable of ordering a taxi. One year ago I already mastered this quest in Zaragoza. Okay then, en Español. It’s working pretty well. Until they ask me where we were waiting. Instead of telling them the name of the bar behind the taxi stand which was one very easy word, I try to pronounce the name of the street. At that moment I guess I broke the heart of all patron saints of the Basque language, but I promise, I am very sorry, I tried, my feet hurt and the kids were soaked through. Awkward silence. The man on the phone says the name again, barely waits for my yes and hangs up.

A taxi pulls up. A man with two kids gets in because they are standing on the other side of the street while I am still waiting for the green light. One of the kids looks sick, so I let them go. But I try to tell the driver that I am the one who called and still hasn’t got the taxi. He’s talking on his radio and gestures something I read as „someone else will come“. A minute later another cab arrives, thank god, the driver knows a bit of English. He’s nice, he helps with the bags and apparently did not witness the unintended destruction of his lovely language. He tells us that in the city kids don’t need a booster seat (I asked for that on the phone – in Spanish and I am still a bit proud about this accomplishment) which I still try to verify because I have never heard of this. On the other hand, it’s not my licence and I won’t have to pay the fee and the kids are big enough already to not have the seatbelt sitting in their faces. It’s just a short ride, they’ll be fine.

Back at the camping site, my husband is making a delicious Paella on the little camping stove and we’re having real Spanish beer. La vida es maravillosa.

We make a plan for the next day: Leave early, because the forecast predicted rain at 9 in the morning and we want to get the tent into the car before it gets wet.

3 – Why are we still in France

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Monday, July 21st: We wake up in the morning, the tent is a bit wet, but we intend to find another campsite soon, so a few hours in the rooftop box won’t do it any harm. One horrible instant „Type Latte Macchiato“ later we pack up, put the seats back where they belong and leave. We want to go for breakfast in La Rochelle, but take a roundtrip first because I get distracted when thinking about coffee. Of the famous Asiatique to be exact. I have to try it some day.

La Rochelle is pretty, but it’s still France. We wander around the town center, there is a market in front of a food hall. The kids don’t know whether to throw up from the sight of dead fish or dead mammals, I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry that there are people at about 11 in the morning drinking white wine in the sun and eating oysters while I am still craving coffee. We get some pain de chocolate („por favor“ – oh please, not again!) and I finally get to try pastéis de nata which taste heavenly. We see Bogoseñales and decide to take one look at the sea before finally, finally leaving for Spain.

In the evening there are signs that we are near the border. Road signs that say „Espagne“ for example. We wanted to go to Zaragoza, but it’s impossible to do at least three more hours on the road today. We decide to find a spot near the border, but on the Spanish side. There’s a nice looking place in Hondarribia, it’s only a short ride from where we are now and they have a spot available. We’re relieved because we are both dead tired. This trip is exhausting. France is exhausting. But then something magical happens: We’re crossing a bridge and we’re suddenly in Spain! There is no doubt, Exoplaneta is playing and the road signs have turned into a beautiful yet kind of disturbing mixture of consonants, like a complete opposite of Finnish. This must be it, the famous Euskadi – with its proud people and beautiful landscapes. I heard they are sometimes mistaken to be stubborn here and that you can’t understand anything at all when they are talking. Well, that’s what they say about people from northern Germany as well, especially about those from the seashore. I think we’ll get along just fine.

We arrive at the camping site, we get a spot in the front, next to some Belgians, Netherlands and a nice guy from Spain with a cute dog. K1 and I think there might be a galgo somewhere in the ancestry so we automatically like him. The dog also likes us and gets a bit overexcited with the greetings and scares K2 half to death.

We set up the tent, prepare Grrrmaneta for the night and check out the place. And then I see it and start laughing like a crazy woman. Imagine driving 2000 kilometres and then run into people from Hannover. The couple who owns the car looks a bit „pikiert“ at us (I cannot translate this word, it’s like pissed and amused and a hundred other things at once), but cheer up when I can breathe again and thell them why I was laughing. They are travelling along the north, but will be home before the 31st. I get the feeling otherwise they would have tried to get tickets for the concert, they were very interested in what we were telling them.

The restaurant is still open, we order two beers, lemonade for the kids and some fries, croquetas with fish and rabas. The beer arrives quickly, I think wringing out the tent would have been more tasteful, but it’s at least cold. The croquetas are with ham and the fries not done. We try to make the waiter understand that we would keep the croquetas, but cancel the rabas which he apparently forgot to write down, but in the end we have two variations of croquetas, rabas and the cold fries which are not eatible. At least they didn’t charge us for the second plate of croquetas.