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Published: July 22nd 2022
Our cute little apartment has a washing machine so we decide on a morning of domestics … well that was the plan until we couldn’t find the detergent or the clothes pegs. So it’s off to the supermarket. The detergent is easy, but the pegs, well ….. I think briefly about asking, but surprising as it may seem, “clothes pegs” didn’t make the top 50 or so on my list of important phrases to learn in Spanish. Several supermarkets later I spy some on the shelves, and my long and dangerous (they drive fast here) mission is now complete. But our problems have only just begun. “I don’t know how to work the washing machine”, says Issy. I didn’t do the clothes washing module in either of my engineering degrees, but still all is not lost. We find a folder hidden away discretely in a bottom drawer, and it’s got manuals in it - for the microwave, the TV, the oven, the fridge (do you really need a manual to work out how to operate a fridge?), the stove top and the air conditioner, but for the washing machine, well nothing. There’s a large fold out leaflet with instructions on how
to install it, but unless we’re really missing something that’s been done already. I’m sensing Murphy’s Law in action. The manual on how to operate the TV runs to more than 100 pages, but we somehow managed to switch that on last night with the push of a single button and without having to read anything. In desperation we consult the Google machine, and what feels like several hours later the clothes washer finally whirs into action. That was a bit more complicated than we might have hoped for. But our troubles still aren’t over. Our clothes line is a metal contraption that concertinas out into the light well outside our bedroom window. We suspect that European clothes washers have probably spent several centuries mastering the ancient art of hanging their clothes up without letting them drop. We’re on the fourth floor. The pavement all the way down on ground level doesn’t look overly pristine so I’m suspecting that if you did happen to let a pair of undies slip you’d at very least need to fire up the washing machine again, assuming you could remember how. Fortunately Issy’s a quick learner, well either that or there’s a clothes hanging
gene hidden away in her Maltese heritage. I need a snooze; it’s been an exhausting morning.
We’ve seen a few youngsters carrying surf boards along our quiet backstreet with its ancient classical European facades. This looks to us perhaps just slightly incongruous. We head off to investigate and soon find ourselves overlooking the very large and attractive sandy expanse of Zurriola Beach. There’s not a cloud in sight, and it’s packed with sun worshippers, swimmers and wave riders.
The buildings along the esplanade behind the beach are all very attractive, with one glaring exception, a large grey concrete monstrosity at the city end that looks to us like a particularly ugly multi-storey car park. The Google machine tells us that this is the Kursaal Congress Centre and Auditorium, completed in 1999. Someone in the town planning department must have been high on something when they let that eyesore get through. But what would we know; we read on to learn that it won the 2001 European Union Prize for Contemporary Architecture. Hmmm.
We cross the river and make our way through the backstreets to the even longer Beach of La Concha. This is also packed with sun
worshippers, but it‘s in a protected bay so there’s not a lot of action here for the board riders.
We head out for a pre-dinner stroll along Zurriola Beach. We try to view the Kursaal in a new light now that we know its status as an architectural icon, but no, to us it still looks like an ugly multi-storey car park. Not that I’ve noticed, well actually I think I might have, but topless sunbathing seems to be a thing here. I hadn’t previously realised however that middle-aged blokes taking all their gear off and having a not so quick shower out in the middle of the sand in full view of the assembled masses was also a thing. Apart from putting me off my dinner I think this might also be affecting my appreciation of the Kursaal’s architectural merit, or lack thereof.
We hoe into some tasty sardines, calamari and octopus down by the waterfront. As we left our apartment earlier it was a bit hard not to notice a nearby establishment called “Gerald’s Bar, Melbourne - San Sebastian”. Surely that’s not our Melbourne? It’s now time for a nightcap and where better. Sure enough it
is our Melbourne; our waitress tells us that Gerald has two bars, one here and another back in our homeland. Small world, not to mention tasty liqueurs. We’d heard that San Sebastián is renowned as having the highest concentration of Michelin star restaurants anywhere on the planet, and our waitress tells us that the gastronomes come here all year round, even when the beaches are empty. I was struggling to think of anyone I’ve ever known who’d bother to travel any great distance just to eat, but then I remembered our beloved daughter Emma. In her case it’s travelling vast distances across the Canadian wilderness to get pizza, sushi and bagels, and I’m not sure any of those’d be too high on anyone’s lists of gastronomic delicacies. Still, there’s a precedent there, so I guess it’s also conceivable that the world’s gastronomes might be willing to make their way to San Sebastián in the depths of winter to get their fixes, although in their cases probably something more along the lines of lobster and caviar…..
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RENanDREW
Ren & Andrew
Gerald's Bar!
You have to try the Melbourne one on your return... it's in one of my favourite stomping grounds of the north - the treed section of Rathdowne St in North Carlton :)