La Rhune and St-Jean-de-Luz

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In Basque Country.

The Basque region straddles the border between southwestern France and the mid-north of Spain, along the Bay of Biscay. As we set out on today's adventure Cindy began by telling us some of the history and culture of the Basque people. She described them as being an ancient and fiercely independent people whose existence can be traced back to the first century, B.C. She reported that many characteristics distinguish the Basque people from their French and Spanish "hosts," not limited to the obvious, being language and architecture, but including distinctive DNA traits.

The Basques are not happy with the vagaries of history that have left them a conquered and divided nation. Separatist movements in the region have led to acts of terrorism and blood has been shed.

The transition from France to Basque country is quite dramatic. The first thing we notice is in the design of houses, leaving the French cream-coloured, red tile roofed design behind, the Basque house is generally two story, with white plaster/stucco walls, shuttered windows and doors painted red, green or blue, and with similarly coloured wood trim at the corners and seams.

Street signage in Basque, totally untranslatable by the untutored eye, is followed by French in smaller font. The Basque language features lots of X’s and other consonants, and bears no relationship to either French or Spanish.

Our destination today was the La Rhune Mountain, approximately 15km south of Saint-Jean-de-Luz. More specifically, we were bound for “Le Petit Train de La Rhune” which is a cog-driven electric train that snakes its way up to the 3000-foot summit of that mountain on a journey of about 10km lasting 30 minutes or so.





Weather at the base of the mountain was wet and very cool. As the train ascended the mountain the temperature fell and the light rain turned to sleet then to snow. But such an amazing trip! As we chugged along, the geological history of the Pyrenees seemed to unravel before us. Excavation for the rail line had laid bare wonderful strata of sedimentary rock of vast variety in composition and colour. I claimed as my personal possession a huge, ball-shaped rock that was about eight feet in diameter and was sitting in the middle of a field. This remarkable rock was made up entirely of a composite of smooth, rounded, fist-sized or smaller river rock! How in the world did river rock find its way to a meadow 2500 feet up a mountain? For an explanation the interested reader can Google “Plate Tectonics.”

Rocks weren’t the only points of interest. Wild Pyrenees ponies nestled for shelter from the snow under leafy trees. Sheep, some newly shorn, grazed beside the rail line. For one of our troop, from Venezuela via Miami, the snow itself was a wonder never before seen. She would put out her hand to catch a descending flake and then express wonder as “It turns to water!”

By the time we reached the final stage of this journey the weather had really closed in. Driving snow reduced visibility to a few dozen feet and the paths leading to the actual summit were icy and treacherous. Not being able to witness any scenic views we retreated to a chalet-type structure that featured a bar, a restaurant, and a souvenir shop. A huge oil-fed space heater was roaring away and most of us took a moment to warm ourselves before exploring the facility any further.

In the souvenir shop, on a whim, I bought a Basque beret, daringly emblazoned with the Basque flag. This turned out to be the best souvenir I have ever purchased, and let me tell you why: The Basque beret is unlike its Parisian cousin, the latter being more what one might call “dainty” compared to the rugged Pyrenees version. My new hat was made of heavy wool, so was amazingly warm and comfortable there on the mountain top and throughout the remainder of our trip. The Basque beret is traditionally worn flat on top of the head, but I preferred to rake it jauntily to one side or the other, using the floppy top as a ball-cap-like brim to shield from the sun. In addition, when the weather was very cold, as it was today, the beret can be pulled down over the ears, toque-style, adding to its warmth. If all this functionality was not enough, the beret can be pulled down over the eyes, while on a long, tedious bus or airplane ride, allowing the fortunate wearer to shut out the world and get some sleep. What a remarkable device; worth the trip to France to discover.

Soon we ventured back out onto the summit area which, by the way, is actually in Spain, to discover that the weather had miraculously cleared, and we could now see for miles across the Spanish Pyrenees to the south and to the Atlantic Ocean to the west. Our show-covered perch transcended as it descended, turning to beautiful, green-pastured valleys with rivers and brooks bubbling (one imagines) along through them. A local assured me that there were trout and other varieties of fish in those waters. I liked this place a lot.




Saint-Jean-de-Luz.

Descending from the mountain we made the short drive into the delightful sea-side town of Saint-Jean-de-Luz. With a quick orientation we were free to wander at will in order to see some sights and to find some lunch. Being more interested in the latter than the former, we found ourselves in a back-street restaurant called "Chez Kako." This again was a novel experience because the restaurant staff spoke no English and only a reluctant smattering of French (similar to Quebec City, only in Basque.) The hospitality was exceptional, however, and the food was excellent. The atmosphere was completed when we were seated beside a trio of locals who yammered away unintelligibly but threw the occasional friendly smile our way.

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