a tisket, a tasket, watch me as i basque-it

it's been a minute since i saw you last, but i always say this. so thanks for coming back around. i understand that we both have our own lives to navigate and govern, but knowing that we can reconvene to touch base (too business-vernacular-y for this venue?) is something that brings me a great deal of comfort. like discount birkenstocks. (heyo!)

almost two weeks ago saturday (yes, it's taken me a long time to finally write this), i packed up my life once again, bid adieu to "petit blaumari" (the barca barco, aka my former abode by the sea), and hurriedly schlepped and sweat my way to the train station with my eyes on the prize to the north. i made it on the train with no more than about three minutes to spare (my late grandfather, connoisseur of trains, travel, and all things punctual, would have cursed me--in the way only he could, which was both frightening and charmingly humorous--a thousand times for this indiscretion) and i schlumped (i am going to squeeze in as many quasi-yiddish words in here as i can) into my seat, patted my brow with the train schmata they call paper towels, and b r e a t h e d. i had with me a bag of food (my standard: crackers, cheese, jamon serrano, apple) and an ipod to help the six-hour journey along. much to my surprise, they decided to show a movie. i got lucky (do i have to tell you when i am slathering the sarcasm or can you pick up on it?) with their selection of "confessions of a shopaholic" or rather "loco por las compras" because, oh yes, it was in spanish. somehow, a movie i had less than zero interest in watching became a challenge i was definitely up for. the movie was not my style, but getting the gist of it was. the six hours passed so quickly; nothing like the equivalent time on a plane. i am such a fan of the traversing the tracks.

i arrived in san sebastian at around 10:30 in the evening and awaited my next couchsurfing host. asier retrieved me from the station and took me to drop off my things at his very clean, comfortable, and modern apartment. we then went out to the parte vieja (old town) to have a drink and walk around. a few standard basque beverages are kalimotxo (red wine mixed with coke--a drink beloved by the youths), txakoli (a dry white wine typical of the region), and sidra (a local cider). the clubs are all packed with people of all ages and walks. asier informs me that there was a french rugby match during the day and thus many drunk frenchmen would be roaming the streets in the aftermath. at one bar we visited, we had the pleasure of seeing a middle-aged frenchy drop his pants in the middle of the bar--a reminder that alcohol is a true equalizer across cultures. amen. as we roamed the packed and chaotic streets, we popped into the occasional bar for one drink to check the people, the music, the scene. when i noted that one guy was exceptionally tall, asier informed me that he plays for the basque team. but i wouldn't know him, they're not very good. after a bit of this, we headed back to the house to get a little sleep in and gear up for tomorrow, which was gonna be a big one.

sunday morning in san sebastian. for a town so quaint and seemingly perfect, this was the beginning of absolute mayhem that would be matched only a couple other times during the calendar year. asier and i got up and out, met his friends who took the train in from pamplona, and we all went to a packed bar for a heavy breakfast to line the stomach (fried eggs, fried ham, fried potatoes, bread) and sipped some txakoli. drinking wine with breakfast at 11:00 am was a new one for me, but hey, i'm trying to be authentic here. from our table, we stretched out necks to see the regatta (boat race) on tv--each region had their own team competing, and thus their own color, and the bar clientele were segregated and delineated by the color of their shirts. each blob of color would be cheering for their team and, after the races were done, we head out to run amok in the chaos. it seemed that all inhabitants of the area, of all ages, were lining the old town streets. all bars were open, packed with drunkards or soon-to-be's, music was playing loudly, people were scarfing calamari sandwiches like a wolf devours its prey. i had fun hanging with the pack of boys; speaking nothing but spanish all day propelled me into a new bracket of conversation and comprehension. within the first 30 minutes, i gave them all nicknames too: asier was besucon for always making a kissy face, the super tall guy was alto (i know, not very creative), another was fantasma because i thought the image on his shirt resembled a ghost, one was rosita because of his pinkish abercrombie polo (FAIL!), one was joven meaning "young", because he was always drinking kalimotxo, and lastly i called ruben criminal because he snagged a cocktail and glass from one bar and took it to the next. the rest of the day needs no explanation, but it was long and draining. at around 5:00 pm i was ready to be done, and the streets looked like the receptacle of a port-a-potty. i was looking forward to seeing how much clean-up could be done overnight. the night was pure lounging at the pad with asier, watching spanish tv shows such as "sin tetas no hay paraiso" aka "without tits there is no paradise". really, this is the name of it. i kid you not.

the next day, i set out into town to see how the clean-up had gone down. the walk from asier's neighborhood into old town requires a stroll along the river and then the crossing of a bridge. whether it's sunny or raining, this is a beautiful place to be. the hotel maria cristina, which sits on the river, is the poshest hotel where all the celebs stay, and was currently anticipating the arrival of brad pitt, among others, for the film festival approaching that weekend. i arrived in old town and decided to take a walk along the beach to the other side. while walking i overheard some english and asked two girls where they were from. i discovered they were new zealanders and we walked and talked for about 15 minutes, then parted ways. i went to the end of the walkway along the beach and to a funicular which takes you to the top of this mountain. the view from above is nothing unlike a postcard. seeing it for even a moment is enough to convince you you want to see this view every morning of your life in order to achieve nirvana. or something. i soaked it up, took a few photos (they're on facebook, people), and head back to old town to eat some pintxos.

the way of eating in this town is unlike most experiences i've had. you walk down a street and can pop into any number of places that have little bites of food on platters across the bar. you take what you want, tell them what you had, and they tell you what you owe. some places have a few tables to provide the option to sit, but they seemed to only be utilized by tourist families. as far as i was concerned, it was standing room only. the best part about this experience is you are not committed; you walk in, have one pintxo (bread with jamon, membrillo [quince paste], and cheese, for example, or piquillo peppers stuffed with tuna, and the list goes on) pay the 1.80 or 2.50 euro and keep moving. it's a pub crawl, but instead of taking you from sober to drunk, it takes you from hungry to full. all the while exercising!

i head back to the apt to chill for a bit and in the evening i met up with alex, a chef and fellow san franciscan, who was in the midst of a bit of a culinary tour. we went to the local supermarket to buy some food for dinner. he was staying in a hostel with a couple drunk irishmen, a girl from canada, and a girl from ohio. i invited asier over to join as well, and we all went to town on a roasted chicken (that alex had the pleasure of decapitating) and rice with white beans, chistorra (basque chorizo), peppers, onions, tomatoes, and chicken stock (that alex made from the excess parts of the pollo). after hanging out, eating, and drinking some wine, we all took a stroll down the street to get some gelato and i met some more young irish surfers who were passing through and had a chat.

ok, so i don't really intend to bog you down with the daily play-by-play so i will say that most of my days were similar, with a few variations. one day i met up with the exchange student that came to stay with my family last year, and then javi, another guy from couchsurfing, picked me up and took me for a day trip to his town of hondarribia, about 20 km to the north, near france. it's an amazing little fishing town with lots of history and old streets. he took me to a historic castle/hotel where we had a coffee and then we walked to the harbor where the big fishing boats are and you can see across the water where france's boats sit. i could almost throw a paper airplane over to another country! too bad i'm not very good at making them. after a few traditional pintxos, i hopped a bus back to san sebastian and was greeted by a crazy downpour. i, of course, had no umbrella (ella, ella, ay), so i ran into a chinese store (apparently this nis totally acceptable to say) and bought one, then journeyed to alex's hostel to meet him and asier for some dinner.

the next day the weather was a bit cold, but i walked around, and then later arrived another couchsurfer with whom i would share asier. she was from a maltese family in australia, spoke no spanish, and was travelling all over, a different country every couple days it seemed. within a few days, i felt like i knew the place pretty well, so between me (with the visitor's perspective and the fluent english) and asier (with the local's perspective and the gradually improving english), we took her for a walk around and then started hitting up a few pintxo spots. we saved the best for last, and thankfully, because to cap off the night, asier took us to a place called cuchara (spoon), where we had foie, beef cheek, and some kind of gland. all were so rich and prety-ty, pret-ty good. it was a good note on which to end my basque stay.

the next day was my last. i went adventuring with the aussie while asier was at work, and then he took me to the train station to depart. there was some trouble with the train (a fire on the track, perhaps? clearly i need to beef up on my "transportation emergency" vocab) so we stalled at the station, awaiting an update. while standing there, i met a young guy, fellow english-speaker--another aussie on a long journey around europe. we became buds and, when the bus arrived (with no explanation of how far it was taking us), we got on with forty senior citizens, passed notes to pass the time, and struggled to maintain composure as we both badly had to "hang a piss". two hours later we arrived at a train station that was to take us straight to barcelona. and so was the end of my san sebastime.

overall, a few reflections after the fact:
how does one attempt to explain san sebastian as a whole? it's quite possibly not a real entity. it is an idyllic illusion that has been created out of holograms and wine. it's a dichotomy of the trust sort: extremely complex and conflicted while also intensely and effortlessly like paradise. the basque people consider themselves autonomous and unique--not french, and not quite spanish. sort of the anti-venn diagram, as the overlap of the countries has created something that doesnt quite belong to or relate to either. walking through parte vieja, you'll stroll one street where ETA (euskadi ta askatasuna or basque homeland and freedom) prisoners' headshots dress the building walls, and then turn the corner and see an inviting pasteleria and a distant view of the peaceful coastline and thirst-quenching ocean. jux-ta-pose.

unrelated but also noteworthy was my observation that the older women of san sebastian are perhaps some of the most fashionable over-fifty that i have ever encountered. always to the nines with their chic attire, hair and makeup, but not in the beverly hills sort of way. here they take pride in their look, and they rock it well. since i was out walking during the weekdays when most in my demographic are learning, teaching, or hustling, i saw a great deal of-- what seemed to be--retirees. the way i saw the these people (women and men alike) walking along the beach with their style and apparent contentment restored my faith in aging just a bit. granted, this is most likely the lifestyle made possible by a great deal of funding, but to know it is possible, at age 78, to be savoring the day, sporting a bikini, strolling in a pack with your friends of forty years, took the slightest edge off my typical cynicism.

lastly, a few trends that persist: lip piercings (1 in 5 under 30!), the extreme mullet (military in the front, guns n' roses/tina turner/bob marley in the back), and, i must note, the gladiator sandals over pants because, i was the only one to rock this in the states and people thought i was weird. it is everywhere here, and doesn't mean i'm not weird. but, ya know, i'm just sayin.

and with that, if i still have your attention after what has possibly been the longest-awaited and lengthiest image-free update, i will bid you farewell from barcelona, where i feel like i live now, know the city so well, and will be weeping tears of sangria when i leave on tuesday for marrakesh. i shall now embark on day two of the catalonian festival of festivals, la merce!

H A S T A