In the Basque Heartland

This article appeared at Escape, a travel site from Australia:

In the Basque heartland

In the Basque country of southwest France David May found a picture-postcard landscape

September 26, 2004

AFTER four days driving through pelting rain, the sun-drenched curve of Biarritz beach appeared like a mirage. It was early spring and a couple of dog-lovers strolled the almost deserted sands as a solitary surfer skimmed across the gentle blue-green swell of the Gulf of Gascony.

In southwest France, in the foothills of the western Pyrenees, Biarritz is the crown jewel of the Pays Basque, homeland of the Basque people since the 6th century. But away from the glitzy, celebrity-studded coast, the Basque heartland is a postcard-Pyrenean landscape of sinuous hills and valleys where rivers run fast and passions run deep.

Famous for their fiery food and music, Basques are a spiritedly self-sufficient people stubbornly wedded to their culture and a mysterious ancient tongue full of perplexing words beginning with Xs, Ks, and TTs.

In the rural interior, beech forests and farms speckled with sheep separated little villages, each with its traditional trio – town hall, church and pelote court.

Pelote is similar to squash except the ball is flung at the wall with a curved basket.

The villages with their red-shuttered, whitewashed houses seemed similar but there were subtle differences. Espelette has given its name to a unique Basque chilli pepper and celebrates the local chilli harvest with a two-day annual festival. Itxassou has cherry orchards and a lovely rustic church while Hasparren snoozes at the foot of the Pyrenees, stirring only for the annual Pamplona-style running of the cows. In Louhossoa, a grim stone church towers over a graveyard of crosses and disc-shaped Basque headstones and pretty red and white buildings on the tree-lined streets beyond.

But all roads lead to St Jean Pied de Port, the most beautiful of the Basque towns, founded in the 13th century by the last Basque king, Sancho the Strong.

Since the Middle Ages, St Jean Pied de Port has been the main staging post for pilgrims trekking to the Tomb of St James at Santiago de Compostela across the Spanish border. They still do.
In the late afternoon the sun played on the citadel that dominates the town while stirring Basque music played quietly from speakers.

From the citadel, Rue de la Citadelle descended steeply to the river, a cobbled street lined with ancient rose-tinted granite houses dating back to 1510.

At the bottom, at the end of a stone bridge, was the neo-Gothic and sensibly named Church of Our Lady at the End of the Bridge.

At Cafe le Trinquet a sturdy waitress brought a bottle of Irouleguy, a Basque red wine, for the spiced chicken basquaise, casseroled with capsicum, garlic, tomatoes and Espelette peppers. That and the Iraty fromage de brebis (sheep's cheese) with a dollop of blackberry jam were superb.

Saturday afternoon in St Jean Pied de Port was drenched in a deluge. Locals retreated to the Ttipia Bar to sing and dance to accordions and drums and to quaff Akerbeltz beer, pittara, a sharp-tasting cider and a potent herb liqueur called izzara.

It all seemed a bit like home. Patrons placed bets with the PMU (French TAB) but most of the beret-topped men were there to watch the rugby super 12s on wide-screen TV and on another, the pelote match of the day – an apparently critical confrontation between the muscled men of Larramendi and Eguzkiza.

The blokes muttered encouragement or disapproval as pelote players punished the court walls while girls with fashionable curly hair and flashing dark eyes screeched adoringly at their heroes. Pelote players have been paid professionals since the 16th century and this was serious business.

Suddenly, it was over. Grinning Eguzkiza players told the story and the passionate young fans returned to what the Basques do best – the music and dance that shook Ttipia Bar to its old oak rafters late into Saturday night.

.... ... .