Pig’s Bladders, Sardines, Big-Heads, And Devils

Mid-August is one of the best times to visit San Sebastian. This is when it holds its annual Semana Grande (Big Week) fiesta. If you’ve ever wanted to get your posterior whacked with a pig’s bladder, this is the chance to indulge your fantasy. Inflated into small balloons, the bladders are wielded by rapscallions dressed as cabezudos (big-heads). Accompanied by stilted gigantes (giants), these carnival-type figures prowl the streets in the guise of red devils, witches, and gnomes. 

Semana Grande isn’t the only time for extravaganzas here. As elsewhere in Spain, fiestas are held at the drop of a red Basque beret. There are fireworks during the Lenten carnival, which also sees the odd tradition of cremating a sardine. Apparently the sardine is paraded through the streets “amidst a crowd of weeping mourners” and then set on fire in front of the Town Hall gardens. People dress in ghostly white sheets to accompany the funeral cortège.

Elegant Spain

My second stop was to the elegant coastal town of San Sebastian—home to 180,000 people and set around a magnificent horseshoe bay. It’s only 15 miles down the road from France, which may explain the Gallic feel to its squares and balconied townhouses. In the 1920s, it vied for the title of Queen of the Atlantic coast with Biarritz. 

San Sebastian has three beaches: Ondaretta, shell-shaped La Concha, and Zurriola. All are busy in summer. Most families bring their own sun-beds/chairs and beach parasols, or just flop down on towels. For $9.50 you can rent a plastic chair for the day at Playa Ondaretta, but they looked uncomfortable. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by Italian hedonism, but I couldn’t understand why some entrepreneur wasn’t renting proper sun-beds.

But people don’t come just for beaches. During Semana Grande there are bullfights, horse-racing, pelota championships, jazz, mariachi bands, and celebrations of Basque music and folklore. I thought it was only England where daft men in Wee Willie Winkie caps bounced about on hobby-horses, but no. After watching a free folklore performance in Plaza Constitucion, I can assure you eccentricity reigns here, too. 

And so do pinxtos—bar counters are piled high with them. Known as tapas in other parts of Spain, these tasty snacks encompass everything from tortilla slices (potato and onion omelet), fried squid rings, cod-fish croquettes, cured ham, and plump pink shrimps in bacon overcoats. Typical price for a pinxto and glass of cava champagne: $2.80.

Service With A Scowl 

In the Parte Vieja (old quarter), I saw an odd poster. It depicted a chunk of land impaled with a flag similar to a Union Jack—though this banner was red, white, and green. It said “Welcome,” but it also read: “Tourist Beware: you are not in Spain nor in France. You are in the Basque Country.”

I guessed it had been stuck up by ETA, the militant separatists whose demands for  independence from Spain (and to a lesser extent France) have been growling on for decades. Although membership in ETA is illegal, I’d earlier seen a demonstration of people carrying banners and photographs of imprisoned/dead family. It’s worrying to hear about car bombs and assassinations, but ETA’s paramilitaries rarely strike in their own backyard. Really, there’s no reason not to explore the Basque Country. It’s politicians and judges who are targeted, not tourists. 

But if you firmly believe the tourist is king, you’re in for a rude shock. The Basque Country contains some of the surliest individuals I’ve ever come across. (Yes, I know travel writers are supposed to witter about “friendly locals,” but somehow I doubt there’s a Basque phrase for “Have a nice day.”)

Honestly, if you owned a dog as grumpy as the woman in the Alsa bus ticket office, you’d get it put down. But that wasn’t the only instance... I bought a property magazine, and never got a thank you. I got into an argument (which I won) with a wretch trying to steal a taxi I’d waited 20 minutes for. And most waiters act as though they’re doing you a favor taking your order. As Spanish-speaking customers were treated with similar brusqueness, I doubt my own “foreignness” was the issue.

I’m not suggesting all Basque folk are unfriendly or service with a scowl applies everywhere. I have no complaints about the atmosphere in Restaurante Anastasio (Calle Easo 19). Or the food—I can recommend the langostinos à la plancha (grilled giant shrimp) at $14—served by a happy-looking waitress. But in the main, don’t expect effusiveness. 

Cantabria—Life’s A Beach

West of Bilbao is the Cantabria region. Less intimidating, more easy-going than the Basque Country, it has 177 miles of coastline and 87 fabulous beaches. Some are urban, others are wild. All are of the soft-gold-sand variety. 

The regional capital is Santander. Another medium-sized city of 185,000, it’s the main car ferry route from Plymouth in Britain. Perhaps because they see only the scruffy port area, few foreigners linger. That’s a shame, because Santander is an attractive city with some of Spain’s best urban beaches—11 in total. With this many to choose from, you have a better chance of privacy than in San Sebastian.

The city’s heart is Plaza del Generalisimo, site of Esperanza market, a monumental Ayuntamiento (town hall) and—a rarity in today’s Spain—a statue of General Franco. I didn’t notice any of those in the Basque Country! Across the plaza, on avenida Calvo Sotelo, bronze sidewalk plaques indicate this is part of the Camino, the pilgrim way to Santiago de Compostela in the western province of Galicia. 

Paseo de Pereda separates the historic city from the beach area. From the shady Pereda gardens—where there are evening poetry readings, open-air bookstalls, and childrens’ carousels—you can take a two-mile walk along the waterfront past belle epoque villas and mirador viewpoints to Plaza Italia. During summer, this is where Santander’s pulse beats strongest. The huge square has a casino and also fronts El Sardinero, Santander’s  best beach. Numerous restaurants have summer terraces—three-course menu del dias average $12. On Plaza Italia itself, Café Lisboa does an excellent paella de mariscos (saffron rice and shellfish) for $15. It’s as good as in Valencia, paella’s homeland. 

Naturally sea temperatures aren’t as high as along Spain’s Mediterranean coast, but El Sardinero felt warm enough for me—and countless others cooling off with a swim. Unlike in southern Spain, few women remove bikini tops. Signs at the entrance to every beach indicate nudismo (nudity) is a no-no, and radios and dogs are barred, too. Everybody sticks to the rules.

Affordable Cantabrian Properties

Cantabria has more affordable homes than the Basque Country. For the province, it’s $106 per square foot, but this rises to an average $163 per square foot in Santander. Around Paseo Pereda and El Sardinero neighborhoods, you’re still talking $423 to $507 per square foot for quality apartments with elevators and sea views. On Paseo Pareda, a 1,235-square-foot duplex with three bedrooms and views of the bay is listed for $573,300. At El Sardinero, a 730-square-foot apartment (one bedroom) is $317,000. (Service/maintenance charges average $120 monthly.)

Same goes for neighboring Laredo, which has Cantabria’s longest stretch of beach—three golden miles of sand. Certainly for those who bought in 1998, this has provena worthwhile investment. These areas have recorded annual 15% rises for each of the past four years.

However, you can find affordable homes in Cantabria’s mountainous and remote beyond. Seinco currently lists a finca (farmhouse) with almost 5,000 square feet of interior space for $65,000. It’s near a village called Polaciones—a two-hour drive from the coast. 

(By the way, Seinco is the only real estate agency with a good English-speaker I found in all Green Spain.) 

According to Senor Balbas, habitable country houses for less than $120,000 exist— but they’ll be at least 30 miles from the coast. Five miles from Santander, at Lliencres, he has a 2,100-square-foot house for $348,000. That’s a typical price for a house this size. Contact: Seinco Inmobiliaria (Martinez Balbas), Plaza de la Esperanza 4, 39001 Santander, Spain; tel./fax (34)942-214-142.

The Rain In Spain

Despite the proverb, Spain’s rain does not fall mainly on the plain. It’s bucketing down all over “Green Spain”... the Pais Vasco, Cantabria, Asturias, and Galicia. Even in summer, weather is unreliable. Sea mist—thick as fog—often shrouds the Bay of Biscay.

One day in San Sebastian, I was grounded by “las tormentas”—cracking thunder, jagged lightning, and enough rain to float Noah’s Ark. If you have only one or two weeks vacation time (and for most north Europeans, vacation time means time bronzing on the beach), it’s understandable why southern Spain seems more appealing. 

Although northern Spain is cooler than the south, it’s not sweater cold. August’s daytime temperatures nudged over 90° F—hot enough for me. 

The Village Of The Three Lies

I didn’t have much time to explore Cantabria’s interior, but if cobble-stoned Santillana del Mar is representative, there’s lots to go back for. Its 13th-century streets—all bell-towers, cloisters, and golden stone houses—are as lovely as any Tuscan hamlet. The collegiate church is festooned with animal motifs, and numerous palatial facades bear coats of arms and militaristic mottos like un buen morir es honra de la vida (a good death honors life). 

Santillana has a strange nickname: the “village of the three lies.” Ni es santa, ni llana, ni tiene mar, as it’s put in Spanish—neither sainted, flat, or on the coast. Admittedly it’s not beside the sea, and hills are all around, but the unsaintly tag seems harsh. The original settlement was founded by monks 1,200 years ago—they brought with them the relics of St Juliana, martyred in Rome. The village later became a stopover for pilgrims journeying to Santiago de Compostela and St. James’ shrine.

Language Lessons

Don’t contemplate visiting Green Spain without a phrase book. English-speakers are few —it would be impossible to live here without learning Spanish. And to complicate matters, the Basque Country has its own language. If you’re Basque, you don’t say “San Sebastian,” you say “Donostia.” And you don’t call your homeland the Pais Vasco. It’s Euskadi, and the language is Euskara. With no resemblance to any Indo-European language, it’s apparently so difficult it managed to stump the devil himself. Legend tells he managed to learn three Basque curse words, but then forget them all and chucked himself over a bridge. 

Basque has some extremely contrary grammar and a predilection for letters x and z. Just for collectors of useless information, if you want to tell a man “I have seen the house,” you say Ikusi dut etxea. If  you’re addressing a woman, you say Ikuis dinat etxea. 

How the word for beach in Spanish—playa—becomes hondartza in Basque baffles me. And while most signs are bilingual Spanish/Basque, not all are. (Take note that Komunak is the Basque word for toilets!) Bilbao’s Museo Guggenheim is a notable exception, but nothing much else is in English.

Where To Lay Your Head

NH Villa de Bilbao, Gran Via 87, 48011 Bilbao, Spain; tel. (34)944-416-000; e-mail: nhvilladebilbao@nh-hotels.com. (Doubles cost $95 nightly.)
Mercure San Sebastian, Paseo del Faro 134, 20008 San Sebastian, Spain; tel. (34)943- 210-211. (Doubles cost $151 nightly during Semana Grande. You can also book through www.accorhotels.com.) 
Silken Coliseum Hotel, Plaza de los Remedios 1, Santander, Spain; tel. (34)942- 318-081; e-mail: coliseum@hoteles-silken.com. (Doubles $127 nightly.)