Travel

Travel Travels through Southern France

Step One : South West

by Russell Adams

Where do you start a tour of Southern France? Spain obviously. We took a ferry from Plymouth to Santander and decided we couldn’t pass the foodie mecca of San Sebastian without a couple of days there to gain vital body fat for the arduous journey through France. Our itinerary was slightly upset by the ferry turning round in the night and heading back north so that a passenger could be lifted off by helicopter. On discovering the next morning that even with the ship travelling flat out we would now arrive 3 hours late, I pondered Britain’s great navel heritage and wondered whether some traditions should be reinstated. Burial at sea perhaps? Our late arrival in San Sebastian meant an immediate rush to the old town to hit the famous pintxos (Basque tapas) bars. Each one is like entering a French patisserie that only sells savoury goods. If you eat partially with your eyes, then this is heaven. We decided to cover as many bars as possible, having one pintxos and a wine or beer in each. At around 7 to 8 euros per round for the 2 of us this was a bargain and we did our best to make sure no bar felt left out. I haven’t got a clue what we ate, but it was all good. San Sebastian is a very pleasant town with great beaches in a sheltered bay. It is also relatively modern, the British having burnt it to the ground in 1813. I believe that groups of Brits are still trying to do this to Benidorm today. Walking most of San Sebastian in a day takes some doing and we needed plenty of wine, pintxos and seafood to maintain our energy. Fortunately, the Basques take refreshment seriously and even in a ruined castle on Monte Urgull (one of the 2 hills that enclose the bay) we found that someone had created a bar in the ruins. I can’t see British councils allowing that in the ruins Harlech castle or Tintern abbey. Crossing the squares of San Sebastian just after the schools have let out, you can’t help but notice a major cultural difference between the Brits and the Spanish. The squares were all packed with children playing together after school while their parents sat in the cafes surrounding the squares chatting and sipping coffee or wine. In the UK the kids would have been quickly collected or delivered home where they could be safely locked in their bedrooms with their PCs and Xboxes to be attacked by zombies. I wonder who has it right. Leaving San Sebastian for France, we made a detour to Tolosa to have lunch at a highly rated restaurant, Casa Julian. Entering the industrial town of Tolosa on a grey morning, it looked decidedly unpromising. The town was shabby and neglected and the graffiti made it obvious it was a stronghold for Basque nationalism. The police were busy arresting someone as we left our car. The entrance to Casa Julian (under the motorway on stilts) was scarcely inviting, with old wine crates stacked to the side and every working surface covered with parts of dismembered animals. However, as soon as we were shown to our table our mood lifted. The cellar like dining area was still shabby with plaster flaking off the ceiling and the tiles around the cooking area cracked or broken, but the walls were lined with olds wines and spirits and the tables beautifully laid. Our friendly waiter explained how all the produce used was the very best, locally sourced and the cows had had a wonderful long life, eating the best grass, frolicking in mountain meadows, living the life of Riley, until in their retirement they happily volunteered to be butchered and barbequed for our benefit.

Having spent 2 days eating pintxos and seafood we opted for just the 6 courses:

Iberian ham.

Beef chorizo. Old cow meatballs with red pepper ice cream. 42oz Steak with triple cooked peppers. Chocolate fondant with mandarin ice cream.

Almond & butter cigars with coffee.

We walked blinking from the restaurant into a now sunny day, heavier in the stomach, lighter in the pocket, but very happy. During a walk around Tolosa we also discovered fine architecture, beautiful old closely packed tenement buildings and spacious squares. I remembered the saying; never judge a book by its cover. On to France! The Landes used to be a huge area of heathland, where shepherds wandered around on stilts to tend their flocks

and avoid the marshes (how some people get their fun). In the middle of the 19th century the area was planted with trees and it is now Western Europe’s largest pine forest covering nearly 4,000 square miles. So now “les Landes” is mainly trees and huge lakes running out to vast beaches where it meets the Atlantic (and somewhere in southern France old shepherds perform tricks on stilts while muttering about bloody lumberjacks). Fortunately, the French are very good at cycle paths and they run for miles through the forests connecting the small towns, lakes and beaches (one path claims to continue for over 1,250kms to Roscoff). So, we spent three days cycling around, swimming in lakes and dipping our toes in the sea. We also visited the three towns within cycling distance, Biscarrosse, Biscarrose Plage and Sanguinet, all pretty unmemorable and quiet. The cycling, though, was excellent. In the areas where the tracks run the forest it isn’t just pine but is mixed with oak, elm, broom and many other trees and plants I can’t identify. Also, the forests teem with wildlife; you are constantly accompanied by a choir of bird song and lizards or rabbits skitter out of your

way as you cycle past.

The only issue I had with using these cycle paths was that around 50% of the other cyclists we encountered were on electric bikes. There is nothing more disconcerting after having struggled breathlessly up some steep bank than to have an eighty-year-old cyclist pass you at speed, whistling a merry tune.

While this area may be a nature lovers paradise, it must be said it is something of a cultural wasteland. The major tourist attraction in the area is the Dune du Pyla, basically a huge mound of sand. However, it must be said, it is impressive and you get great views from the top that truly give some impression of the vast expanse of forest. It covers the inland landscape as far as the eye can see. Leaving Landes we visited Arcachon, a very pleasant seaside town with great beaches in a sheltered bay – and it

was lively! After Landes, this alone was enough to impress us. It is divided up into quarters named after the seasons, we must have been in summer town.

Our stay in Bordeaux didn’t get off to an auspicious start. After sat-nav issues, we finally found the underground parking for the hotel and ascended into to the pleasant lobby, only to be told this was the wrong hotel. Our booking was for the budget option further down the street. It really was the budget option; the sink and shower were in the room with the bed and I had to kill the silverfish before you could use the toilet. We got out of the hotel as quickly as possible to visit the city, stepping over the vagrants asleep in the entrance to the car park. We set off across the bridge that we couldn’t cross by car to get to the pleasant side of the city. What a revelation! Bordeaux is a gem of a city. Stunning architecture and monuments, beautiful parks and squares with a relaxed feel to the whole place. The bridge, the Pont de Pierre, is wonderful on its own. Commissioned by Napoleon, it has 17 arches to commemorate his victories and is beautifully lit up at night. Every 100 metres or so, you stumble across another square lined with enticing

cafes, bars and restaurants, and of course, the wine in each is very good. I could write for ages about the different things to see, but it would be best to go yourself.

Next time ... Dordogne .....