Intrigued by the lyrical descriptions of hidden sandy coves and quaint fishing villages in our guide book, appetites whetted by Rick Stein’s enthusiasm for the unique local seafood, we headed for the north coast of Spain. The Basque country, Asturia and Gallicia Aside from Bilbao, home to the Guggenheim, an area relatively untouched by tourism.
San Sebastian, the first major town, is very close to France. A nice easy transition, we thought, between the two countries, where no doubt both French and Spanish would be spoken. How wrong can you be! The Basques are fiercely proud of their heritage, and speak their own language, which left us reliant on pointing. Basque sounds like the letters t, z, and x strung together, and is coughed or croaked, rather than spoken – imagine a Glasgow taxi driver with a cold speaking into his hanky, and you’ll be close.
We concluded that we’d arrived in San Sebastian only because the train came to the end of the line – despite the fact that the name on the railway station informed us that we had arrived at Donostia. And so it went on. Our guide book gave all names and street plans in Castillian (classical) Spanish, bearing no relationship to the reality, so we couldn’t even find our hotel. Our stay in San Sebastian was lightened only by the beauty of the resort and the fact that the few French tourists we spotted had the same look of permanent bewilderment that we had acquired. Most of the Basques treated us with indifference verging on hostility.
When it was time to move on, we headed for the train station once more, and waited patiently in a queue for information. Good morning, do you speak English, I asked the intimidating man behind the glass in my best Spanish. A shrug, which I took to be a negative. A similar shrug to a request for him to speak French. I then attempted to ask, in very faltering Spanish, for the times of the trains to Santander, our next stop. Senor behind the counter found my Spanish hilarious, and laughed in my face. I repeated my request wearily. He laughed again. Eventually, he shouted one word, bus, through the glass partition, accompanied by a basic mime which we assumed to be an imitation of a bus driver. No trains to Santander then.
Bus stations in Spain are almost impossible to find. They’re either way out of town and consist simply of a concourse which looks more like a small car park; or they’re buried deep underground with concealed entrances that to a visitor look like the way into a public toilet. The station in San Sebastian is of the former type. A long hot trek with our luggage took us to a deserted concourse populated by a few ancient locals who stared fixedly at us in between bouts of coughing and spitting. There was no ticket booth. And no information board.
A tour of the locale, took us to a shop front across the road with a timetable in the window. Do you travel to Santander, we asked desperately? A shrug and a negative, and we were passed over. At the next shop, a very nice woman finally responded positively, to our huge relief, to our request to speak English. There were several buses to Santander run by several companies, all selling tickets at different places. We chose the first one. Embarrassment at our feeble grasp on the Spanish language had initially made us timid and open to mockery; but constant ridicule and downright ignorance over the three days we’d spent so far in the Basque country had made us indifferent, and our Spanish more aggressive, which seemed to be working – we were ignored less. We got two tickets for an immanent departure with ease, and headed back to the concourse.
Where there were now four buses preparing to depart, none displaying their destination. A case of questioning drivers and eliminating possibilities, but we were so determined to get the better of the Basques now, that we did that effectively and efficiently indeed. How long before we get there, I asked my partner, who had requested this information from our driver. Not sure, he confessed, either it takes 3 hours or we arrive at three. Obviously, our command of Spanish still had a bit of polishing to be done.