The Rain in Spain falls mainly....
DONOSTIA
Donostia is the Basque name for San Sebastian, and as thats what the locals call it, so shall i.
I arrived in Donostia on a Saturday nite, dropped my bags and went to explore the old town. The Spanish - and the Basques - like to party on Saturday nite, and to party late. 11:30-12:00 is a perfectly normal time to head out to a bar to commence the nite. The narrow streets of the old town are akin to an ant colony. Human ants scurrying in all directions through the narrow alleyways. People sit in groups in the town square, drinking from cans or bottles of beer or wine. Unlike Brugges - with its one public toilet and extortionate rates for going au natural - peeing in the street is much as it is at home - widespread. The smell of weed is everywhere. The attitude of the police in Spain to marijuana veers somewhere between couldn´t give a rats and give us a drag off that bad boy.
The old town of Donostia is stuffed with tapas bars and I had some much appreciated and helpful recommendations from a friend who visited recently - the Gourmand. Unlike most places, it is difficult to get bad food (regardless of budget) in the old town of Donostia. Any random bar counter is lined with the most exquisite tapas - pintxos as they are known here. Pintxos can include any number of combinations of ingredients, including prawns, iberian ham, egg, squid, cheese, cod, chicken, bacon, octopus, caviar, mushrooms, anchovies, peppers etc. The tapas bars are mostly stand up affairs. The pintxos are arrayed on the counter. You ask for a plate, eat the ones you want and pay when you're finished. Hot tapas can be ordered from a menu behind the bar. €5.50 buys three pintxos and a small glass of vino tinto (red wine). You will not be disappointed.
I chatted a little with one of the barmen at the first place i tried. He was Basque. Although he spoke perfect Castillan (as the Basques refer to Spanish), he refused to. As far as he is concerned the Castillan visitors can learn a few words of Basque if they want to get by. I probably entered the good books by attempting a couple of basic Basque phrases culled from my guidebook. It is an impenetrable language - full of Xs and Ks. As i left i asked the Barman how to order a glass of red wine in Basque. He answered with what sounded like "Argoya Beltzer". I practiced it with him a few times and rambled off into the narrow streets once again. This time i located a premises that was highly recommended by the Gourmand. I went straight to the bar, picked up a plate and loaded up the pintxos. Catching the attention of the prettiest girl behind the bar i ordered an "Argoya Beltzer". She looked into my eyes, sized me up for what i was and said in perfect English, "The toilets are around the corner to the left."
I initially intended to stay in Donostia - San Seb as it is known to the Gourmand - for two nites. But then i settled into a good hostel in the old town and ended up staying 5 nites. An english lad i was sharing a dorm with - and who was hostel manager by the time i left! - introduced me to the wonders of Lidl. The cheapest bottle of red wine in Lidl is 39c. A very drinkable vino tinto - and by this i mean it won´t kill you and is better than anything €30 will buy on Leeson Street - costs a whopping €1.70.
There were some interesting characters in the hostel, not least a young Indian-American chef (thats India as in the place of curries rather than the Sioux nation). The Young Chef was on a budget culinary tour of Europe and had arrived in Donostia from Paris. On settling into the common room he unfurled a helping of jamon (cured Iberian ham - the Gourmand swears by it), cheese and a nice bottle of red. The rest of us and our Lidl bottles recoiled from the table in minor embarrassment. The Young Chef was in town to sample as much pintxos as possible and to visit the restaurants. Donostia has more Michelin Stars (restaurant rating) per capita than anywhere else in the world. The Young Chef had reservations in several Michelen starred restaurants. An interesting combo. Dinner for one costing about €200. And then return to share a four bed dorm in your €20 per nite hostel with a bunch of people drinking 39c bottles of wine.
Unfortunately while i was in Donostia the rain in Spain fell mainly on Donostia. The one fine day i went for a walk. The Basque Country is framed by green mountains, lush pasture valleys and the sea. I walked up a hill overlooking the town. The view was fabulous and it was nice to finally spend some time by the sea. On the ascent i heard loud explosions in the new part of town. My first thought was ETA. ETA and its associated political party - Batasuna - organise frequent rallies and protests in Donostia, Bilbao, Vittoria and the other Basque towns. From discussions with fellow travellers it seems it is not difficult to get caught up in a demonstration. When i heard the explosions i immediately thought ETA bombs. Not so. Fireworks to open a fine foods convention in another part of town - its all about the food here.
On one side of the hill - which formerly served as a gun emplacement - is a memorial to the English soldiers "who gave their lives for their country and for the independence of Spain". Here, in 1812, Wellington accepted the surrender of the Napoleonic army. On the eve of Waterloo the French general who had led the Napoleonic campaign in Spain warned Boney not to underestimate Wellington. Napoleon´s response: Simply because he routed you, you think he is worthy to face me? Clearly he took advice in the same spirit as Jose Mourinho.
Buses and Trains
Departing from Donostia i walked to the bus station with Ms. Chile. Both she and i were headed to Bilbao. We arrived in plenty of time and waited by the designated bay for the bus. And here is an invaluable tip re the always eccentric Spanish bus system - if the bus is late it will not stop at the bus station. What? Ms. Chile translated the loud explanation given by the ticket vendor when we enquired as to what had happened our bus. The bus was late. So it didn't pull into its bay. It circled the station, let people out at the entrance and sodded off without picking us up. Ever heard of a bus that was too late to bother with passengers? Whats the point in it arriving on time if there is no-one on the bus? Questions like this were loudly posed in reply by Ms. Chile to the ticket vendor. At least i assume it was questions like these. We passed the hour and a half to the next bus by playing Travel Connect 4 in the bar across the road. Kudos to the Landlady for the thoughtful gift and no doubt she will be pleased to hear that i carried on my winning streak from The Maltings to Donostia.
On the subject of Spanish public transport, a few words re the trains. What is the difference between first and second class? No additional service. No additional leg room. So little difference, that on boarding it is very difficult to tell which coach your seat number refers to. The ticket inspectors will know however, and will with great aplomb return you to your rightful place in steerage should you balls it up. Every train in Spain seems to have at least two armed security guards. Complete with uniform, handcuffs, handguns and bored expressions that say: go on steerage scumbag, make my day. One train had only two carriages. And one of these decoupled when we pulled in at the next station. So we continued on. A train with one carriage, six passengers and two extremely agitated looking armed men. Not a time for sudden unexpected movements.
Bilbao and Salamanca
I will say a little about these towns as i stopped there en route to Madrid. Bilbao is pleasant. For the solo traveller the sole point of interest is the Guggenheim Museum, and it on its own is worthy of the visit. It is a museum of contemporary art. The collection was far more engaging and interesting than that at the Pompidou Centre in Paris. But the building itself is the star of the show. A flowing dreamscape of twisted, shining, curved metal, reflecting the sun and interspersed with bright concrete blocks and glass. It is a concoction that could only have emerged from the unconscious mind. Up close and personal it is stunning.
I mostly spent a nite in Salamanca as i could not find reasonably priced accommodation in Madrid. I needed a stopover and i had read that Salamanca was pretty and had a lively student driven nitelife. For want of better budget options i ended up staying on the university campus. By the time i had got in, figured out the bus routes and unloaded bags it was already after nine. I figured that i would quickly send an e-mail and bounce into town to check out this nitelife. Email sent, i arrived at the main entrance to find the rain in Spain had vengefully followed me South. To say it was lashing would not do it justice. This was end-of-days rain. If the four horsemen of the apocalypse had ridden onto the campus that evening dripping water, it could not have been unexpected. So i dolefully trotted off back upstairs to an exciting nite in with book and MP3. Not even a cheap bottle of Lidl to chase away the disappointment.
Madrid
I spent the first two nites in Madrid sharing a dorm with two English blokes in their fifties. For ease of reference, Bob and Andy. They had caught a €0.99 Ryanair flight over. The first evening i went to an english-language screening of Borat. While waiting in the lobby i overheard one traveller regale his mates with an account of deaths in Dublin caused by drink and driving. Not drunk drivers mind, but drunk pedestrians staggering in front of sober drivers. Apparently at least one drunk pedestrian is killed by a sober driver in Dublin each evening. The irony, oh how they laughed. Be careful all of you out there!
Post cinema i returned to the hostel to find Bob and Andy asleep. Andy was snoring rhythmically at the volume of the amps at a Korn concert. After each violent snore there was a low ringing sound caused by the vibrations in the metal supports of his bed. I broke out the earplugs for the first time in the trip. Proper wax earplugs. I woke in the middle of the nite to find Andy continuing the olympics-level snoring of earlier. I decided the earplus were of no use and removed them only to find the foundation-shaking noise amplified about six times. Cue a return of the earplugs and a nite of disturbed sleep.
Day two in Madrid was laundry day. The hostel offered a full laundry service for €8. I decided this was a little steep and i found a self service laundrette. After all, a bottle of red is only 39c! One subway ride (€1.20), one detergent (€1.60), one wash (€2.00) and two dry cycles (€1.20) later i had saved myself precisely €2 and spent two and a half hours. Next time i am using the laundry service.
In the evening i bumped into Bob and Andy in Puerte Sol. They were going for a beer. I went on to watch the Real Madrid game on the box and returned to the hostel. It was 9:00pm. There was an organised pub crawl commencing later at 11:oo pm. I decided against. Having achieved very little in Madrid so far i was determined to do something cultural the next day. So having the hostel to myself i opened a vino tinto from Lidl and got into the bath.
I feel asleep circa midnite. After a brief consideration of the facts i decided on deploying earplugs immediately and not to await the return of mythical snoring beast. Circa 3:30 am i heard a distant rumble. Submerged in the sleep world of morpheus i resisted reacting to the noise. Then another rumble, a thud and my bed shook. Even Andy couldn´t snore so much as to make my bed shake surely? No. The boys had arrived in from the pub crawl legless. In the dark a groaning Andy was attempting to haul himself from the floor onto his bed.
There had been a wicker divider between our room and the corridor. the room had once been an en-suite but the door had been removed to allow access for all to the bathroom. The wicker divider had been placed further into the room to give it some privacy. Andy, who was unable to see, had crashed through the wicker divider smashed the left half of it. There were little bits of wicker all over the floor in the morning.
The next day i decided to move off to a new hostel. The guys were lovely - smashed wicker aside - but the snoring was too much. Madrid Part II coming soon.
Adios
Donostia is the Basque name for San Sebastian, and as thats what the locals call it, so shall i.
I arrived in Donostia on a Saturday nite, dropped my bags and went to explore the old town. The Spanish - and the Basques - like to party on Saturday nite, and to party late. 11:30-12:00 is a perfectly normal time to head out to a bar to commence the nite. The narrow streets of the old town are akin to an ant colony. Human ants scurrying in all directions through the narrow alleyways. People sit in groups in the town square, drinking from cans or bottles of beer or wine. Unlike Brugges - with its one public toilet and extortionate rates for going au natural - peeing in the street is much as it is at home - widespread. The smell of weed is everywhere. The attitude of the police in Spain to marijuana veers somewhere between couldn´t give a rats and give us a drag off that bad boy.
The old town of Donostia is stuffed with tapas bars and I had some much appreciated and helpful recommendations from a friend who visited recently - the Gourmand. Unlike most places, it is difficult to get bad food (regardless of budget) in the old town of Donostia. Any random bar counter is lined with the most exquisite tapas - pintxos as they are known here. Pintxos can include any number of combinations of ingredients, including prawns, iberian ham, egg, squid, cheese, cod, chicken, bacon, octopus, caviar, mushrooms, anchovies, peppers etc. The tapas bars are mostly stand up affairs. The pintxos are arrayed on the counter. You ask for a plate, eat the ones you want and pay when you're finished. Hot tapas can be ordered from a menu behind the bar. €5.50 buys three pintxos and a small glass of vino tinto (red wine). You will not be disappointed.
I chatted a little with one of the barmen at the first place i tried. He was Basque. Although he spoke perfect Castillan (as the Basques refer to Spanish), he refused to. As far as he is concerned the Castillan visitors can learn a few words of Basque if they want to get by. I probably entered the good books by attempting a couple of basic Basque phrases culled from my guidebook. It is an impenetrable language - full of Xs and Ks. As i left i asked the Barman how to order a glass of red wine in Basque. He answered with what sounded like "Argoya Beltzer". I practiced it with him a few times and rambled off into the narrow streets once again. This time i located a premises that was highly recommended by the Gourmand. I went straight to the bar, picked up a plate and loaded up the pintxos. Catching the attention of the prettiest girl behind the bar i ordered an "Argoya Beltzer". She looked into my eyes, sized me up for what i was and said in perfect English, "The toilets are around the corner to the left."
I initially intended to stay in Donostia - San Seb as it is known to the Gourmand - for two nites. But then i settled into a good hostel in the old town and ended up staying 5 nites. An english lad i was sharing a dorm with - and who was hostel manager by the time i left! - introduced me to the wonders of Lidl. The cheapest bottle of red wine in Lidl is 39c. A very drinkable vino tinto - and by this i mean it won´t kill you and is better than anything €30 will buy on Leeson Street - costs a whopping €1.70.
There were some interesting characters in the hostel, not least a young Indian-American chef (thats India as in the place of curries rather than the Sioux nation). The Young Chef was on a budget culinary tour of Europe and had arrived in Donostia from Paris. On settling into the common room he unfurled a helping of jamon (cured Iberian ham - the Gourmand swears by it), cheese and a nice bottle of red. The rest of us and our Lidl bottles recoiled from the table in minor embarrassment. The Young Chef was in town to sample as much pintxos as possible and to visit the restaurants. Donostia has more Michelin Stars (restaurant rating) per capita than anywhere else in the world. The Young Chef had reservations in several Michelen starred restaurants. An interesting combo. Dinner for one costing about €200. And then return to share a four bed dorm in your €20 per nite hostel with a bunch of people drinking 39c bottles of wine.
Unfortunately while i was in Donostia the rain in Spain fell mainly on Donostia. The one fine day i went for a walk. The Basque Country is framed by green mountains, lush pasture valleys and the sea. I walked up a hill overlooking the town. The view was fabulous and it was nice to finally spend some time by the sea. On the ascent i heard loud explosions in the new part of town. My first thought was ETA. ETA and its associated political party - Batasuna - organise frequent rallies and protests in Donostia, Bilbao, Vittoria and the other Basque towns. From discussions with fellow travellers it seems it is not difficult to get caught up in a demonstration. When i heard the explosions i immediately thought ETA bombs. Not so. Fireworks to open a fine foods convention in another part of town - its all about the food here.
On one side of the hill - which formerly served as a gun emplacement - is a memorial to the English soldiers "who gave their lives for their country and for the independence of Spain". Here, in 1812, Wellington accepted the surrender of the Napoleonic army. On the eve of Waterloo the French general who had led the Napoleonic campaign in Spain warned Boney not to underestimate Wellington. Napoleon´s response: Simply because he routed you, you think he is worthy to face me? Clearly he took advice in the same spirit as Jose Mourinho.
Buses and Trains
Departing from Donostia i walked to the bus station with Ms. Chile. Both she and i were headed to Bilbao. We arrived in plenty of time and waited by the designated bay for the bus. And here is an invaluable tip re the always eccentric Spanish bus system - if the bus is late it will not stop at the bus station. What? Ms. Chile translated the loud explanation given by the ticket vendor when we enquired as to what had happened our bus. The bus was late. So it didn't pull into its bay. It circled the station, let people out at the entrance and sodded off without picking us up. Ever heard of a bus that was too late to bother with passengers? Whats the point in it arriving on time if there is no-one on the bus? Questions like this were loudly posed in reply by Ms. Chile to the ticket vendor. At least i assume it was questions like these. We passed the hour and a half to the next bus by playing Travel Connect 4 in the bar across the road. Kudos to the Landlady for the thoughtful gift and no doubt she will be pleased to hear that i carried on my winning streak from The Maltings to Donostia.
On the subject of Spanish public transport, a few words re the trains. What is the difference between first and second class? No additional service. No additional leg room. So little difference, that on boarding it is very difficult to tell which coach your seat number refers to. The ticket inspectors will know however, and will with great aplomb return you to your rightful place in steerage should you balls it up. Every train in Spain seems to have at least two armed security guards. Complete with uniform, handcuffs, handguns and bored expressions that say: go on steerage scumbag, make my day. One train had only two carriages. And one of these decoupled when we pulled in at the next station. So we continued on. A train with one carriage, six passengers and two extremely agitated looking armed men. Not a time for sudden unexpected movements.
Bilbao and Salamanca
I will say a little about these towns as i stopped there en route to Madrid. Bilbao is pleasant. For the solo traveller the sole point of interest is the Guggenheim Museum, and it on its own is worthy of the visit. It is a museum of contemporary art. The collection was far more engaging and interesting than that at the Pompidou Centre in Paris. But the building itself is the star of the show. A flowing dreamscape of twisted, shining, curved metal, reflecting the sun and interspersed with bright concrete blocks and glass. It is a concoction that could only have emerged from the unconscious mind. Up close and personal it is stunning.
I mostly spent a nite in Salamanca as i could not find reasonably priced accommodation in Madrid. I needed a stopover and i had read that Salamanca was pretty and had a lively student driven nitelife. For want of better budget options i ended up staying on the university campus. By the time i had got in, figured out the bus routes and unloaded bags it was already after nine. I figured that i would quickly send an e-mail and bounce into town to check out this nitelife. Email sent, i arrived at the main entrance to find the rain in Spain had vengefully followed me South. To say it was lashing would not do it justice. This was end-of-days rain. If the four horsemen of the apocalypse had ridden onto the campus that evening dripping water, it could not have been unexpected. So i dolefully trotted off back upstairs to an exciting nite in with book and MP3. Not even a cheap bottle of Lidl to chase away the disappointment.
Madrid
I spent the first two nites in Madrid sharing a dorm with two English blokes in their fifties. For ease of reference, Bob and Andy. They had caught a €0.99 Ryanair flight over. The first evening i went to an english-language screening of Borat. While waiting in the lobby i overheard one traveller regale his mates with an account of deaths in Dublin caused by drink and driving. Not drunk drivers mind, but drunk pedestrians staggering in front of sober drivers. Apparently at least one drunk pedestrian is killed by a sober driver in Dublin each evening. The irony, oh how they laughed. Be careful all of you out there!
Post cinema i returned to the hostel to find Bob and Andy asleep. Andy was snoring rhythmically at the volume of the amps at a Korn concert. After each violent snore there was a low ringing sound caused by the vibrations in the metal supports of his bed. I broke out the earplugs for the first time in the trip. Proper wax earplugs. I woke in the middle of the nite to find Andy continuing the olympics-level snoring of earlier. I decided the earplus were of no use and removed them only to find the foundation-shaking noise amplified about six times. Cue a return of the earplugs and a nite of disturbed sleep.
Day two in Madrid was laundry day. The hostel offered a full laundry service for €8. I decided this was a little steep and i found a self service laundrette. After all, a bottle of red is only 39c! One subway ride (€1.20), one detergent (€1.60), one wash (€2.00) and two dry cycles (€1.20) later i had saved myself precisely €2 and spent two and a half hours. Next time i am using the laundry service.
In the evening i bumped into Bob and Andy in Puerte Sol. They were going for a beer. I went on to watch the Real Madrid game on the box and returned to the hostel. It was 9:00pm. There was an organised pub crawl commencing later at 11:oo pm. I decided against. Having achieved very little in Madrid so far i was determined to do something cultural the next day. So having the hostel to myself i opened a vino tinto from Lidl and got into the bath.
I feel asleep circa midnite. After a brief consideration of the facts i decided on deploying earplugs immediately and not to await the return of mythical snoring beast. Circa 3:30 am i heard a distant rumble. Submerged in the sleep world of morpheus i resisted reacting to the noise. Then another rumble, a thud and my bed shook. Even Andy couldn´t snore so much as to make my bed shake surely? No. The boys had arrived in from the pub crawl legless. In the dark a groaning Andy was attempting to haul himself from the floor onto his bed.
There had been a wicker divider between our room and the corridor. the room had once been an en-suite but the door had been removed to allow access for all to the bathroom. The wicker divider had been placed further into the room to give it some privacy. Andy, who was unable to see, had crashed through the wicker divider smashed the left half of it. There were little bits of wicker all over the floor in the morning.
The next day i decided to move off to a new hostel. The guys were lovely - smashed wicker aside - but the snoring was too much. Madrid Part II coming soon.
Adios
posted by Supertramp | 11:06 AM
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