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The Basque Country

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The Basque Country

Why? It’s simultaneously one of the best parts of Spain and hardly Spanish at all. Fiercely independent, with its own language, cuisine and culture, this mountainous redoubt, straddling the French border and hugging the Atlantic, offers an almost unique combination of urban sophistication, sybaritic beach life and some of the most rugged and dramatic rural scenery in Europe.

Domingo, 10 septiembre 2006 The Sunday Times, UK / Robert Elms September 9, 2006 Why? It’s simultaneously one of the best parts of Spain and hardly Spanish at all. Fiercely independent, with its own language, cuisine and culture, this mountainous redoubt, straddling the French border (sic) and hugging the Atlantic, offers an almost unique combination of urban sophistication, sybaritic beach life and some of the most rugged and dramatic rural scenery in Europe.

Perhaps deterred by the weather, which can be cool and damp by Spanish standards, or by the separatist struggles of Eta, few Britons make it beyond the shiny lure of the Guggenheim at Bilbao. But throughout the long summer and soft autumn, the skies are usually benignly blue and the land is deep green. And Eta is now in steep decline. The greatest manifestation of this cherished culture is an ancient, consonant-cluttered language they call Euskara and a refined, fish-based cuisine that has produced the highest proportion of Michelin-starred chefs in the world. The Basques also boast artists and poets aplenty, an obsession with tough sportsmen and brave sailors, and a penchant for strong cider.

Within one day, you can be basking on a spotless resort beach or surfing untamed Atlantic waves in a wild nature reserve; dining in an exquisite, stellar restaurant and shopping in designer stores; and hiking through verdant gorges and stopping in remote, unchanging villages. The land still bears the scars of heavy smokestack industry and Franco’s spiteful neglect, but this somehow adds to the drama of this misty, occasionally mysterious, always fascinating country within a country.

How? Fly to Bilbao, rent a car and head straight to San Sebastian (make a detour to the Guggenheim if you must, but don’t bother with what’s inside). Forty-five minutes later, you are checking into your suite at the grand old Maria Cristina, a glorious belle-époque confection. A few days here will give you time to explore this elegant seaside city, wrapped around La Concha, one of the most striking sandy bays in Europe.

Daytime is centred on the beach, but be sure to check out the Combs of the Wind, an elementally powerful work by the famed local sculptor Eduardo Chillida. Every September, there are hugely popular rowing races across the bay, when the whole town turns out to cheer, and all year round there’s jai alai, the national sport and the fastest ball game in the world — somewhere between squash and war, with added betting.

The old town, a charismatic warren of bars and restaurants, is the venue for the nightly paseo, which involves traipsing from bar to bar sampling pintxos, the elaborate Basque variant on tapas. Each venue tries to outdo the next in the deliciousness of its fancy morsels, and the trick is to take one or two, and a small glass of local wine or cider, at every stop. There’s also a bewildering array of exalted restaurants, but Arzak is still the doyen, and probably the best-value three Michelin stars on earth. Book way before you go and savour it long after you’ve left.

Now head out to the wilds. Drive through the green valleys and steep mountain passes, stopping at brooding villages such as Tolosa or Durango, which look like they should be in the Alps, and feel like the clocks all stopped long ago.

Eat outdoors in a sidreria, a local cider farm, where they’ll serve coarse, strong mountain food along with the fermenting juice of the harvest. And in the wondrous Urdaibai National Park, centred on the bombed but defiant town of Gernika, wind down on the endless, often empty estuary beaches of Laga and Mundaka — perfect for surfers, walkers, bird-watchers or anyone who wants the wind and spray in their hair.


Zumaia Spain

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