Last night, quite by accident, we read a small font notice in the elevator ride up to our floor reminding us to set our clocks ahead. Wow! Had we not seen that, chances are our guide for today would have had to find and pry our pastry crumbed selves from the breakfast table. No matter that we went to bed early, loosing that hour was painful.
This morning we have Sandra as our guide and John as our driver… so let's talk limovans (my name for the 7-8 passenger shiny black Mercedes vehicle with a sometimes sign-holding driver). I will intersperse pictures within this monolog. These are intentionally out of sequence with the text because I realized I've written way too much about riding in a car than the fascinating things we're experencing.
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| The cappuccino is good when the sugar cube doesn't sink! |
The 8 seat version of a limovan is configured similar to common minivan at home - two seats in front, a bench seat in the middle and a bench seat in the rear. Were I a driver, this would be my least favorite design because, like waitstaff and coffee machines, you can't let the customers do it themselves. Every parent with a soccer, softball, swim team, and/or hockey playing kid knows how to flip up the end seat of the mid bench to evacuate the rear most food-dribbling sticky-fingered munchkins, and do so while texting and sipping a latte. But chauffeur protocol dictates we must let our driver jump out of his seat, run to both rear doors, and observe and assist our exits. One time when I (correctly) pulled the release lever to let Mary out, our driver politely intervened and relatched/unlatched the handle himself.
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| Random shot of France out the widow. |
A second configuration, the 7 seater, has two recliners in place of the middle bench. Nimble rear-seat passengers can slip between the middle seats and thwart any seat flipping assistance, but this only works before lunch. After lunch we need all the help we can get hoisting our pintxo-stuffed carcasses out of the car.
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| Kayaks |
A feature in common the middle seats facing forward versions is a “hot seat”. This is the seat behind the driver. The guide most often sits in the front for important communications with the driver. These are brief, hyper-speed non-english sotto voce conversations, possibly confirming route and destination plans or maybe just talking trash about ignorant tourists. Other than that, the guide spends a fair amount of time twisted around explaining things, pointing out this and that, and generally setting us up for an awesome day of historic and cultural enlightenment. The person in “hot seat” is the one with whom the guide can make eye contact and who is therefore compelled to have a speaking role for the whole journey. Caution: the “hot seat” is for extroverts only who can feign interest in which king/queen fought/married/died where/when. Introverts, please take the rearmost seats!
The third limovan configuration, and the one I'd vote for as a driver, has the middle bench seat facing rear. Everyone gets in and out easily. However, it's best if all are good friends as you need to coordinated knee and foot movements like the Rockettes doing a kick wave. Most important for introverts is that eye contact with the guide is not necessary (but negotiations over who faces backward might be).
Now, back to our day trip to Saint-Jean de Luz and Biarritz. This is our first truly sunny day! Not a cloud in the sky! It's also the day that Mary stayed back, determined to win her battle with a cold and do the right thing.. rest. So off went just the three of us (plus Sandra and John). We entered France when we crossed the Bidasoa River, 22 kilometers east of San Sebastian. No fanfare, no checkpoint, no waving flags, not even a little welcome sign (however, being in the rear introvert seat, forward vision was somewhat limited). Gradually the scenery changed. The hills are not so rugged, the homes are little more, um, cultivated, and yes, French words along with Basque. Suddenly we come upon a bit of coastline that the three of us want to shoot and we shouted our pleas to stop. John pulled over, made sure we crossed the road safely, and we get up close and personal with, wait for it,... flysch!!
Another few K down the road and we're at the harbor behind Fort de Socoa. Built in the early 17th century, it defended the surrounds from whom, not sure. We may have missed some historic details because we were too busy running away from Sandra in all directions, admiring at all the little boats perched in the mud. We were just so happy being outside in sunlight and not in the heart of a big town.
After about half an hour, Sandra finally had to herd us back to the limovan as we had other places to go and things to see.
It was just a short ride to the center of Saint-Jean de Luz where John did the magic driver thing – drop us off in a no-parking zone in front of an indoor market, then disappear until summoned.
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| French markets have more prepared food |
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| ...but still some fresh selections |
Luz has a upscale, slightly rustic “Frenchy” village feel to it. Bright white buildings with red shutters and trim are the heritage norm.
The highlight in town is Église Saint-Jean-Baptiste, the church where King of France Louis XIV married Maria Theresa, daughter of Philip IV of Spain. Given these headliner celebs, I'm guessing there was a big party. The church is unusual in having a wooden gallery. Imagine a Shakespearian theater crossed with a basilica. In it is the telltale icon of a fishing boat hanging from the ceiling, supposedly forecasting weather by the direction it points.
We are encouraged to stop for a bite of pastry and a coffee after church viewing. Not much encouragement needed. Having nibbled our petite patisserie (or swallowed whole as one of our party did), I am allowed time to buy a kitchen towel, my single alloted souvenir on any trip. Meanwhile, Sandra sends for John. While I'm busy selecting the perfect Basque inspired towel, Mark and Peter are discussing the unusual “hats” hanging on display at the end of the towel rack. There is a stack of them folded into triangular shaped packages ready for purchase. When Peter asks how they are worn, Sandra looks a little puzzled but calmly and without a hint of sarcasm explains they are kitchen towels. Apparently, our spouses didn't quite understand so she continued to explain how kitchen towels are used. I pretended not to know them and turned quickly inside to complete my purchase. Timed perfectly, we walk to the curb as John drives up and off we go to Biarritz.
Ah, Biarritz! We are definitely in France with just a tiny sprinkle of Basque-ness, probably added to give the French vacationers an even greater feeling of superiority. Biarritz, an elegant seaside town on southwestern France’s Basque coast, has been a popular resort since European royalty began visiting in the 1800s. It’s also has the proper orientation on the Bay of Biscay to make it a popular surfing destination. And it boasts a Ferrari dealership.
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| A cathedral of food |
Tour guides must think Americans prioritize food as the number one foreign attraction. When possible, our guides seem to start a town visit with the food hall (Halle de Wherever). These gastronomic cathedrals certainly are enviable to anyone limited to a B-grade Safeway store, but there are only so many photos of produce, yellow chickens and eels one wants to take. Here you go.
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| White asparagus is in season everywhere |
Back outside in the fresh air most people are strolling about enjoying the sunshine but wearing poofy coats as it's still only in the low 50's in the shade.
We have a five course lunch scheduled for 1:15 at one of the posher restaurants and are on track to make it when Peter sees a lighthouse in the distance. Like a hound chasing a fox, off he runs to find a view unobstructed by poofy strollers. And, like the horsemen after the hounds, we follow him to the kill. Once again, Sandra has lost all control.
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| Courtesy of Peter |
Finally, lighthouse bagged, we enter the epicurean opposite of a pintxos bar – plush seating, whispering waitstaff, full tableware and a whole ice bucket just for us.
We share some appetizers and starters, deliberate and choose our mains, sip wine, and have an assortment of desserts. Mark briefly throws Sandra a loop by going off script and ordering an after dinner wine, but she rallies with graciousness and allows him a glass. We muse later about how expenses are shared between all providers as all our hotels and all but our “free day” meals are paid for in advance.
Once again we get to play outside and wander the paths sun seeking tourists have for literally centuries.
The architecture of Biarritz is an eclectic mix of styles, more due to the whims and fantasies of wealthy property owners than to the actual period of construction.
Our trip ends with a nap in the limovan on the way back to San Sebastian. The day does not end yet, however. For sunset, Mark and I follow the promenade around the harbor to a viewpoint. Beautiful.
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