Part Five. Last San Sebastian

RIGHT! EVERYONE UP! BIKE TOUR 10AM IT’S 8.53 RIGHT NOW AND THE BEST COFFEE IS SEVEN MINUTES WALK AWAY AND IT’S 12 MINUTES FROM THERE TO THE BIKE PLACE.

That was Jess.

I sprang out of bed. ‘Bear’s in the shower. Give him a knock and tell him to get out. I don’t need a shower I can be ready in three minutes.’ I said pulling on a frock.

Emma yelled ‘I don’t need a shower either I can be ready in two minutes’

‘FUCK YOU EMMA’ I yelled back ‘I’ll be ready in 90 seconds and I fucked your mum.’

‘I haven’t have a shower for two days so I have to have a quick one’ said Jess as she pounded on the bathroom door to get Bear out ‘Hey bike tour 10am. Get out. You’re clean enough.’

‘YOU’RE A SHOWER TAKING PUSSY JESS GO HARD OR GO HOME’

By 9.01 we were outside the apartment hotfooting it to the best breakfast place in San Sebastian. Thank good for Google reviews and Trip Advisor.

Breakfast place was called Sakona It was the kind of place we have in Melbourne. Now you could do the ‘Ugh, why on earth would you go to a Melbourne kind of place when you should have what the locals have for breakfast?’ And I could then say ‘Go fuck yourself.’

We all needed and wanted good coffee and good breakfast. Not something that didn’t quite hit the spot. Not something we didn’t realized we ordered. New place, new bed, slightly hungover, scratchy eyed, cotton mouthed, slightly pinched brain and keen to make the most of the day we needed reliable fuel. I’m not interested in ‘trying new food’ when I am travelling and need to equipt myself for a big day. I need something I know will keep me going. I don’t mind ‘trying new food’ in passing, but not as my entire meal. Coffee was good. Breakfast good. The cafe was Melbourne enough they served those 63 degree eggs, or as I call them, uncooked. Fun times. Lots of laughs. Scoff, rock and roll.

We discussed how great it was that we were all able to get out the door so fast, happily and with no fuss. That’s what you want in travel companions, people who are relaxed but also able to get their shit together in a hurry.

Most of my travel adventures have been made so much better by travelling with relaxed people who are flexible and adaptable and can get their shit together in minutes if necessary.

I don’t hang out with, and don’t travel by choice with whingers, nervous Nellies, tight arses, piss heads, worry warts, crisis generators, wankers, judgey cunts, the thin skinned, high maintenance or the snarky.

Basically you are after ‘can do’ people not ‘can’t do’ people. Avoid can’ts.

We made it to the Go Local San Sebastián full of carbs, coffee and uncooked egg by 10am on the dot. I was delighted to find it was an ELECTRIC bike tour. Little green bikes with Bosch batteries and motors. The guide Alain was a friendly, enthusiastic Basque bloke who rode us around San Sebastian, or Guy Sebastian as we had started to call it, for the next few hours. He was very knowledgeable but not excessively into details and wove history, culture and politics into our ride as we rode along the beach up the hill to Monte Igeldo and through the town. He even taught us how to play Pelota Mano (Basque Handball) in the national stadium.

The brilliant bike infrastructure in San Sebastian as in most of Europe puts Australia to shame. Drivers, pedestrians, public transport and cyclists all navigate the shared terrain a little like skiers, watching people in front and moving in a purposely predictable manner. Separated lanes are a big help but it’s the attitude of everyone that the space is to be shared that makes the biggest impact by far.

Threaded through the tour Al explained the history, struggles and triumphs of the Basque people. He even taught us a bit of language. The Basques are an indigenous ethno-linguistic group who mainly inhabit Basque country so their history is interconnected with Spanish and French history.

We think we may have experienced our only ‘bike rage’ incident in San Sebastian. As we rode along the designated bike lanes at a sensible pace a rather odd swaying older gentleman wandered into our path and called Bear what sounded like ‘El Niño’. So basically the guy stung Bear with the sledge ‘a warm phase’. That’ll teach him.

The electric bikes were brilliant. So much better for a San Sebastian tour than a regular bike due to the climb to Mount Igeldo. Even the most seasoned cyclist would have found it a challenge. Electric bikes take any stress out of a ride, they erase hills, headwinds, middle age and fatigue. You still have to pedal (the motor assists you it doesn’t carry you) but it means you can see more of the city, faster and with ease. Bike riding for me is not about exercise but about pleasure, convenience and active travel.

I was curious as to how ‘the people’ in San Sebastian had lunch and dinner. All you hear about is pinxtos. Al sent us off to one of many the worker’s restaurant called where you can get a set menu or order a la carte.

We went a la carte. It was a basic lunch of bit of chook, bit of salad, some bread, some excellent garlic prawns. Em is vego which throws up challenges for her in a lot of places she travels. With a little research and forethought she navigates them with ease. There are even apps that can lead you to vego or vego friendly restaurants. This trip has had me thinking more deeply than ever before about how mobility, pain, medical and toilet issues and dietary requirements add another layer of complexity to travel. I have a herniated disk and Anthony has a dodgy tummy that we manage fairly easily but other than that we are super fit and healthy, eat anywhere, walk or ride everywhere and have no problems using any bed, shower or toilet. So far three lots of accommodation have been up five flights of stairs, most of them had showers over high sided baths, one toilet we had to access side on (the gap between the basin and the wall was less than 50 centremetres) and one bed was in a loft which required climbing a ladder to access. None of this was any problem. I didn’t even know about most of these things because they make no difference to us so I don’t need to filter accommodation to avoid.

Some people manage medical and mobility issues their whole lives but they can happen to anyone at anytime. On our first day in Rome we chatted with someone who had to head home early from her travels because she’d mangled her knee. Sickness, disability and injury cost and not just in a monetary sense.

After lunch we dawdled back to the apartment, grabbed our bathers and wandered across to the beach. We’d lucked in with the weather. Shit weather either side of our arrival but blue skies, warm sunshine and cool nights for our couple of days in town. Dotted amongst the folks on the sand there were quite a few nude sunbathers. As is always the way it was the people no one really wanted to see with their gear off who had their gear off. We’re talking old hairy, wrinkly, mostly men who for some reason spend a lot of time bending over.

The beach was lovely but it was the sun that was truly delicious. To lie on the warm sand with the sun on my back, legs and arms was intoxicating. My hair was warm. I could feel the sun tingling on my scalp, my back, my face and my legs. I felt myself slowly melting in the earth. Melbourne winter had not been particularly long or cold, it never is, it just feels like it, and that first proper sunbathe makes me realise why people are so much more chilled when they can strip off and get some vitamin D and some sun. Lying on the earth feeling the light and warmth on my bare skin was a tonic.

After a snooze and a read on the beach I had a quick dip before going back to the apartment where we checked in with our digital worlds, napped and mooched around the apartment.

When we’d arrived our Airbnb the host had shown us a shared apartment lightwell for drying our clothes. It was a typical European apartment block with dozens of people all trying to get their washing done without hanging it over the balcony or taking up too much space.

Bear is the laundry guy on our travels. We are excellent travel companions and the tasks have naturally and neatly divided. I do money, accommodation, itinerary, food and language. He does keys, safety, laundry, navigation, tech, early flights alarms and heavy lifting.

I went looking for a frock on the drying rack in the shared light well. The clothes weren’t drying that well and I wondered if we should bring them into the sunny party of the living room near the open window. I heard Emma crashing about ‘Em, give us a hand with this clotheshorse. I reckon it’d dry better in the lounge.’

She grabbed one end and we tried to shift it through the narrow doorway ‘Nah, won’t fit. I reckon it’s alright there.’

‘Hang on we could put the washing out here ‘ It was a young happy female Australian voice. But it wasn’t Emma. I was disorientated.

‘Oh look, they’ve even got a washing machine. Do we have any detergent left?’ responded a young chirpy female British voice.

Emma was back in her room. It took me a moment to realise the voices were from an apartment a few floors up and the sound was bouncing through the light well ventriloquist style so it sounded as if the voices were in my head, or perhaps in the room, or perhaps from behind me.

I was a little startled. It sounded exactly like my darling Becky and I travelling in our early 20s. Becky was an English, prototype Home Counties girl horses, boarding school and it was rumoured she had a ‘title’ she kept quiet. I was a rough piss taking Aussie. We met in Tokyo teaching English got along like a house on fire and we did a lot of travelling together. We’re still mates today. She lives in Scotland in a castle. They have hounds.

When I travel I’m frequently and vividly transported back to other times in my life when I’ve been travelling. It as If my travel world exists parallel to my non-travel life.

Every year we have a winter holiday with a bunch of other families in a barn near Wilson’s Prom. We’ve been going for 20 years. This year my 15 year old joined us a few days after we arrived and I picked him up from the bus stop in Fish Creek, a small town close by. As we drove towards the winter house my son said ‘I can see the barn already in my mind. I know exactly what it will be like. It’s so familiar to me. Before I left home I remember consciously thinking ‘Remember this, standing here in my home’ because when I go to the barn I forget home. And when I come home I forget the barn. When I come home I feel as if I was never there and when I am there I can’t remember home. It’s like all the winter house memories join up together and all the home memories join up together.’

Yeah. That.

The four of us gussied ourselves up and headed out for our last night in San Sebastian. We began with booze and pintox at a jumpy bar before a beautiful dinner at Gerald’s. Gerald’s Bar has a sister establishment in Carlton. Sure we could go to Gerald’s in Melbourne and guess what, we do, but again for all you playing at home rolling your eyes get fucked.

We rolled out of Gerald’s around 11pm happy, chatty and rosy cheeked into the balmy night with the sea breeze. We ran through the things we’d done and the things we’d do next time. I felt I didn’t really get a lock on the place. I feel I hadn’t really gotten under it’s skin or it under mine. I think this was partly because I am not familiar with the language or the culture. Unlike British, US, Italian, French, Japanese etc Spanish and Basque culture is not as passively woven through our literature, media, comedy, music or film in the same way.

Oh fuck. The cheesecake shop. Everyone had told us we had to go to the same famous cheesecake shop called La Viña.
It was past 11pm. Surely it wouldn’t be open. The shop was in Old Town near our apartment so there was nothing to be lost by wandering past.

Open? Fucking jumping. It was overflowing with people all eating what looked like unremarkable baked, slightly charred cheesecake. We ordered a couple of pieces as we stood looking at a dozens of identical cheesecakes piled high. The Great Wall Of Cheesecake.

It was warmish, velvety, perfectly balanced and delicious. Our eyes rolled into the back of our heads in delight and we moaned in ecstasy as we devoured the cake. Bear even did a little dance from side to side and flapped his hands. We all agreed it was the best cheesecake we had ever eaten.

We tumbled home laughing and planning out next trips. This cheesecake stop will remain my fondest memory of San Sebastian. Becoming a happy gangbuster travel unit in such a short time is such a joy. And it reminded me of so many times in my early 20s when this had happened and it had seemed like magic.

Growing up you have your friends, family, neighbours and school mates. You belong to a certain tribe and you brand yourself with social markers through your clothes, where you live, how you speak and what you do. When I began travelling and meeting new people who were not part of all that unspoken pigeon holing, stereo typing and social profiling I was thrilled to find my personality was not reliant on my clothes, school, who I knew, where I lived or what I did. The essence of who was portable, adaptable and in a short time people were taking the piss out of me and I them in exactly the same way my friends and family did at home. It was a revelation. It was a liberation.

By the time we woke Emma had finished her carb loading tour of San Sebastian and had left for Berlin for her marathon. It was another sparkling blue-sky day. We headed through the town in search of breakfast which we found at Old Town Coffee. Jess and I bought some tax free Camper boots spur of the moment on the way back to the apartment. As we packed speedily, I called out to Jess to check if there were Ubers available’. ‘No Ubers, lucky you suggested we check. We’ll hail a cab down on the main street’.

We said goodbye to the apartment and dragged our luggage down the stairs. No taxis on the main street. Slight panic. We didn’t have a heap of time to get to the bus terminus. Jess was two steps ahead and went into tour guide mode and began hotfooting it to an intersection with a greater chance of finding a cab. She had our tickets, knew what time the bus was leaving and knew where the station was. She only had a backpack so could move faster. We dragged our 20-kilo luggage behind us.

I wasn’t at all fazed or concerned. Jess was sorting this and I just had to follow her lead. It was a blissful moment. ‘This must be what it feels like for the boys and Bear to travel with me’ I thought to myself because I am usually the tour guide, organizer, whip cracker, problem solver, knower of the logistics, Julie McCoy and chaos wrangler.

Jess hailed a cab, we were at the bus station with heaps of time and before we knew it we were in another country.

****
COMING! Part SIx.  South of Fucking FRANCE MATE!  (there are 20 parts to total)
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