Midnight in the Village : Random #8

The sweet, slow rhythm of village life. The buildup to one night in July, viewed with anticipation by the village children, the elders, and especially the bakery/shop attendant, who lives a double life as a forest-residing witch. Well into the night, we walked with a couple hundred of the other residents through the forests, where we ran into mermaids, mountain people, sneaky Basque peasants and witches.

It was nearly midnight when we finished, and no one was tired. Everyone gathered in the village square, where cider was passed and tables were laden with marmitako and tortilla for all.

Photo #10,379 of 11,309 photos. Randomly selecting one every day this month for  a little thing called National Blog Post Month.  See what memories it conjures up of my life here in San Sebastián.

eating in hondarribia

This past summer, there was a much-talked about (at least in the social circles I run in) article in the New York Times that hinted at a shift in the gastronomic epicenter of Basque Country, from San Sebastián to Hondarribia:

With its abundant variety of local produce, a daily influx of fresh seafood, and what has become a critical mass of new talent, the tiny town of Hondarribia has emerged as one of the best places to experience the region’s ambitious cuisine, and without the parading crowds of San Sebastián, just 13 miles away.

On my last visit to Hondarribia, I didn't have the chance to do my obligatory research. So it was with great pleasure, and an empty stomach, that I returned a few weeks ago to look into the state of things.

And I was impressed.

Much like Donosti-San Sebastián, this ancient fishing village has an oversize gastronomic presence. We only sampled a few of the pintxo bars, but what we found was both modern and traditional, and always of incredible quality. Bixente Muñoz, chef behind Gran Sol, says on his website: "We don't renounce anything, but we base our offerings on traditional cuisine." Hence the puff pastry (above) filled with cheese and laced with ham and balsamic.

And then there was the jaizkibel from Gran Sol: a mushroom filled with cheese mousse and topped with ham and copious aioli, which actually seemed closer to mayonnaise to me (often the terms are exchanged loosely here) and both fluffier and lighter than either. If I said stupid stuff in this blog, I'd probably say something like it was a taste explosion in my mouth. But I don't. So there.

From Gran Sol, you can keep walking down San Pedro and hit numerous quality bars.

Definitely make a stop, however, for Vinoteka Ardoka. It sticks out, noticeably chic and modern amongst the more traditional offerings on San Pedro. But trust. They have an extensive wine list, and an intriguing pintxo menu. Impeccable flavors, none of them too experimental, but perfectly married. They draw from tradition (nothing new about pairing cheese with cooked fruit compote and balsamic), but the presentation is modern/beautiful and the execution flawless (see burnished top of said goat cheese).

Hondarrabia-you have not seen the last of me.

vamos: hondarribia, país vasco

Recently, we had a puente, a super Spanish phenomenon that occurs when a holiday falls on a Tuesday or Thursday and the whole world subsequently decides not to go to work on either that Monday or Friday, resulting in an extra long weekend.

Oh, Spain.

A good friend of mine offered to take me around Hondarribia-Fuentarrabía for the afternoon. This Basque town sits meters away from the French border town of Hendaye, but the two towns are very different. The old quarter of Hondarribia is enchanting. Trees line the cobblestone roads, and the outlines of the ancient fortress walls define its shape.

Lately, Hondarribia is getting more credit as a dining destination. Expect an influx of gastronomic day-trippers thanks to this recent article. Many chefs thumb their noses at the expensive rents of Donosti and set up shop in the small, neighboring village, which might turn out to be surprisingly prescient.

The fisherman's quarter of Hondarribia was perhaps my favorite area. Without the stone grandeur of the old part, it's mostly comprised of tiny, almost elfin cottages.  Basque fisherman would set off early in the morning, walking out their front doors, down the tree-lined street, and into their fishing boats.

Remnants of the famous seige on the city by the French can be found in the pockmarked fortress that is now a parador, or state run luxury hotel. 16,000 shells were fired into the city, which was almost destroyed but did not surrender. They celebrate this victor with fiestas at the beginning of September.

Finally, we scaled the mountains around the city to stand on cliffs overlooking the bay. An ancient lighthouse that used to guide in the Basque sailors sits at the top of the hills.

Gorgeous.

saturday market: urretxu, basque country

"There's nothing to see here," said my friend, Aitor, over a café con leche in Zumarraga.  Needless to say, I didn't believe him.

Needless to say, I was right. We crossed the river, the only distinguishable border between Zumárraga and Urretxu, and went on into the main square. 

It was Saturday morning, and the square was bustling, stalls filled with everything from gominolas (candy, also known as txutxes and golosinas), to clothing, to books, to buttons, and of course, FOOD.

Huge bags of beans, wheels of fresh cheese stinking up the place (i mean that as a compliment), huge squash, ugly tomatoes (another compliment), greens with dirt still clinging to the roots, homemade preserves, red and green peppers, potatoes, carrots, everything.

fiestas de san miguel: oñati, basque country

There are countless tiny Basque herriak, some large, some small, and some even smaller, that no outsider will ever visit. That no tourist would ever pay attention to. But within these tiny villages, there are hundreds and thousands of stories. And, at least once a year, the populations explode to life to celebrate their town's fiestas.

Everyone gets decked out in traditional caserio, or farmer, wear. The days, usually a week but at the least a long weekend, are packed with different activities that range from gypsy amusement rides to traditional markets to parades to rural sports. It's an intriguing mix of old and new, just like the culture itself.

Our landlord's friend, Iñaki, was so so kind enough to invite us to stay with him in Oñati, a small village about an hour from Donostia, for Saturday's festivities. THANK YOU. He threw us in the deep end of small town Basque culture. To give you an idea of the closed-offness of the villages, when I asked my friend Aitor, who gave us a ride to Oñati from nearby Urretxu, if he wanted to come hang out for a bit, he quickly shook his head and goes "Esto no es mi pueblo." (This is not my town.)

Well, it definitely wasn't ours, but it was incredible...we saw it all. We started hopping in and out of tabernas with his cuadrillo (gang) around midday, crowding into the main plaza for a degustación de sidra (or free public cider tasting), watching deportes rurales (traditional basque sports, like log cutting, lifting heavy rocks, etc. serious.), and strolling around the food, craft, and livestock markets.  There were txistulari (flutists) playing in the courtyard of Oñati's beautiful old university. There was an twenty-something teaching a toddler a few notes on the txalaparta (a Basque instrument whose closest relative would be a xylophone).

Everyone was in the street...from babies to senior citizens. Even teenagers. It was a beautiful day, almost too hot for the traditional dresses the girls sport and the blue pants, vest, hat and traditional Basque shoes, which look kind of like clumsy ballet shoes with big woolen socks underneath. Iñaki's friends said they don't wear theirs anymore because they're uncomfortable.

It was truly a beautiful thing to see an entire town out together, enjoying itself and celebrating a super distinct culture. Incredible.