San Sebastián 1

The day started off sunny with traces of clouds on the horizon. The bus was fairly full with passengers from points west. The driver put on a rock muzak station. It took a while to leave the industrial suburbs of Santander as traffic was heavy. We passed a bridge on the bay that I had glimpsed from the boat the day before. The mountains were to our right as we headed east on the divided highway on this strip of Green Spain.

It was only 100 km to Bilbao but it was slow going because of the traffic. At one point we were stuck behind a slow smoke-belching beer truck. The small town of Laredo had an enticing crescent beach. (A search today shows that it is indeed a vacation destination.) About 20 km out of Bilbao we crossed into the Basque country. A nationalist had crossed out the a to give Bilbo, the Basque spelling. Bilbo looked like a grimy industrial city, the air was hazy, though it was probably the day's weather and not pollution. In a petrochemical complex they were flaring off gas. (The Guggenheim wouldn't be completed until 1997.) Bilbo is flanked by mountains, so the highway straddled valleys with flyovers and spans. There were convoluted ramps and exchanges. Wire mesh covered the faces of cuttings to forestall rock falls. The SOS phones at regular intervals were solar powered. There was a 1.3 km long tunnel just outside the city. I noted that a military barrack was well secured, as personnel are subject to ETA attacks.

Between Bilbo and San Sebastián the highway headed inland through coniferous forests, some in stands and some covering entire hillsides. In places the terrain required the east and west lanes to part. Timber framed houses appeared here and there. At a toll point, the driver paid with a swipe card. The skies turned overcast then it rained. Approaching the city I glimpsed the huge statue of Christ on Monte Urgull. San Sebastián is situated in the attractive bay of La Concha.

At the tourist office they gave me an excellent map. The owner of the second pension I asked was very friendly so I took the room. I also took the lunch that was served in the comedor. This was the only accommodation I used in Spain that had a restaurant. The serving was huge. The owner said he would put me in the annex so I left my backpack in the main building and went for a walk. I needed to cash some travellers cheques, but the banks were closed for the afternoon. It was a warm and very humid day, outside thermometers showed 30C.

When I returned from my walk the cheery owner took me to the annex. It looked like I was the only resident there that night. After the siesta, I found the markets where I stocked up on strawberries, cherries and apples. The vendor wanted the last peseta; frugal people lived here. After a detour to the pension to wash the fruit, I walked up Monte Urgull. The land had been neglected and allowed to turn wild, though not vandalised. After a strenuous climb I reached a vantage point where I could take in the whole bay.

There was a small cemetery for English soldiers who had fought with the Spanish against Napoleon in the Carlist Wars. The fortress lost military importance after the development of San Sebastián as a tourist resort and now the city owns it as a recreational area.

I found a viewing area and ate my strawberries and cherries with a fantastic view of La Concha spread out below me. Ladybugs flitted in the air. There was a lady with her dog, looking over the ledge. After a while, I stirred myself to walk up to the fort. The statue of Christ was undergoing restoration. I was alone there, save for an old man and two youths.

The mountains to the south formed a magnificent backdrop for San Sebastián. A cyclist arrived at the lookout, had his fill of the scenery, then exited via a dark stairway. At the bottom of the path were groups of feral cats. One was rummaging in a garbage can. They were skittish and wary of humans. They watched passing dogs dispassionately. The cats and dogs probably knew each other well.

Back at sea level in the city, I hoped there might be a seafood outlet at the marina, but not so. I walked through the old town. The idea of standing at a bar with a beer and ración didn't appeal to me so I finally settled for a plato combinado.

I spotted a CD shop with a good selection of jazz so I made a note to come back for some final purchases before leaving Spain.

I was the only guest in the dark annex that night. I stopped believing in ghosts long ago, but it felt spooky to read Foucault's Pendulum in such surroundings. Travel is like leading a second life and reading a esoteric book takes you into yet another world. Most discombobulating.