Perigord and pinxtos: A Camino route heading to Basque Country

Still heading south almost ready to cross over into Spain we realise that some of our best days have been those that were spontaneous. Like Pau.

We went to Pau for no other reason than we were passing through. We left after having learned so much about the home of the beloved Bourbon king, Henry IV, who was born here. The tale goes that as a baby Henry slept in a beautifully decorated turtle shell. He may well have done, but when we toured the palace, the Chateau of Pau that was his home, there was a monumental bed in the King’s Bedchamber closed in by some stunning, tho’ heavy, Gobelin tapestries hanging on the walls. A somewhat different fairy tale. Though that may stem from the time that Napolean took a summer holiday there when he was in power. Lying in state, after a fashion.

There are many Gobelins in all the major rooms and many a magnificent Sevres vase throughout the three stories that we were able to view. Loved the dining room table. It seated 100 guests and was a magnificent extendable piece that went on for tens of yards, believe it or not, resting on fir trestles for legs, which might make more moveable, if one was so inclined.

I wonder if the large one at Buck House is as large?

Our next port of call, Bayonne, was another delightful surprise. In the middle ages, Bayonne developed as a beautiful cathedral and cloister city because of its trade links with England. Today it is a charmingly relaxed Basque city, very proud of its Basque heritage, Basque food, and Basque traditions, with very friendly inhabitants who are much more skilled using English than we are using French. Here we learned of the art of making traditional Basque Berets, and saw some fine examples of these.

On to Biarritz. Biarritz is one of the most delightful beach cities (it has several beaches) that we’ve ever seen: added to which it is sharply elegant, has amazing shops, astonishing beach views, walks and brilliant climate. Why anyone who wants a beach holiday would ever need to go abroad beats me --Biarritz has it all and more.

On to Ainhoa – probably our last (for this year) most beautiful village in France. This pretty village sits in the Pyrennees foothills in the shadow of some of the greatest walking and cycling mountains between France and Spain -- and all the homes in the village date from the 1640s through to 1750s and beyond -- and are painted in the traditional white and with the heritage red window shutters and doors so typical of the Basque region. Enmasse they are stunning.

The tiny church in this town was one of the most heavily decorated we have yet seen in France: brightly coloured, heavily statued, much gilding. Two brilliant tenors were practising a long session of sacred hymns at the altar, so Beck and I sat enjoying our own private concert. They must have suspected we were cold and, very kindly, turned on the heaters and the lights throughout the church and behind the altar – which promptly threw a blast of phosphorus blue light radiating from behind each heavily gilded statue and, at the same time, haloed the Blessed Virgin, at centre stage, in a complete head and shoulder circlet of Hollywood lights. Very Vegas.

Here we saw our very first Chistera – the long curved woven basket handmade with reeds and used for hurling the peylote ball in the very popular Basque game of peylote -- and just down the road we saw our first ever fronton court where peylote is played.

We ate farmhouse Basque cheese and cured jambon with a very delicious Basque baked bread for lunch, finished off with a Basque gateau a l’ancienne, that was Basque-plain, even ordinary on the outside, hiding a secret and delicious surprise crème filling.

We have been circling this region from a quiet little village south of Biarritz called Saint Jean-de-Luz, which is on one of the coastal Camino routes to Santiago so we spent much of yesterday climbing the beautiful paths along a spectacular rocky sea-front under the shadow of the big mountain, La Rhune, which, only today has come out of the clouds and showed itself in all its glory.

Saint Jean is a small town with a delightfully colourful history. Witches. Six hundred woman were accused of witchcraft here in 1609, and their fisherfolk husbands were required to rush home from their cod-fishing fun in Newfoundland to ensure their womenfolk were not burnt at the stake.

The Saint Jean menfolk became terrific sailors, corsairs – and privateers -- and spent much time attacking their enemy – the rich private Spanish ships off the coast of South America – the spoils of which made Saint Jean very wealthy.

Today all is quiet on the Saint Jean waterfront but I suspect it breaks out in summer: the beaches must operate like magnets to French holidaymakers.