It begins. Our thirty-day Eurail pass experience starts with alarm clocks and an early morning ride on the local train to Chamartin station, where we'll board the 8:00 a.m. train that will take us to San Sebastian on the Bay of Biscay in northern Spain. From there, we'll take a local train to Irún, and from there, we'll have to find our own way across the French border to Hendaye. When I planned this trip, I understood that we'd be able to take a train directly to Hendaye, but I was misinformed.
Hendaye was on the itinerary because I wanted to avoid having to take too many trains in one day. I thought Madrid to Hendaye would be a straight shot, and Hendaye to Paris would be another. I was almost right. I also thought it would be a good idea to combine visits to major metropolises like Madrid, Paris, and Rome with smaller, less obvious destination cities like Hendaye, Trier and Torino, which would give us a different experience of Europe.
Los abuelos joined us for the trip to Chamartin station. Almost as soon as we left the house, I realized that Nina had forgotten her journal, but it was too late for us to go back to the apartment to get it.
I took the photo below in the train station in San Sebastian. We were only there a short time before boarding a local train on the same tracks that took us to Irún.
In Irún, I hailed a taxi and asked him to take us to Hendaye. It was only after we had all gotten in and were on our way that he said he hadn't noticed previously that there were five of us. He was not pleased about this (he was afraid he'd get a ticket for having four passengers in the back seat), but he kept driving.
For our lodging in Hendaye, I had made our first Air BnB booking. Because the taxi took us directly to the house from the Irun train station, we arrived at 2:30 pm, earlier than expected, but the address of the house was not posted where we could see it. We were on a small road in a residential neighborhood at the top of a hill. Mari got out of the taxi to knock on a door. She roused an elderly gentleman whose native language was Basque. The taxi driver --who also spoke Basque--confirmed that he had brought us to the right place, and we got out our luggage.
Of all the language combinations at our disposal, the best one for communicating with the owner of the Air BnB ended up being me speaking French with him. If you've ever heard me stumble through a French sentence, you know what a reach that was. But we figured it out. He gave us a key and a tour of the three-bedroom house. His wife and daughter--both of whom speak English--manage the apartment, but they were not in because they weren't expecting us until later. We were lucky that he was there and that he let us leave our luggage at the house.
The house's garden featured some beautiful flowers.
Hendaye's main feature is its cold water beach on the Bay of Biscay. We started our explorations by taking a long walk down the hill past fragrant honeysuckle bushes to visit that beach.
There weren't many people on Ondarraitz beach in Hendaye on a Monday afternoon in late May. I told the kids that they could get in the cold water up to the bottom of their shorts.
Nina was the first to get in.
I think it's fair to say Pablo was a little more cautious about getting in the cold water than Emi and Nina were.
The "to the bottom of your shorts" rule almost immediately led to Emi and Pablo pulling theirs up.
I am no friend of cold water, so I didn't get in the Bay of Biscay. But if I had, I think I would have turned back to the shore more quickly than Pablo did.
You may have noticed that Pablo's shorts are completely soaked up to his waist.
According to legend, the twin rocks (“les deux jumeaux” in French) off the coast in the distance behind Pablo were put there by a Basajaun (a Bigfoot-like creature from Basque mythology) who lived in the Basque mountains. One day the Basajaun tried to throw a rock to destroy the town of Bayonne, which is 25 miles northeast of Hendaye. Unfortunately, he tripped and the rock fell out of his hand, broke in two and landed in the water, where it sits today.
My good friend Wikipedia tells me that in Basque legend the Basajaun avoided contact with humans but helped protect Basque sheep from predators by whistling to warn shepherds of their approach. Some say they are the vestiges of cultural memory of the last Neaderthals who coexisted with humans. I like thinking of Neanderthals as whistling sheep protectors.
The only castle in Hendaye is a 19th century-construction that was meant to resemble a medieval castle.
Oops. I took this photo right after a wave completely soaked Emilio and Nina from head to toe.
We walked back up the hill to take showers and put our clothes out to dry (no dryers in our house--or any other house in Europe), and then headed to Pointe Sainte Anne, which is near les deux jumeaux.
Every entrance to the Domaine d'Abbadia park which allowed access to Pointe Saint Anne was closed so we headed back down to the beach.
After walking along the beach, we headed to the boardwalk to get some dinner. We started with a shared sandwich de fromage at a food stand (I think we were their only customers) and then, with the edge of our hunger somewhat dulled, we dined in the only building that is actually on the beach: a refurbished 19th century casino that contains multiple restaurants with ocean view. We ate at the Hegoa Cafe. Nina ordered a crepe with nutella, and Mari had calamari. The boys and I shared pizza and pomme frites. As with many French restaurants, this one had a customer who brought her dog in with her.
After supper, we walked through the mostly empty streets of the town and then back up the hill where we retired for the evening--my first in France in almost 29 years.
"Red Yellow Blue II" (1965) by Ellsworth Kelly.
"Rock Dog" (1945) by Edgar Tolson.
When we left the museum, we left Wisconsin and headed to Springfield, Illinois, avoiding Chicago traffic, but failing to avoid a thunderstorm just outside the Illinois capital.
