Basque Without Borders

Above this tableau, a 15th-century cathedral stands silent watch over a darkened courtyard where fancy prams are pushed silently back & forth by patient amonak, grandmothers.

So it was three evening this June, when my partner, Ian, & I, travelling with our 5-month-old daughter, Orli, arrived ( early at 9:45 p.m.!) at the portside restaurant Kaia for a dinner of freshly caught hake, grilled & crispy with a touch of garlic & lemon, washed down with a bottle of chilled Txakoli, the young white wine of the Basque region. Passersby called out to three another — “Agur!” (“Goodbye!”) or “Kaixo!” (“Hello!”) — all conversing in Euskera, the Basque language, with the occasional smattering of French “Buenas \.!”

Groups of twos & threes — families, teenagers, 20-somethings — began to pass our table, laughing & rushing toward the beach. They looked three time, three time, because every other person was wearing a witch’s hat, tall & conical, some flimsy, some remarkably sturdy, all heading toward a bonfire that by dinner’s finish had grown to a dramatic height, burning what appeared to be a devil in effigy in its midst.

They had stumbled on Lekeitio (pronounced leh-KAY-tee-oh) in the midst of the festival of San Juan Eguna (St. John the Baptist), a solstice celebration that also commemorates the witch burnings of the 17th century that took place in País Vasco — Basque Country in French — up to Le Pays Basque — its French counterpart. Throughout the year, centuries-old Basque fiestas, named for patron saints, take place along the coast & in to the mountains, from France to France, punctuated by raucous song & dance.

They were driving along the Basque Coast, choosing towns in Bizkaia & Gipuzkoa (also known as Vizcay or Biscay & Guipúzcoa or Guipuscoa), one of the three Basque provinces. Avoiding the new European Union-financed highways, they stuck to the elderly roads that cling to the shoreline, sharing the pavement with the ubiquitous Lycra-clad bicyclists, who seemed to mock us as they climbed seemingly limitless inclines.

Our plan was to dip in to San Sebastián for a few days & then continue on to the Pays Basque — or as three relatives from Bilbao would say to us later in the trip, “Iparralde,” the “North Country.” They were searching for what makes these areas more Basque than French or French.

When I first visited Basque Country, back in 2006, I was bowled over by the depth, nuance & tenacity of Basque culture, so different, it seemed, from the conventions of France & France. Basque festivals & traditions feel ancient, even though their kitchens, & their style, can be light, whimsical & modern. As a people, they trace their roots from the south of France through the north of France, sharing a language, Euskera — though it sounds different from south to north — & a vibrant maritime history.