Calle Monasterio de Urdax
Pamplona
Spain
Spain
Dear o,
You asked for it.
Day 1.
Rose at 6am. Packed the rest of
our Parisian life into bags, folders, baskets and loose armloads. Shook our landlord’s hand in lieu of
cheek-kisses and told him of our trip; he said we were not allowed to call it a
trip anymore – it is an adventure.
Hauled the stuff to the truck parked a few minutes away and realised
(again) that we have brought too much.
Blocked a one-way road getting croissants and baguettes from an 18th
arrondissement boulangerie. Got on the Périphérique and turned
towards Bordeaux. Noticed the engine’s
rumbling between 80 and 110 km/h had become worse in the past weeks. Made it to San Sebastian by 7pm. Got stuck in an underground parking lot that
we thought might just fit us in. Got out with the accompaniment of scratching
sounds above. Went for tapas with my
aunt and uncle. Didn’t give them a ride
back to our shared lodging because we had too much stuff in the back two
seats. Drove over the bottles containing
waterfleas. Spent an hour searching for
the hotel and paid the same motorway toll twice. Slept.
Day 2.
Rose at 8am. Drove my aunt and
uncle into San Sebastian, noticed the engine’s rumbling between 0 and 120 km/h,
plus a bad clutch and evil sounds.
Attempted to fix the surfboard on the cold beach. Didn’t fix the surfboard. Searched for garages open on a Saturday. Found a garage that identified the problem (a
defective transmission bar) but couldn’t fix it. They wouldn’t accept our money. Confirmed that the Basque people are some of
the kindest in Europe. Decided to call
the driving quits until fixing the transmission. Met for lunch and a game of Hearts in the hot
Iberian sun. Watched the sunset over the
bay. Saw the sun fade back as a little
star, then a drop in the galactic bucket.
Ate the best monkfish I’ve ever had.
Returned by taxi. Everything
still there – maybe there would be too much to steal. Watched an episode of Columbo with my aunt and uncle.
Slept.
Day 3.
Rose at 8am. Bus to Bilbao. Had to run around the corner to get the
tickets with a sliver of time left before it departed. Beautiful formations of rock (volcanic?)
alongside the road. Ate unidentified
bovine organ. Three hours at the
Guggenheim: brilliant, chameleonic, almost bionic architecture. Form beats function, but function still
wows. Steak dinner and another round of
Hearts. Went successfully for Power for
the first time in my life. Walked
through the old town, by the silent Gothic cathedral. Slept.
Day 4.
Rose at 6am. Bus to San
Sebastian. Truck still there, everything
inside. Two-hour search for the Toyota
garage in Pasai Antxo, but they had the part to do the job in a day. Few hours in a local café. Al unable to find more waterfleas. Drove along the hill of San Sebastian and
parked for the night. No more
rumbling. Admired the smashing Atlantic
and the massive boulders still crossing their slate fingers against centuries
of erosion. True Basque dinner: three
tapas bars, superb patatas al ajillo, calamari in its black ink, stuffed
stomachs and happy faces. Returned along
the sublime bay: lighthouse light through the mist, tranquil stone warehouses,
scents of the cold ocean, dark rock arms embracing the salty gel on the crust
of the earth, city light and porous sky brushtroking together. First night in the truck. Arranged the stuff – we have too much. Slept.
Day 5.
Rose at 8am. Arranged the stuff –
we have too much. Drove to Pamplona,
through windy, hilly, lush Navarre, arrived in Pamplona. Lazed through the Citadel. Chilly but sunny. Drank real hot chocolate. Sat down.
Wrote to you.
Yours,
QM
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| Sunset over Santa Klara, San Sebastian |
