Just to show you that the sun has broken through, at last. In our back yard.
Having discovered on Sunday that the permanent no-parking notices all over town included the words “marche” and “lundi” and “0600-2000” we twigged that Monday, yesterday, was Market Day. Mary’s eyes brightened and so it was decreed that we’d attend. Weather forecasts available on-line had indicated for a couple of days that Monday would be sunny some of the time at least and would be followed by several days getting progressively warmer.
Monday morning was still overcast and cool but the market action was just around the corner so the weather was no deterrent at all and we were up and away by 10:00am. Finding some interesting pics was my goal while Mary’s goal was finding bargains; consequently we parted company for a couple of hours.
Serious trekker, presumably guarding his wife’s cart while she hits the shops (or perhaps she’s shot through!). He indicated to me that he was intending to go all the way, another 800km!
Black berets are definitely in, here, but always on males over about 60. Group at a brasserie.
Part of the market, the stalls of which were scattered over the town wherever space permitted.
Someone was making hay even when the sun wasn’t shining. The normal road traffic continued. Scene at a corner of the main street.
To our delight the sun broke through at around noon and we celebrated by removing many of our clothes, washing them (a little later), and sitting out in the backyard to eat our lunch and have an obligatory glass of red. It was now bask time, in Basque Country.
Part of “our” backyard, which is pretty big, bounded on the sides by ancient stone walls and covered by lawn mottled with daisies and buttercups.
Later on, as the earth rotated, the sun lit our apartment quite nicely.
Pelote Match
So, sports fans, here’s something for you. At 5:00pm Monday a pelote match was scheduled to be played in the town. Mary stayed home while I walked around to the nearby venue intent on finding out all about it. The ten euro entrance fee was a bit steep, I thought, but what the hell, and besides the ticket also included a free tour of a sheep cheese factory in some nearby village. Imagine a huge squash court with a few modifications to ensure that the ball bouncing surfaces are not all precisely at right angles to each other. On the left and back inner walls are lean-to structures about half wall height with wooden roofs about two metres wide which slope downwards and inwards.
Yes it’s all indoors. in this case inside a red stone barn-like structure built in 1937 specifically for pelote. The fans were accommodated on wooden benches around three sides, all looking down into the playing area. Modus operandi: similar to squash, but four players and oncourt ref. Bigger rubber ball allowed to be struck by the hand alone, no rackets, no feet. First to 50 points wins, no stipulated half-times or similar.
The right wall with spectators, from my point of view above the back wall.
Play under way. The ball is just visible (see arrow). In the bottom right corner of the front wall you’ll see a square cavity. Hitting the ball into that cavity means that the opponent has bugger all chance of predicting the bounce and thus it's an almost certain point.
Directly below me was the furthest distance on court from the front wall. Many shots were played at this position and it takes a fair whack to send the ball to the front wall from there.
The guys in green won in 90 minutes. 50-32, as I recall. After the game I went downstairs and made friends with the best player, who happened to be also the oldest. Those are his hands. Presumably he takes that stuff off between games!
Tuesday, bright and sunny. Yay!
Slept in till 08:45. Yay! Mary had been working on a plan, as she often does, involving me, and driving. An hour or so later we were trundling around an anti-clockwise tour which included several local villages and not a few potential navigation hazards. Lunch was a couple of ham, cheese and tomato baguettes assembled by the duty navigator and stored with a few other delicacies in a small Esky which we’d bought on day one and which is destined to become the property of our new friends Claude and Alain.
To be driving in strong sunlight again was a tonic. No damp sheep pics today!
Nice cottage with big old oak tree on the right.
Headstones. These two have no Christian symbolism on them but instead favour a symbol widely associated around here with Basque culture. Curiously, on these examples the designs are mirrored. Whether that means anything I don’t know. The small bird is a fitting touch.
We stopped for a lunch break while driving through the narrow gorge known as Pas de Roland where the River Nive has carved a way through rock. It was great to see a river which appeared little affected by man, although we were on a road on one side and a railway ran parallel with the road on the other side.
Lunch spot, Pas de Roland
The villages have tongue-tying and memory-challenging names and as for keying them into the TomTom via the cumbersome remote, you’d better set aside ten minutes for each. I wonder how many villages in France have “Saint” as the first word of their names? Take as an example the last village we visited today, Saint-Etienne-de-Baigorry, by no means an extreme one. Makes Woolloongabba seem easy! Pics from SEdB:
Pont Romain, built 1661.
Mary peeping over the parapet.
Crossing the bridge carefully, lest it collapse.
Thanks for reading
Kev and Mary
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