Arantzazu

It's lucky, now that our serious traveling days are numbered, that we found a place we want to go back to again and again. It's called Arantzazu, has a population of about forty monks, a couple of families, and two inns. One is called Goiko-Benta, and it is the best place in the world.  

The little inn is 400 years old. It shows. Its common areas upstairs look rather like a blown up version of Van Gogh's room at Arles (huge floorboards, light spilling in). Its tiny rooms have deliciously hot showers and big mountain views.

It has been in the family for ages, and the family is as lovely as the inn. They have a spaniel and a vegetable garden, and generations of the family share the house.  They took a strong interest in the smallest Halpern; as we were leaving, they presented us with gorgeously crocheted baby booties, knit in secret while we were there. 

Trails start just outside the door and thread all over the mountains. We ran all over the place.

Through forests.

High up, overlooking huge vistas.

Past megalithic stones & graves peppering the hills.

Up to precarious stony perches.

And through cow meadows (cows have lovely bells).

So, incidentally, do the sheep.

Of which there are many. Most days, we saw more sheep than people.

During the week we were there, we straggled repeatedly up a steep little path to a mountain hut amid the sheep fields, where we found blazing fires (even in summer it can get chilly!) and tremendous lunches.

But it was also easy to come back down around lunch time. Because Goika Bentu has the best food we've ever tasted. No exaggeration. It  was hard to determine which meal we looked forward to the most. It all began with breakfast: omelettes, almond breads, yogurts, peaches, and coffee. 

We went to bed each night excited for the breakfast to come. But lunch is equally serious business. Sit down outside after a long hike and a hot shower at around two or two thirty. Funny amuse-bouches will trickle out, maybe a carafe of wine, some delicious bread...and then three glorious courses. They are all perfect, every last one of them. (And surprising -- among other things, the kitchen appears to have mastered the home-made Bugle.) 

Come five (or six) pm, you will feel the kind of contentment that comes from being outside all day, suffused with the extra dose of well-being that comes from being on this particular veranda, having finished this particular lunch. You might be ready for a stroll, a game of gin rummy, or a chapter of Moby Dick. 

Whatever you decide, all will be right with the world. 

Let us know when you're going. We'll meet you there.

Boooooorgos

Burgos is a necessary stop if you're traveling north of Madrid. Guidebooks insist that you see the city's tremendous cathedral. 

We insist that you look out for its snails...

....its knobby trees....

...and its delicious alleyways, full of wonderful bites.

Strolling San Sebastian

San Sebastian is posh. Maybe a little too posh for us for a long sojourn, but worth a day of strolling about. We ate tremendous pixtos, possibly the best we had in Spain. But no pictures. We were hungry!

We most enjoyed watching the water -- San Sebastian is a surf mecca, and for good reason. The waves were huge! 

So huge that Nick is about to get wet!

A Day in Bilbao

We took the train from our little estuary haven to to Bilbao, where we saw spiders.

Oh yes, and also the Guggenheim....

....an enormous dog....

...and another one....

And went for a run. It was a good day.

The Basque Coast

The Basque Coast was the first stop of our two-week slow-motion crawl through Northern Spain. At first, it made us wistful for California.

But slowly, we must admit, we began to feel downright disloyal. 

It was quite simply the most beautiful coast-line we've ever seen. 

(Yes, that's a church atop that tiny little island. And you can walk there. And it's not even a tourist trap.)

In fact, there are tiny churches at every turn. Here, a five-minute stroll from our little guest house in San Bartolome, is a chapel for fisherman, complete with fish statues dangling inside.

Unfortunately, there are so many churches that it would be impossible to keep them all open. (There were at least four others within walking distance!) We had to crain our necks to see inside them. "Churches in Basque country are usually closed," explained the lady at the Gernika visitors' center matter-of-factly. 

They were lovely anyway. And so was the land of the estuary (which stretches from Gernika all the way up to Mundaka, where the serious surfing begins) -- gray, full of birds, full of loveliness, with trails along the tidal zone linking the towns together. 

Or, more precisely, that sent Nick running happily through the drizzling rain. Talk about bliss. 

It was a half hour walk in the evenings to the most perfect picnic spot we could imagine.

A baguette and some cheese and olives.....and crazy sunsets.

And an hour run up the mountain trail behind our inn to find ourselves on top of the world.

It was a longer walk to the beach towns themselves, which boast uncrowded beaches and tiny islands to explore. Not to mention gorgeous pixtos (Basque country's version of tapas). Here's the Mundaka variety: 

And these gems are from Gernika.