I love to travel, that is no secret, but the more places I visit, the harder it is to pick a favorite. Obviously, some places stand out more than others, but in general, every location has something of its own to offer. However, last weekend's trip to San Sebastian, capital of the Guipúzcoa province in the Basque Country, slightly improved my inability to choose a favorite destination--at least in Spain. Having heard a ton of praise from all directions regarding San Sebastian, Donostia in Basque, and how I must visit, I arrived in San Sebastian expecting the best. And I got the best, if not more.
San Sebastian sits comfortably on the northern coast of Spain, a mere hour or so from the French border. The stunning blue waters of the Cantabrian Sea lap over the city's pristine beaches and the air always smells of the mild sea breeze, a scent unheard of (unsmelled of?) in Burgos. Surfers traverse the city in their wet suits and flip flops, casually carrying their surfboards as if they were school books. Nobody but me looks twice.
Away from the beach, the heart of the city is decidedly European. Walking down the gorgeous Paseo del Urumea, on the bank of the Urumea River, I was very strongly reminded of Paris. Then St. Petersburg. Then Paris again. There is something wonderfully familiar about the sight of a wide river lined with decorated European buildings. It feels like home.
Despite the spectacular ambiance of the city, what I enjoyed most was the authentic Spanish experience. On Sunday night, my friends and I took the advice of one of the hostel employees and went to dinner at a small restaurant nearby, which supposedly served amazing paella. Sitting at the table, sipping tinto** and half-watching the owners make our paella out of scratch with seafood they probably went to the ocean to catch the moment we ordered (it was that fresh), I noticed a woman sitting at the bar, chatting with the owners. She was too blonde to be Spanish and her face yielded the soft features of an Eastern European. Bastante*** soon I discovered that she was, in fact, Russian. We chatted and it turned out that she used to be a figure skating coach for Disney On Ice, and she had lived all over the world. She spoke Russian, English, and Italian, but very little Spanish. She was acquainted with the owner of the restaurant because his wife, the owner of the hostel I was staying at, was Russian too. Olga, a busty, middle-aged blonde strolled into her husband's bar soon after and chatted with the four of us in her thick Russian accent, while her husband served us fresh steamed mussels, the best paella I have ever eaten, and Spanish olives.
He kept us entertained during dinner by creeping up behind us and startling us and treated us to a one-hour dessert of political discussion. Now that's the Spanish experience.
*Donostia is the shit
**red wine
***rather
No comments:
Post a Comment