I‘m standing at a bar in the pyrenees with most hideous cycling tan you ever saw, complete with ovals on the back of my hands where my gloves were, I’m trying to own it. Some how we happened to choose the most happening little town in the whole mountain range with live music on tonight and African gentlemen in full patterned robes milling about.

After a night of thunderstorms in urnieta and too humid to sleep we are feeling pretty exhausted. Then there was the long train rides where we were almost denied our bikes on (some how we charmed one of the station guards who argued our case in loud french to the grumpy train guard) then hours of riding in baking heat from pau until we reached the relief of the mountains. And that view as we rounded the bend, wow green rolling hills, the terracotta roofs of a valley town and a blue snowcapped peak behind.

I nearly didn’t come out, I have my whole life to be a granny when I return home, sometimes experiences have to be grasped with both hands. It’s an amateur choir, singing African and french songs, it makes me smile and reminds me of my own lovely mum and her choir back home. On the street some dreaded up hippy types are juggling, one of them is completely disgusted whenever anyone drops a skittle. The sun is setting over the mountains, so nice.

“There’s going to be a big storm” maite’s friend called out to us as we departed. It was Saturday and they were having a money making brainstorming session. They asked us to bring back Australian ideas for a basque dating service. It wasn’t the brainstorming they were referring to though, although with the bright hot sunny afternoon we weren’t to know.

We were going to climb to the Christ on the hill in san sebastian. It was dripping with humidity and the air felt so close it was like hands pushing down on lungs and heads. By the time we emerged at the treeline the sky was a grey woody blanket. There was a strange woman washing herself in a drinking fountain who disappeared up some ruined staircases so we took the scenic route to the top. At the top christened a ladder on his back and an antennae on his head, I wonder if he minded. Through the ancient ruin san sebastian was framed in a halo of leaves and flowers. Despite the ominous weather rolling in the beach was still slicked with sunbathers, like a pointalist blanket.

We indulged in a last chance ice cream before the change. A band of old men was playing french music in the square. When they finished they were replaced by a gentleman we had seen before, face smeared white and black, red lips and hollow eyes who chirriped in the frighteningly high gibberish and hid amongst a table of fake heads to scare people. I wondered thatched could make money at such a game, what sort of person could he be?

We returned to our usual pinchos restaurant and the square was filled with children playing with balloons. The waiter put down the umbrellas to only minutes later have to struggle to put them up again against the first drops of rain. The wind was less of a hindrance than his own inability to understand that another umbrella was preventing it’s ascent. He struggled on and didn’t notice our pointing to the encumbrance.

When we returned the storm started in ernest, lighting flashing over the hills. The brainstorming session had formulated into “the slowest speed dating in the world” a train trip for singles on a Spanish train infamous for its tedious pace. They were in high spirits explaining their plan, but by the time we went to bed had lost faith on its money making appeal.

Sleep was hard to find that night amongst the thundering and that humid heat. I counted town clock struck nearly every mocking hour and most half hours. In the morning we had to rise at 6, it was going to be a long day.

“That’s the third bridge, the waves came right up to here”, Maite pointed out the car window. “A few months ago there was a big storm and people were surfing on the river, it was amazing to see”. We were in san sebastian to see what all the fuss was about.

We were dropped at the second bridge and wandered through the old town. It was touristy, but charming. We had chocolate hazelnuts in a paper cone then wandered to the ocean promenade where they were still fixing the storm damage.

It was quiet here, few realising it was reopened. A little white sail boat darted around the island and out to sea. The beach was jammed with sunbathers. When I later described it as a beach for posers Maite burst into laughter “yes exactly, exactly!” It was stifling with heat, any sensible person would be napping in their hotel room, our bedroom was a train ride away. We darted back into the landways to the surf beach on the otherside where it was full but not to bursting. It was baking hot, but as we reached the waters edge too cool to swim so we lay down to nap.

“You must try pinchos” Maite had said to us that morning. “For the Spanish it is a snack before dinner, for English people it is dinner”. With our bellies rumbling at 7pm and Spanish dinner starting around 9pm we thought pinchos sounded like a great idea. We wandered around, places were just opening, we got glimpses of plates of tantalising snack food skewered with toothpicks in every bar, but we weren’t sure what we were meant to do. We had foreigners anxiety, and we didn’t speak the language. We lingered like stray dogs, watching what happened, but couldn’t work it out from a distance, so we decided to grab a drink. Our fellow customers didn’t seem much interested in the tasty looking morsels waiting there for them, we grew impatient. Finally Dylan just went for it, it seemed all you needed was to obtain a plate and choose what you like, they zapped it in the microwave and brought it to you with a bill. Once we unlocked the secret it was like being at a fancy function picking this or that nibble, such fun! “dinner” over we wandered along the river under the welcome shade of the trees and the cool of the water, shadows long, floating on a slight sangria haze.

The area was a little industrial town but everywhere, even under the highways little vegetable gardens sprouted. People knew how to grow under adversity! As we wandered through the trees we could hear the clang clang of a bell, two goats tied to a tree enjoying an afternoon snack. They looked at us with curiosity but never stopped their munching. We walked up a hill fortified with blackberries and discovered some secret gardens at the peak, not a house or road in sight, cobbled together with recycled materials. An elderly couple were busily tending their plants and barely noticed our presence.

Urnieta where we were staying was a little town held together with with some 80s tickytacky with a backdrop of lovely hills. The local grocery store was so filled with produce that people had to do a silent dance back and forth to get what they wanted. In the window you would hardly know they sold food, shelves packed with strange bobble head toys.

It was kind of lovely to see how people personalised their identical little red brick terraces, a stone pineapple, flowers, mosaic numbers. Our house had three large stones cemented to the fence. Maite was a lovely host who loved the sea. They had a veggie garden complete with hammocks and a lemon tree covered in aphids which we tried to advise them on. It’s nice to feel useful! It was hot and a nap in the hammock and a cool drink made this funny little development close to heaven.

This has been our go to meal ever since hawaii. It’s great for clearing out your fridge when things look like they are on their way out and packed with nutrients.

We eat it thick with coconut roti, thinner as a pasta sauce or thinner still as soup.

lentil stew

Rinse then boil lentils until soft in a saucepan.

Meanwhile fry onion and garlic in butter until golden and soft, add the herbs and cayenne

Add chopped vegetables and cook until carrot begins to soften

Add lentils, water to cover and tomato stock cube. Simmer until reduces to consistency desired, add more water if vegetables/lentils not soft enough. Taste and add salt and pepper as required.