*Note: This adventure took place in August 2012.
Last we heard from our intrepid explorers, they were making their way across the Spanish border into lands unknown. Destination: San Sebastián/Donostia -- a small city with a big beach and a giant, light-up Jesus not far from the France (and as I just learned -- twin city to Reno, Nevada). As the map predicted, we did not need to drive far at all to reach this popular destination, though the horizon started sporting some new roly-poly sky-pokers to give the eyes an extra poke of delight between points A and B.
After some less-than-intentional detouring, we made our way into the city and were pleasantly surprised to find that our quest to locate a camping area was remarkably simplified by the free wifi -- everywhere (Spain: 1 France: 0). The geographical aspect of this location was also quite pleasing, what with the whole city being cradled by hills and swathed in wavey blues, ever tucking in the sandy beach at its center. Perhaps the most photographed hill in this skyline is that with an ancient fort and pretty park at its peak, overseen by a giant, (contradictorily) light-up and lightning-proof Jesus. More on that later. Before city adventuring began, we drove outward and up, up, upward toward the only camping area advertised in the city's vicinity. T'was a lovely spot in the mountains with magnificent views of distant blues (if only we could have chopped down a tree or two). No rowdy neighbors that I remember. Dreamy showers. One faction headed back down the mountain that very evening, while the other (this one) got caught up on some much-needed not going anywhere. We'd decided to stay two nights and the city would still be there the next day, after all.
That next day's adventuring was grand indeed, and included the far-off observation of many creepy womenfolk in white, painted and frilled, hoping for a donation to their Standing Very Still Fund. There was wandering through many a side street where joker-clad fellows were blowing giant bubbles and up steep, green hillsides with surprise geese and dusty, barred fort windows that made for prime imagination fodder. We visited the Giant Light-Up Lightning-Proof Jesus along with some cute older ladies (and many others) and found that, indeed, his view was certainly good enough to stand around up there all day.
A side adventure took us into a large Catholic church set into the hillside with dark stone and superfluous golden accents, tiny windows, tacky music, and alarmingly realistic sculptures, including a charming little number of a (not lightning-proof) Jesus corpse in a glass tomb and a doll-like Mary -- a similar portrayal to those we saw of the heilige Marie in other churches later.
Our path to a grocery store brought us past excellent, family-friendly street musicians, who were rocking out to an adoring crowd of all ages. The supermercado itself also had some adorable points, such its impressive array of dried meats on strings, serve-yourself buffets of frozen sea creatures, and beautiful fruits, which were only to be grappled with gloves, thank you very much.
One beach picnic, sunset, and superb sesame ice cream later, we found ourselves back on the steps of previously visited church, where a Rastafarian was marleying to a large crowd of wine-consuming young persons. ("I am not here because I want you to give me money -- I am here to spread vibes! ...But if you want to give me money, that is okay, too!") They were all having a ball, so we propped ourselves upon a nearby wall with our own bottle and enjoyed the ambiance.
While waiting for the last bus to the campground, we encountered two young Frenchmen happily (and drunkenly) singing along to poppy French love songs on their .mp3-player. More exciting yet was the young, drunk Welshman on the bus that started chatting with us and then proceeded to insult me with all possible negative American stereotypes. "I'm from Wales, but she has nooo idea where that is! You Americans think it's all England! No idea of world geography an' think you're better than everyone else!" And so on. Both amusing and somewhat disheartening. I quickly gave up trying to protest and just went back to speaking German with my compadres. Confusion ensued. Margaret: 1 Drunk Welshman: 0.
Sleep, breakfasting on ever-present baguettes, now dry and flakey on the outside with soft, squishy bellies (kind of like my belly felt after three weeks of baguettes), followed by our last night of camping wild and the most incredible, giddifying landscapes we couldn't have dreamed up.
