Biarritz - A Travelogue
By Emma B
April 6 2007
A look back at last weekend's momentus victory over Biarritz Olympique in San Sebastián, taking in the whole weekend. Emma B's reflections...
Euskal Herrian Beti Jai!
(Or, The Besque Country’s Always Partying!)
Before I begin with the travel bit, I should probably introduce things. Even though I’ve traveled all over the UK watching the Saints (including trips to such exotic locations as Fylde and West Hartlepool), I’ve never followed them any further afield. I decided to take this trip because I figured it’d be a long time before I got the opportunity again. I usually attend matches with my parents, but this was to be a solo effort. Most people I spoke to before I left thought I was mad to be spending money on a trip like this, especially to watch a match I was certain we’d lose, but they were mostly people who don’t understand the effects of supporting a team in any sport. Somehow this team is like family – I’ll stick with them through anything, even though there are times when they make me cross.
I kept a diary as I traveled, writing in it when I got a moment. I didn’t get much time on Sunday, so that day’s entry was mostly written on Monday morning – forgive me if it’s a little confused!
Friday March 30th, 2007
My journey starts in the not so glamorous surroundings of Newcastle-under-Lyme bus station, waiting for the first of 5 buses (and a plane) I’ll be taking on my way to San Sebastian. I’m excited about the trip, but a little nervous too. It’s the first time I’ve traveled to a place whose language I can’t speak. The thought of Sunday’s game isn’t worrying me too much – we’ve got nothing to lose, after all, so I guess I’m a bit more relaxed about that that I am about the prospects of negotiating Spain’s bus system with a total lack of Spanish!
Saturday March 31st, 2007
Well, I’ve finally made it to Stanstead and negotiated the throngs of people heading off on school trips/family holidays/sports tours/etc. There are people asleep all over the place too – somehow it makes a night on a bus look like the better option!
Sleep deprivation is obviously doing funny things to me (that or boredom), as I’ve just forked out a small fortune for a breakfast I don’t really want [note – I think I spent more on food and drink during both my visits to Stanstead than I did in the entire weekend in San Sebastian].
I join the mayhem that is EasyJet’s check-in area. Luckily the queue for the Bilbao flight is pretty short. At this point I haven’t identified any obvious Saints fans, but I’m fairly sure I won’t be the only one on the flight.
Stanstead is a pretty soulless place, and I was rather glad to leave. The flight to Bilbao is nice and short, and we landed at about 10am Spanish time. It’s a small airport, and the immigration and customs checks were dealt with swiftly. There’s a regular bus service from the airport to the Termibus in Bilbao, the journey takes about half an hour and goes past the rather spectacular Guggenheim museum. On the bus were a couple of other Saints fans (I think they were Ian Vass’ parents), who struck up conversation with a lovely Spanish lady. She was also on her way to San Sebastian, and offered to show them which bus to catch from Bilbao. The Termibus is reassuringly familiar to those who spend a lot of time in bus stations – slightly grubby, home to lots of pigeons, and pretty chilly (why is it that bus stations are always cold?).
Boarding the bus to San Sebastian was slightly problematic. By this time we’d been joined by a party of three Saints supporting gentlemen, and there were a few other non-Spanish people catching the bus too. We all piled on and sat down, until a very irate Spaniard asked Mr Vass to move – it turns out the bus had allocated seats, which of course none of us had realized. Cue much confusion and congestion in the rather narrow aisle of the bus!
The journey to San Sebastian took just over an hour, and passed through some rather spectacular countryside (and lots of tunnels). We arrived just after 1pm, and I set off in search of my hotel, armed only with a map (courtesy of Google). I found the seafront, and what a seafront it was. San Sebastian is stunning, and you can see why it’s the summer haunt of Spain and France’s privileged few.
I walked along the promenade that runs behind the beach, spotting the odd splash of green, black & gold as I went. My hotel was located (naturally) near the more exclusive Playa Ondaretta, just over a 5 minute walk from the main centre of San Sebastian. I found my hotel without too much drama – the accordion-playing busker I passed on the way was the closest thing to peril I encountered.
After a brief siesta (when in Rome, etc), I headed back into town for a look around. The centre of San Sebastian is divided into two distinct districts; the old and new towns. The old town is all narrow pedestrian-only streets, lined with bars, restaurants, and little shops. The newer part of town is much more open and airy, and home to more modern establishments. Actually, the old town isn’t as old as it seems – a fire in 1813, caused by British and Portuguese troops who had come to liberate the city from the French, destroyed almost all of San Sebastian and the old town was rebuilt on the medieval street plan, which is why it feels so old now.
Before reaching the old town (or La Parte Vieja), I passed by the City Hall. It was originally built as a casino, but became the City Hall when gambling was outlawed. It’s a pretty impressive building, facing the Alderdi-Eder gardens. After grabbing some pintxos (the local form of tapas), I walked around the bottom of Monte Urgull, where the Bay of Biscay unleashes its full force against the sea wall. I imagine it’s a pretty spectacular sight on a stormy day.
Sunday April 1st, 2007
I woke up unnaturally early for a Sunday to a gray, rainy day (the rain in Spain, it turns out, falls where it likes). The hotel’s breakfast room was a veritable sea of green, black, and gold – I don’t think the staff were quite prepared for a group of hungry rugby fans descending on the buffet!
After breakfast I ventured out in the rain, determined to make the most of my time in San Sebastian. I walked back into town, past the busker (who had now been joined by a saxophonist) and came across San Sebastian’s equivalent of Sunday morning football on the Racecourse – football on the beach. All along Playa de la Concha were properly organised (and refereed) games of football, complete with parents huddled under umbrellas watching from the touchlines.
In the Old Town the small child in me got very excited by a sign proclaiming ‘this way to the castle.’ I followed it, but my adult body did not appreciate the climb up the Very Steep Hill to get there! The ruins of the castle sit on Monte Urgull, and overlook the town on one side and the Bay of Biscay on the other, making it the perfect vantage point. On the summit of Monte Urgull is a statue of Christ, but I was too tired to attempt the walk up the Even Steeper Hill to get there. Instead I walked around the side of the hill, and found the Cemeterio de los Ingleses, a memorial to English troops who died fighting the French.
By this time I was as wetter than I’ve ever been at the Rec (yep, pretty wet), so decided to head back to the hotel for a change of clothes. Unfortunately I didn’t have any more shoes (I know, a girl traveling with only one pair of shoes, stop the presses!), so had to make do with attempting to dry them using the hairdryer in my bathroom. This was not successful, so I squelched my way to the bus stop to wait for the bus to the Anoeta stadium.
Now, I’ve been to some pretty big games in a lot of sports, but I’ve never experienced anything like the atmosphere that greeted me as I got off the bus. There were red berets as far as the eye could see. The Biarritz fans were singing, drinking, blowing horns, and generally having a party. I can’t imagine how they’d behave before a final, or how they celebrate a victory [still can’t!]. I must admit to feeling a bit overwhelmed – 1500 Saints fans would have nothing on this lot, surely?
In honour of my Dad, who was safely ensconced in his local pub in Northampton I walked around the outside of the stadium. I saw the odd Saints fan sheltering from the rain, or buying beer and scarves, but red and white were easily the dominant colours (I wonder if we could change the gold to fluourescent yellow to make us a bit more visible?). After completing my lap, and coming to the conclusion that the inventor of the red and white inflatables should be shot (more for their annoyingly unwieldy nature than the noise they make), I headed inside.
The stadium is rather impressive, done out in the light blue of Real Sociedad. Unfortunately, the major problem with holding rugby matches in football grounds – access to beer – soon became apparent. There were two pumps, capable of pouring one pint each, between all of the fans in the section. One of these malfunctioned pretty quickly, and what had been a chaotic but vaguely understandable queueing system soon descended into the sort of rolling maul that Leicester would be proud of.
As kick-off time drew closer, the atmosphere got louder and louder, helped in no small way by a man on the pitch singing (thankfully he wasn’t as deafening as Sale’s opera singer). Coincidentally (hmm) the block of seats allocated to us was right next door to the seats allocated to Biarritz’s band. Better a band than a sea of inflatables and tuneless horns though, I suppose!
The game went by in a blur. I remember a few things, mainly expecting the referee to stop the game as Robbie made his try-scoring break. Thanks to my terrible eyesight I couldn’t read the time on the clock, so had to text people watching back home to find out how long there was to play. I nearly cried when I got the response ‘11 minutes!’ I must confess that I did shed a tear or two when the final whistle went, however.
As I walked back into San Sebastian I could hear the disbelief in the voices of the Saints fans around me, whether they were telling people back home or talking to the people they were walking with. I don’t think any celebration could have topped those minutes in the stadium after the whistle went, but I was determined to give it a try!
Back in the Old Town I found a bar showing the Leicester-Stade Francais match, and joined some other Saints fans in there to watch it. After the game ended I went to find some more celebrating fans, but failed miserably. I was even approached by a Biarritz fan who asked ‘where are all the English people?’ In hindsight I should have stayed around the stadium a bit longer, but I sort of got swept away in the crowd.
After a few more beers I walked back to my hotel. As I approached the buskers, I heard a familiar tune – they were playing ‘Oh When the Saints.’ I made sure I threw some money into their collection.
Monday April 2nd, 2007
Monday morning came far too soon, and was another grey day. After breakfast (with some very subdued Saints fans) I took the funicular railway to the top of Monte Igeldo. The top of the mountain is home to a hotel and a funfair (sort of San Sebastian’s answer to Billing Aquadrome), and provides some pretty amazing views of the city and the countryside behind. It was wet and windy up there, and even more windy on the top of the tower that stands on top of the hill. I was disappointed that most of the rides were still closed for the winter – the blatantly un-mysterious Mysterious River was particularly enticing. I spent an hour or so up there before catching the railway back down. After popping back to my hotel to collect my bag I headed for the bus station and transport back to Bilbao.
I had a few hours to kill before I needed to be at the airport, so I made my way to the only place I knew about in Bilbao, the Guggenheim museum. It’s a rather impressive building, made from titanium, and it changes shape with every few steps you take round it. I’d love to go back and see it on a sunny day, as today the colours of the building and the sky were almost identical.
The flight home was pretty uneventful, thankfully. There were a few tired-looking Saints fans on it – we seemed to have developed a sort of secret look, a kind of shared sheepish smile as we passed in the airport, which showed that there was still an element of disbelief surrounding Sunday’s result.
Tuesday April 3rd, 2007
After catching three more buses I made it back to my house at about 0630, whern the most disasterous incident of the whole weekend occurred. I’d been traveling all night, and lots of Monday too, so was looking forward to grabbing a few hours sleep before having to go to work. I tried to open my front door, but my housemate had been extra careful for once and locked and bolted the door. Disaster! I couldn’t get in, and banging on the door hadn’t woken him up. Eventually he emerged, hungover and apologizing, and let me in. I couldn’t quite believe that I’d done all that traveling and the worst thing that had happened to me was my own housemate locking me out of our house!
So to sum up, it was a pretty special trip. San Sebastian is a lovely place, and I’d recommend it to anyone as a holiday destination.
Turns out it’s not a bad place to watch rugby either…
