First Evening in San Sebastián

San Sebastián has a glorious location, curving around a magnificent semicircular bay lined with golden sand.  It is one the great resort cities of Europe.  Possibly, therefore a little big for me.  As the capital of its region, Gipuzkoa, it has a reputation as a hotbed of Basque nationalism.  We do sense a reluctance to speak Castellano and as before when I was in  País Vasco, we see flags, posters and one march.  It disturbs me in the same way as the Orange Men in Ulster and other displays of seperatism. I am also uncomfortable about flags and nationalism. 

The official name of the city, Donostia-San Sebastián, is a tautology, in that Donostia is a Basque name for Saint Sebastian. Some say Sebastian was martyred in the Roman port of Ostia, and is thus the Don (saint) of Ostia; others that Ostia (or Osti) is simply an abbrevation of Sebastian.

San Sebastian has never been a major port, or much of an industrial centre. Instead it's primary identity, ever since the Spanish royal family first came here for the summer in 1845, has been as a summer playground.  It has a superb sheltered beach and a charming old town, squeezed up against the foot of verdant Monte Urgull and renowned for its high-quality food.  It oozes affluence.  But somehow I still pine for Cádiz, which is less showy and more genuine.  As beautiful too in it's way. 

The new town to the south, known as Centro and the city’s commercial hub, has many art deco buildings as well as dreary newer ones. 

San Sebastián’s old town, or Casco Viejo, where we are staying, stands on the site where the city first developed, but hardly any buildings predate the disastrous fire, set by British troops, that devastated the town in 1813. With little trace of its original walls surviving either, it’s a formal grid far removed from the typical old quarters of other Spanish cities. Nonetheless, it’s a delight, its narrow streets and occasional pretty squares are thronged with shoppers and sightseers on our arrival. 

Plaza de la Constitución at the heart of the Casco Viejo, is unspoilt and I fall in love with it.   As we wander out after unpacking we see a group of children in traditional dress, having a procession. It's the festival of the port, which honours la Virgen, Carmen. We have beers and see a couple dressed in 18th century gear running round hitting children with baloons!  
The video is on my instagram feed.  

The plaza served as a bullring in the past; hence the numbers painted on the balconies to all sides. Amazingly, each window originally belonged to a separate apartment, each barely wider than a corridor.  Many dividing walls have now been removed, however, to make larger living spaces.

We enjoy a great evening.  After pinxtos we are challenged to find a bar with space but end up having a great meal with pizza and half a bottle of red wine.  This is unheard of for me, but it is my birthday and I survive!   

In our restaurant the lovely Moroccan waitress brings me a cheese cake and they sing Happy Birthday. 

I am sharing it with a 27 year old chef! (the birthday not the cheesecake)

We go back and listen to The Archers in our PJs. 
Later I am appalled and worried when I hear what has happenend in Nice.