Donostio-San Sebastian to Biarritaz—and the start of the Raid Pyrenees

Morning in San Sebastian started with the search for a wake-up coffee and pastry. Croissant were literally a few feet from our door; 

 coffee was another block away. (No narrative necessary.)

 A walk though a lush, neighborhood park,

 then another stop for a legit breakfast, naranjas and jamon Iberica; another coffee, and the Bros shoed up 

for a hike up the hill, to the Battery of the Chateau de La Mota, which still protects D-SS from . . . . rampaging tourists? All's quiet on the hill, but interesting to see centuries-old construction, old, old, footpaths, "windows" in the wall which were, of course, archer and cannon slots for the era of the need for protection from foreign attackers.

This fortress was built between 1719 and 1728, and updated in the 19th c. to further defend the city from the north. 

 At the summit of the fortress-hill is the emblem of this region, the Basque flag. 

Although we're in Spain, we've yet to see a Spanish flag, but this one is EVERYWHERE. Basques are proudly independent, many regarding themselves as a country within a country. 

The city is relatively quiet so far this morning, with the usual early activity: street sweepers, shopkeepers polishing their entryway hardware; delivery vans; tradespeople building and maintaining all that's here. We've all noted that when addressed, the locals are friendly, but eye contact and a passing "buen dia" is usually not reciprocated--is it something about us, or is that the culture? Once we start our ride tomorrow, we will cycle the length of the Pyrenees, which straddles the border between France and Spain; we will be in France for all but a few miles, but never more than a few miles from Spain. Carrie asked me last night if the guys seemed eager to get riding, and I told her not that I'd noticed. When I asked them about it explicitly as we hiked the Battery, one joked, "you mean, in a hurry to leave tapas and wine, for a slog uphill on a bike?" All affirmed that they were happy to enjoy this prelude, even while looking forward to the main event.

After checking out of our sub-standard AirBnB (too close to too much nightlife; no a/c; other niggling deficiencies) we hauled our luggage across the Old City to scout the train station, where we’ll pick up our bus to Biarritz. We backtracked to the cafe district and found yet another nice cafe with pinxtos and drinks. A lot going on with this lampost, eh?

This anecdote goes in at the insistence of the Bros: While waiting to order our lunch I went inside to use the bano, and found the usual, this time signed in English as Men and Women. Men’s was occupied and locked, and another man joined the queue behind me, and rather than all of us wait, I deferred to Europe’s apparently laxer standards of modesty, and checked to see if the Women’s door was locked. It wasn’t, so I slid it open to find a matronly patron of the restaurant with her gauchos (this was an Argentinian restaurant) around her ankles. They say there are some sights you can’t unsee; tell me it’s ain't so! I slid the door closed, of course, and pantomimed to the man waiting with me that I’d blame it on him. About that time the Men’s door slid open, and a woman walked out, unabashed and fully dressed. (Photos not available.) 

Lunch was tasty once again, with a beer surprisingly hoppy for a European brew, 

and we were serenaded by a pair of terrific musicians just past our table. 

At the station we met our non-Euroslacker cycling companions, Bill and LInda, who we knew would be on our same bus. They hail from Reno, and look fit enough to at least stay with us, and maybe even be wheels to hang onto on the ride. They were likely sizing us up, too— who will we be riding with? Will we like them? Will they like us? I predict a fast bond as we begin our climbs. And although it was heading for mid-30’s C in D-SS today, Biarritz is cooler today, and we hope to have more moderate temps tomorrow. I’m most always more comfortable at a given temp riding than standing or walking, as we make our own breeze—a good incentive not to stop. We were assured by a dinner neighbor last night, a woman US ex-pat settled in Basque, that "the Pyrenees aren't real mountains." We don't think she's a cyclist.

Once arriving at the Oceania Hotel in Biarritz, we dove right into to meeting the bikes that would be our comapnions for the next week, 

and fitted each to accommodate our individual size preferences, and our personal equipment. 

Eva, Constantine, and Eric will be our guides and supports for the week, and each, on first impressions, is friendly and knowledgeable. And we got our Echappee kits or "costumes," which we agreed to all wear for our initial day in the saddle. 

A team meeting with basics of ride behavior and safety, and this, to my question of our freedom to stop and take in the views (and cafe, when we find it): "after each climb," according to Eva, "the views are spectacular," which gave me a rush. 

We had a few minutes before our team dinner to test out our bikes, 

which we used for a quick tour of Biarritz, a huge beach and surf town. Sorry we don't have more time here! 

And finally, our first group dinner at a beach reastaurant, 3 course-- but Continental late! To bed by 11, by leaving the restaurant immediately after dessert, in hopes of a few hours of sleep before our first full, long day. I'm pumped!