The Lake and the Mountain

On my way from France to Italy, I decided to take a shortcut through Switzerland via Lake Geneva, or Lac Leman as it is locally known. It is early evening when I finally set eyes on the lake and the high mountains on the southern French side are barely discernible in the heat haze. Pully Port provides safe haven for the night where I watch the sun set in the direction of Geneva.

It’s a 2km walk along the lakeside footpath to the main port of Lausanne, Ouchy. From here, numerous ferries depart for Geneva, Montreux and Evian in France. However, the best way to cruise the lake is on one of the Belle Epoque steamboats. Eight boats were commissioned by CGN between 1904 and 1927. All were originally powered by a steam engine but several were converted to diesel electric propulsion in the 1950s, only to be reconverted in recent or planned renovations.

Currently, M/S Helvetie is docked in front of the Olympic Museum and is being used for a free temporary exhibition about the presence of the Olympic Committee in Lausanne. It’s an opportunity to see one of these wonderful boats without having to pay for the pleasure. The interior décor is plush, especially in the first class lounge, but it’s hard to imagine how she would really have looked nearly 90 years ago with the absence of any seating.

An hour’s drive along the lake, just beyond the town of Montreux, is Chateau Chillon, an island castle and former prison. Lord Byron added to its notoriety with his poem “The Prisoner of Chillon” and left a souvenir of his own visit by carving his name onto a pillar in the dungeon. Several coaches are already parked along the roadside and the steamer “La Suisse” arrives just after I do, disgorging even more tourists. I decide that viewing the chateau from the outside is enough and continue my journey into the Rhone Valley and the mountain pass which will take me to Italy.

There are two options to reach Italy from Brig. The faster but more expensive and less interesting of the two is to take the vehicle train through a tunnel carved beneath the mountains. As the sun is still shining, I prefer to take the more adventurous option and climb up to the Simplon Pass. It’s a slow crawl behind large lorries, over high viaducts and through winding, concrete-covered road sections. However, when I finally reach the top it is all worthwhile. The sun glints off the snow covered peaks and the sound of cowbells can be heard in the distance. A giant stone eagle looks down on the passing traffic and the pink circular Simplon Pass Café serves as a beacon for weary drivers.

I spend the night behind a large hotel which has closed for the winter and the next morning, the previously glorious scenery has disappeared behind the low cloud and mist.

 

Zambombas and Carreras de Caballo

I find myself in the city of Sanlucar de Barrameda for the long weekend. Both the Saturday 6^th and the Monday 8^th of December are public holidays and it’s a time for celebration. The helpful tourist information office has given me a list of places to visit and another list of activities taking place in the town this month. There seems to be plenty to keep me occupied for the next few days.

On the first day I walk through the busy indoor market, smelling of salty fish and Arabic spices, and up to the old part of city. Amongst the large sherry warehouses I find the 15th century castle with a pleasant café inside the walls. Nearby is the Barbadillo sherry shop and museum where I learn about the 7 types of sherry that are produced in the region and get to try a few. The locally produced manzanilla is served chilled and has a sharp, acidic dryness that wakes me up but curls my tongue.

Down the road, hidden behind the imposing medieval Church of Our Lady of O, is the Ducal Palace of Medina Sidonia. There are some public areas, the palace is also a hotel, but to access the state rooms I need to join a guided tour in Spanish. I struggle to keep up with all the historical dates and names of the artists who painted the dreary religious paintings, which are badly in need of some restoration. There is antique furniture from all over Europe and beyond, displays of fans and ceramics, four poster beds with copper bedpans to warm the sheets and picture windows looking down on the city and beyond to the river Guadalquivir and the Donana National Park beyond.

On the second day I go in search of Zambombas. The tourist office described it as flamenco to Jingle Bells so I’m not quite sure what to expect. Perhaps professional flamenco dancers stamping away to Christmas carols? I check out the main squares, which are busy with people chatting over tapas and glasses of manzanilla, but no flamenco. However, as I stroll further into the maze of side streets, I can hear singing. Following the sounds, I arrive at a bar where a group of musicians are playing away while the locals dance in the streets. The young girls are particularly keen to show off their talents. There’s no Jingle Bells but the spirit of Christmas flamenco is definitely flowing through their bodies to the tips of their fingers.

On the third day I walk along the promenade to the far end of the beach to see a tradition dating back to 1845. Each August, horse races are held along the beach and I am lucky to arrive during an additional event for the younger riders. It’s all very professional with a parade ground where the judges and onlookers can view the horses and riders before the race. Then the horses are ridden along the beach for the stated distance of race before thundering back down along the sand to the finish line. There is a chill wind blowing but everyone is wrapped up and the stalls of free sherry help to warm us from the inside out.

 

The Big Waves of Nazare

I find myself in the seaside resort of Nazare or, to be more precise, parked perilously at the edge of a cliff 110m above the town. My main purpose is to visit the Church of Our Lady of Nazare and the memorial chapel nearby. They record the miracle which saved the life of a local lord in 1182 when his horse almost followed a deer over the edge of the cliff.

 

 

 

However, I end up down by the lighthouse, where huge waves are forming and then crashing against the rocks below. I’m mesmerised by the two surfers, aided by partners on jetskis, who are attempting to ride these massive waves. Eventually I tear myself away to visit the church, but as I walk back up to the village of Sitio, a Mercedes emblazoned with ‘North Canyon Project’ logos passes by and the occupant waves to me as if I should know him.

Intrigued, I do a little research and discover that the driver was Garrett McNamara, a famous American surfer who set a world record in January 2013 for riding a 100ft wave at Nazare. So it seems that even though I didn’t know him, he expected that I should. Fame is a funny thing!

 

The church is very calming, adorned with azelujo tiles and large paintings, including one which shows the stag leaping off the cliff and a rearing horse with rider, perched at the edge. Perhaps the surfers come here to pray and invoke the spirit of the Lady of Nazare to protect them while they battle the big waves. If that doesn’t work, there’s a handy hospital next door.

 

Being Basque

Arriving in the Basque Country, I realise that I know nothing about their culture other than they speak a different language. Luckily, in Bayonne, there is a Basque Museum which seems the perfect opportunity to do a little research before I travel further into the region.

The Basque Museum is like Dr Who’s Tardis. Situated in Petit Bayonne, on the east bank of the River Nive, it is a cavernous 16^th century house with well laid out displays of Basque life. There’s a lot of heavy, dark wood furniture, colourful costumes and naval exhibits, but I am more interested in the food.

It doesn’t surprise me that the Basques are good farmers. Cattle are used to plough the fields, sheep are reared for their wool and the milk from both is used to produce cheese. Ham traditionally comes from the black pigs and migrating birds are trapped in nets or knocked out mid-flight with table-tennis shaped wooden bats. Cider is also produced from the apples and matured in barrels of oak felled in the local forests. I am surprised to find how popular chocolate is here. First mentioned in 1670 as being imported from Mexico, the area in now awash with chocolatiers. I find another Mexican import a few days later in the mountain village of Espelette, where chilli is grown and used in a variety of products such mustard, jam, biscuits, liqueurs and, of course, chocolate.

Basque culture reminds me a lot of Scotland and Ireland. Their music is based on drums and pipes, while their dancing is quite balletic with their feet moving as fast as a production of Riverdance. They also have dancing akin to traditional English Morris dancing with smacking sticks and waving ribbons. In sport, as well, they have feat of strength, not unlike the Scottish highland games, with tug-of-war, weightlifting and chopping through tree trunks.

And then there is Pelota – the national game. It is a complicated and dangerous sport and I find out more after a visit to the Museum of Pelota in St Pee-sur-Nivelle. There are several types of court of varying length. The smallest indoor court is very similar to that of real tennis at Hampton Court Palace, while the outdoor court is a huge marked area in front of a large arch-shaped wall. Teams of two or three play each other using a variety of bats/gloves and a hard ball made of wool and leather. The way in which the leather is stitched is similar to a baseball ball. I was unable to watch a live game but videos in the museum certainly created the excitement of a local contest. Unfortunately, despite all my attempts to educate myself, I still don’t have a clue about the rules and have no idea who is winning.