Day 2:
Bordeaux to
San Sebastian
Day 2 of our Race and Mum and I are on our way to Checkpoint 2 (out of 5): St-Jean-Pied-du-Port.
There were still gaping holes in our route research generally (we have no idea how we will reach Morocco, or even where we will stay tonight), but we can get as far as Checkpoint 2. I was not familiar with it before yesterday, but it’s a beautiful medieval walled village, St-Jean-Pied-du-Port, in the foothills of the Pyrenees - the mountain range separating France from Spain.
It also is not especially quick to reach. A single train leaves Bayonne, travelling along a single track rail to reach the village of St-Jean-Pied-du-Port - the end of the line - and then returning by the same route. It takes 1 hour each way. So our first step needed to be to get to Bayonne. For that, we needed to leave Bordeaux at 9am.
Neither of us had visited Bordeaux before, so we set our alarms for sunrise so that we can explore a little now we’re finally here.
Sunrise is a big deal for me - but not for Mum, who is a natural early riser and perfectly comfortable at 6am. In fact, she has already had her first coffee of the day by the time we met in the lobby – while I am still woozily dragging a comb through my bedhead.
Grosse Cloche, Bordeaux
I should get up at dawn more often
Together we wandered outside to explore the city in the Sunday dawn light. It was an enchanting morning, crisp but not cold, a few fluffy pink clouds fringing a clear blue sky. It promises to be a warm day. Sun was just starting to catch the tops of the grandiose frontages, and before long was falling straight onto the city gates that frown over the opaque sheen of the Garonne river. The streets still belonged to the cleaners and the pigeons.
We walked along the shiny riverfront and its lush flowerbeds, washed clean by overnight rain. And then we turned and entered the tangle of cobbled streets through a grand city gateway, past tall townhouses with steeply pitched slate roofs and pavement cafes with their awnings folded away. The city was quietly deserted except for the odd jogger or dog walker. I felt the need to whisper so as not to wake anyone. At one point the famous Grosse Cloche tower suddenly loomed into view between two houses, the tip copper-burnished in dawn light. The pavement passed through an archway pierced directly through the tower’s foot. Mum strode on ahead – she doesn’t like to waste time - but I lingered for a few pictures.
Finally, we emerged in front of the famed Marche du Capuchins, a produce market. I had hardly dared to hope it might be open, but Bordeaux is a city of trade, and some vendors were already stirring at 7:30am, even though it was Sunday. We found a coffee shop setting out baskets of fresh croissants, and ordered coffees (Mum’s second, my first) perched on stools at the bar before we set off for our 9am train.
As the train sped south, we brainstormed some options for tonight, still staying within our Unwritten Guidelines. We could stay in south west France, and see Bayonne (cobbled medieval city) or Biarritz (glamorous 19th century seaside resort). Alternatively, we could press on to San Sebastian (Donostia) in Spain – crammed with nice beaches and Michelin-recognised restaurants.
“I like the sound of the foodie city,” says Mum. “And I do like Spain.” Neither of us have been before. San Sebastian it is.
You might already know that San Sebastian happens to be the birthplace of burnt Basque cheesecake. I love burnt Basque cheesecake. It feels like my own private pilgrimage to make a stop there.
I opened up the WhatsApp group, now groaning under the weight of unread overnight messages. Racers competing for lowest spend have been travelling on overnight buses. And Racers competing for “most countries” have been circling around to ramp up their country counts - there’s been a lot of chat about Luxembourg overnight.
Meanwhile, Mountain Goat-ers haven’t brought enough jumpers for chilly Chamonix (Mum was right!). There were beautiful photographs of mountains around Chamonix bathed in dawn alpenglow. To be honest, though, at this stage the number of WhatsApp messages was a bit overwhelming. There had been nearly a hundred messages overnight. Mental note: my poor phone is working hard on this trip. I’ll need to make sure I keep a charger cable handy.
At Bayonne station it was hard to miss the little mountain train destined for St-Jean-Pied-du-Port. It was already cram-packed to the roof. Racers with Lupine Travel T-shirts and wrist bands were there, yes, dotted in between heaps of hikers, camping gear and walking poles. There was only one seat left – I insisted Mum take it. As the little train pulled out of Bayonne station, the Daily Challenge arrived from Lupine Travel: take a selfie featuring a specific street name. It was won very quickly - by one of the teams that I am sure we met at the launch yesterday. No chance for us to even enter, stuck inside the little train carriage!
We slid at a leisurely pace uphill past cottages with overstuffed flower gardens and before long we had views of lush green fields backed with purple hills.
Our route through France
Meanwhile, a woman seated next to Mum leaned over and introduced herself as Mary. She had travelled from the USA to walk to Santiago de Compostela, a walk which she expects will take her 5-6 weeks, one of the world’s most famous long-distance walking routes. In the middle ages, pilgrims from all around Europe walked to the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, believed by some to be the final resting place of St James (Santiago is St James in Spanish). Today hundreds of thousands also complete the walk for fun.
Mum was telling Mary about the Race. Mary was travelling with her daughter – she pointed out a young woman standing in the aisle over there, who smiled at us politely – and Mum pointed to me. They were soon buried in an earnest discussion about world politics. Forging personal connections like this is a travel experience Mum absolutely loves. As our train approaches St-Jean-Pied-du-Port she and Mary were exchanging email addresses.
St-Jean-Pied-du-Port station was tiny – a single platform – and the entire train emptied. We wished good luck to Mary and her daughter, and set off into the sun-baked village. The sky was a cloudless blue and it was starting to get hot. Within a few minutes we had passed through medieval defensive gates and were standing on a glorious cobbled street of timbered stone cottages. Windowsills overspilling with red geraniums and gingham curtains led the way down a sloping steeply down to a small riverfront.
It was lunchtime, so before we set off to obtain our evidence photographs (there are two to secure here) we found a restaurant with a tiny shaded courtyard and three-course menu du jour for 15 EUR. The food was excellent. We talked about the upcoming route while listening to the families at the next table chatting to the waitress in Basque.
The Race packs explained that the evidence needed for Checkpoint 2 includes photos of two different medieval towers. It took us just 20 minutes of gentle pottering around pretty streets to obtain the requisite selfies. The train driver, though, must be on a lunch break - the next train back to Bayonne does not leave for another 3 hours.
Mum decided to find a bar with a sunny terrace while I explored the village. Following the tiny main street uphill led to an old fort, now home to a military college. A path circling the hilltop offered stunning views of the surrounding hills. Following the medieval town walls back downhill, I passed gardens filled with banana palms and jasmine, and the bottom found a crystal-clear mountain stream, flowing under a stone bridge. A cluster of mature trees threw the riverbank cottages into a cool, green-tinged shade. The only sound was the gentle rushing of the stream. It was wonderfully peaceful.
Meanwhile, Mum was now at the centre of quite a Race reunion. I found her at a sunny table with a lovely Welsh team that we met at St Pancras yesterday, and Canadian team that we met at the launch event. More and more Racers turned up and joined us, all of us stuck for the afternoon due to the train times, but more than happy to join in for drinks on a sunny terrace.
It turns out that I’m not the only one struggling to find comfortable options between Valencia and Algeciras. The Canadian team have already booked a 14 hour bus journey. I’m thinking about our Unwritten Guidelines – 14 hours on a bus sounds tough.
The train back down to Bayonne was much emptier than the train up to St-Jean-Pied-du-Port. All those hikers on the train earlier did not need a return train ticket, as they had now started their long distance walks.
Mum and I turn our minds onto the question of how we will reach Santiago de Compostela (Checkpoint 3). Once over the Spanish border, we need to make our way west across northern Spain. There are two choices: train, or bus.
The more we searched, the clearer it became that northern Spain wasn't designed for east-west rail travel. Every option by train was very slow with many changes, or involved going south to Madrid first. By bus, though, there are lots of options, that bounce along the tempting coast of northern Spain. In the end we chose a route from San Sebastian to Oviedo tomorrow, giving ourselves 3 hours for lunch in Bilbao. This particular bus service seems a little more expensive than the others, but the timing’s convenient. I’ve never heard of Oviedo before, but a quick Google suggests it has a beautiful medieval centre, which sounds good. It’s in Asturias, a region of Spain that I know is famous for cider and for cheeses. That also sounds good. We decide to stay in Oviedo tomorrow (Monday) night, and proceed onwards to Santiago the next morning (which will be Tuesday).
On the WhatsApp group the quantity of messages is almost overwhelming. We can see, though, that most people seem to have ticked off their second checkpoint today. However, at least one “Island Hopper” team say they have missed the daily ferry to Mallorca and are waiting overnight in the south of France. The countrycounters seem to have scattered – there are people spending the day in Lichtenstein, or the night in Bratislava.
As the train descends slowly down to Bayonne we started to compare notes with other Racers. Most seem to have bought a rail pass, so are less tempted by the bus route.
Once we reach Bayonne there was a tangible rush of excitement. After a sleepy afternoon stranded in a sunny beer garden, we could suddenly make progress again. The trainload of Racers emptied onto the platform and immediately dispersed like seeds in a high wind. Mum and I have only a short wait for our onward train to Hendaye, on the French/Spanish border.
As we made our way to the platform, we physically collided with two young guys sprinting in the opposite direction – Racers whom we had met in London. They stop when they see our wristbands, hurried but excited. They are going to Santiago tonight! It just so happens that their friend is finishing his walk to Santiago today, so they will surprise him with a welcome party at the finish line. “We’ll see you in Marrakech!” one shouts over his shoulder.
We wished them good luck as they disappear up the stairs to their platform.
Train over the border
Meanwhile, on our platform we found more familiar faces – two ladies we had met yesterday at the launch event. They had decided to spend the night in Biarritz. I was a tiny bit jealous - Biarritz would make a lovely stopover. While I was standing on the platform in Bayonne, it seemed like all the choices of destination tonight were good. But it turns out that I was wrong and there were some choices that turned out more frustrating than others - more on that later!
The local train made the short hop to Hendaye, where we immediately met yet another Race team: a team of four ladies we had met in London. They have decided to stay here in Hendaye tonight, but Mum and I caught our 25-minute tram, a slow glide over the river from Hendaye train station (France), into San Sebastian (Spain). It’s such a serene trip I almost missed the border crossing.
San Sebastian (or Donostia in Basque language) is legendary for its food and is bursting with Michelin stars. Each bar in the city’s old town is famous for its speciality pintxos (small tapas) – traditionally, you spend an evening slowly hopping from bar to bar, sampling the specialities of each pintxos bar. However, having had a long walk around Bordeaux at dawn, 5 separate trains and long afternoon, what we really need is a simple evening and a good sleep. We asked the receptionist if he could recommend any restaurants that specialise in fish (Mum’s favourite).
Our first introduction to San Sebastian’s old town was early evening, but we could see the bar scene immediately - a neat grid of cobbled streets, crammed with eating and drinking spots. We catch glimpses through crowded doorways of whitewashed walls and low ceilings with exposed beams, happy chatter and warm light spilling out into the street along with the odd gaggle of drinkers. It was still relatively early, at 8pm, but the city was busy and we had to ask at two of the recommended restaurants before we find one with space. And, not surprisingly, the fish was fantastic.
We’ve done really well. We’ve arrived in Spain, we’ve travelled in the way we wanted so far, and we were staying in a lovely city with a fantastic meal in front of us. But our mood over dinner was somewhat depleted. With bus tickets to Oviedo tomorrow, we had a clear route now to reach Santiago (Checkpoint 3) by Tuesday morning.
But we did not yet have a clear plan for the rest of the route. Our discussion over dinner now focused on options. We’ve both been searching on our phones throughout the day, but there just doesn’t seem to be a clear route from Santiago to Valencia to that also meets our Unwritten Guidelines. All the options seem very long with no obvious places to stopover.
Have I dragged Mum on a trip that inevitably involves days filled with nothing but bus seats? We were both tired - time to give the timetable searching a rest.
Meanwhile, Mum found a weather forecast showing a storm moving into the Bay of Biscay overnight. It’s likely to affect northern Spain with somewhat wet and miserable weather tonight and tomorrow morning. “We don’t want to be late for the cutoff. So that gives us Friday and Saturday to get across Morocco,” she adds (Mum believes in arriving early for things). “We should arrive in Tangiers by Friday at the latest.” I agree.
After dinner I suggested we stop at La Vina to try the original burnt Basque cheesecake for dessert. La Vina literally invented burnt Basque cheesecake.
La Vina was easy to find, being one of the bars with heaving mass of excited people spilling into the streets, sipping from small glasses of sherry. Inside was tiny. The bar itself was buried in a crush 3 persons deep. Walls were lined ceiling high with shelves, all brimming with homemade cheesecakes, still in their baking tins and wrapped in greaseproof paper. At first it seemed like a noisy crushed chaos, but the jovially busy barman seemed to have had an invisible queuing system that kept track of who was next, all while pouring out servings of sherry from as high as he could reach, and stuffing generous portions of custardy cheesecake onto tiny plates. Every so often he fetched a replacement cheesecake down from the shelves.
I ordered some cheesecake to takeaway and scurried back outside to where Mum was waiting so we could head off to bed.
Before bed, I checked the WhatsApp group one last time. Countrycounters are now far and wide. At least one person was in Denmark, trying to reach Sweden overnight, and another was in Bratislava, planning to hit the Balkans by bus. I was not expecting these countries to fall into a route between London and Morocco. Is it even possible to bus through Scandinavia, hit all the checkpoints, and still meet the deadline for Marrakech?
Meanwhile someone on the Mountain Goat route points out the weather forecast that Mum also noticed. I hope we are not too badly affected.
I haven’t seen messages from any of the fastest people and I’m not sure where they are at the moment.
As I’m drifting off to sleep I see a photo on the WhatsApp group from the Racer who is now in Sweden. On the way to Marrakech. Bonkers.