Photo credit: www.bonappetit.com
Struggling with my limited French, exacerbated by a pounding headache, I was reminded of a previous experience where language felt foreign and elusive, particularly at my grandfather’s funeral. In that somber moment, simple words like “up,” “down,” “dead,” and “passed away” slipped from my grasp.
Just as before, I navigated through this discomfort with nervous laughter. While showing me a larger set of trash bins, Javier’s enthusiasm grew as he offered to drive us to the local mercado in Zarautz, suggesting a more scenic route than we had initially considered.
The winding road ahead, though it made me slightly queasy, revealed breathtaking vistas worth pausing for. Each time Javier slowed down, we took notice, exchanging playful remarks like, “Oh! He’s got another one!” His eagerness for us to pause and absorb the scenery spoke volumes, reflecting his deep affection for the beautiful landscape around him. The verdant hills, crystal-clear skies, and shimmering waters were indeed captivating.
Our conversation flourished, aided by a translation app that bridged our linguistic gaps. I texted in Spanish, and he replied in English: “Have a good day, I insist…. Ask me whatever you want…I suggest you visit the church. Inside they do not serve txakoli…. Enjoy your birthday. Remember when you turn 80, while cherishing these days in Getaria.” Along the way, I learned about his family—his wife, daughter Usoa, granddaughter—and that he lived in San Sebastián, which was our next destination. Javier would leave Getaria earlier than us to enjoy a swim in the sea with Usoa.
Upon reaching Donostia, we had already created vivid memories: Kat posing near a mist feature at the Guggenheim in her stylish black trench coat, all of us taking turns pulling from giant cider casks that spewed white froth, and the mesmerizing sight of a full beaver moon, glowing pink and iridescent on the horizon. I even captured a candid shot during a funicular ride, looking directly at the camera with a gaze reminiscent of a Victorian ghost child.
As my friends prepared to depart a day early, we took the opportunity to reflect on our culinary adventures. Our collective favorites highlighted the best of the local culinary scene, primarily revolving around cold tapas: the must-try Gilda, alongside Gaz’s choice of the albacore-stacked Indurain variant from Bodega Donostiarra; Carrie’s anchovy pan con tomate at Bar Desy; Nicolas’s indulgent tortilla from Bar Antonio; and Kat’s delight at Bar Nestor, where fresh tomatoes were generously sprinkled with flaky Basque sea salt. Interestingly, none of these delicacies had made it onto Javier’s original recommendations, illustrating the limited experiences a tourist might encounter.
“Save room for the anchovies,” Javier had advised me through text. That evening, he would join me for a tour of his favorite pintxos, accompanied by Usoa, who was fluent in English. At Bar Txepetxa, I discovered my standout dish, a savory Jardinera toast topped with diced onion and bell peppers, layered with two varieties of anchoa marinated in vinegar. Javier’s top recommendation was an exquisite seared scallop served at Ikili, garnished with carrot purée and a delicate white wine beurre blanc. It was a revelation to me that pintxos could be served warm. Our final stop at Iturrioz featured delectable sautéed wild mushrooms topped with an egg yolk, signaling that Javier indeed had much to teach me about the local cuisine.
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www.bonappetit.com