BIARRITZ

October is not exactly high season in Biarritz. With a chill in the air and skies as often grey and drizzly as sunny blue, we weren’t beset by hoards of holiday makers. The beach was empty except for some young skateboarders fooling around on the steps leading down to the sand and UK Sharon, who rolls up her pants and tests the water where ever she finds it.

We stayed at the Hotel St. Charles, a reasonably well-maintained Edwardian ‘mansion’ in a relatively quiet neighborhood that’s a bit less romantic than it looks on the website. But the blocky antiques in the comfy rooms made for peaceful repose after a day of exploring the Basque country and our host, a Brit who met and married a French woman off-shore who convinced him to take her back home, was accommodating and free with reasonably sound advice. The breakfast was not the most comprehensive we’ve had but was fresh and just enough to set us on our way.

The beach and related commerce were only a few blocks away – downhill going, but uphill on the return.

Biarritz was about what we expected – slightly faded glory at the center where the character of the place resides surrounded by less interesting newer homes and commercial zones on the outskirts. Pleasant enough and perhaps more flavorful in season. We might have explored up and down the coast a bit more but our time was short and we had decided to spend time inland sampling things Basque.

We had come to Biarritz so that Cathey could taste oysters from the Atlantic. Our host suggested a restaurant on the water. Over 50 USD for a dozen? No, thank you. But there is a fine covered market, open in the morning, where they’ll open oysters for you, even pour you a glass of wine to boot, and they don’t require you to mortgage your home to pay for it. The young man who opened for us spoke just enough English, and I have just enough French, to convey that Cathey came from New Orleans and was here to sample and compare Atlantic oysters with those of the Mediterranean where we had our holiday home as well as those from her native Gulf of Mexico. He seemed pleased to be of service and provided Cathey and Liz, the only ones in our party who appreciate the finer points of oyster slurping, with samples of a couple of different varieties, throwing away as unsatisfactory almost as many as he set out. The girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves, although Cathey still prefers oysters from Sete on the Med.

More later.