Swisslandia

Contrary to popular belief and much to our parents satisfaction, we did not spend our entire stay in Switzerland tempting fate. We rented a quintessential mountain condo in the valley of the Swiss alps, also known as Lauterbrunnen. Despite the winteresque (new word?) weather, we made the very most of our 4 days in this picturesque town. 

Lauterbrunnen in all its glory

We spent two days hiking and although the first day was less death defying than the second (see Zu), we still managed to get lost, take the road less traveled, almost lose daylight and end up soaked and chilled to the bone. Thank goodness home is always a train and gondola ride away. Day 3 greeted us with a torrential downpour, so we made the best of the weather by taking small walks around Lauterbrunnen, over caffeinating at the adorable coffee shops that sprinkle the town, and signing up for paragliding (???). 

Hike up to Murren, pre torrential downpour

Are you sensing a theme here? Ryan loves to hydrate via mountain spring water

 Day 4 found us meeting up (at total random) with Julie and Richard for a raft down the Lutschine river. I love river rafting. As a child, we took annual rafting trips in Washington, Oregon and Idaho. In fact, river rafting was a planned activity at our recent wedding. When I grew up, I wanted to be a raft guide. We all know how this story ends, however every time I get a paddle in my hand and wedge my foot into a nook of the raft I am reminded of my childhood dream and immediately feel the need to share this with our guide. Sorry, Sven. River rafting is work, however due to the low river volume (this has been the coldest summer the Swiss have seen in 35 years. The snow is not melting, therefore the river is not swelling) this is the hardest I have ever worked getting a raft down a river. We high sided and bounced off more rocks than J Lo has in her jewelry collection. I can still hear Sven yelling "get down", "all left","all right" SH_T!". It was an awesome adventure and ended with a group swim in the magnificent Lake Thun.

Our final morning, as we had a 12:33pm train departure to Venice, found us waking up far too early for an 8am paraglide. I was determined to leave Switzerland with a memory other than our terrifying hike. The gregarious Julian (my tandem) and stoically Swiss Hans (Ryan's tandem) led us up two gondolas past the town of Murren to the launch point. It was a blue bird morning. I nervously recounted our horrendous hiking experience and casually mentioned my aversion to heights. Julian was less than sympathetic as he replied, "what did heights ever do to you?" Ryan was already in the air as Julian said, "Ok Jamie, I need you to run now". Before I could back out, we were soaring through the air. Vertigo is a funny thing. Walking along the edge of a cliff will send me into a frightening spin. However, soaring through the air makes me happy. I am not afraid of heights, I just hate being dizzy. Wouldn't you? I loved paragliding! You see the world from an entirely new perspective and you feel free as a bird, for what it's worth. I didn't want it to end. Ever. I landed in a small field, adrenaline pumping through my veins, hoping I had charmed Julian enough for him to offer me another flight. I didn't, but he charmed us into purchasing the photos he and Hans took during our flight. 

Ryan and Hans, soaring above Murren

Flying like an eagle with Julian!

While Switzerland is best experienced during good weather, I absolutely encourage any traveler to make a stop in the Berner Oberland region. It is a sight to be seen and the ultimate adrenaline junky destination. If I can do it, you can too. 

Fun Fact: The local language is Swiss German, which is considered a slang language as you can't actually write it and it has no applied grammar.

A Few of My Favorite Things

You probably just read Ryan's blog post about Provence. He isn't lying, the place is absolutely magical. If someone gave me a euro each time I muttered the phrase, "What if we stayed! What if we bought a vineyard and became wine makers and just stayed!" I could probably hire the real estate agent needed to look for said vineyard. But hey, it's a start and a girl can dream. There were many highlights during our long week of Provençal living, however I must apologize to the cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels, as the floating market at L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue and a Provençal cooking class officially rank higher on my list of favorite things.

When I close my eyes and picture a French market I imagine stalls overflowing with perfectly ripened produce, men in aprons slicing hunks of cheese from wheels the size of my head, spices nestled into burlap sacks, dried fruit, nuts, the aroma of fresh baguettes wafting through the air, proteins that are both recognizable and frightening (brain or heart anyone?), soaps, flowers, linens, beautiful antiques that put the replicas at Anthropologie to shame and the constant banter, barter and exchange of coins between customer and vendor. When I open my eyes at L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue I see my fantasy become a reality. 

We sampled every cheese, so good!!

"cute on cute"

If this isn't enough charm to last a lifetime, throw in the fact that we happened to visit the market on the first Sunday in August. Why does this matter you ask? Whelp, for more than 20 years, on the first Sunday in August, the market invites local producers to sell their wares from flat bottomed boats along the Sorgue river. The boats criss cross from bank to bank, flanked in flowers and filled to the brim with local goods (flowers, produce, lavender, honey, soaps, etc). The entire scene (as if it isn't charming enough) is set to local music, each vendor is wearing traditional costume and they add in a few market "clowns" (two men pretending to sink, fall out of their boat, etc) for good measure. It is exhilarating and delightful. Not ones to miss out on tradition, Julie and I purchased a bouquet of flowers from one of the boats. This included us pointing at the bouquet, the vendor throwing it at me, me testing my hand-eye coordination (success), and then tossing a coin back at the merchant. Transaction complete. We later discovered the floating market tradition dates back to when the towns fisherman came down on Sundays from their upstream villages to sell their goods directly from their boats. All in all, the market was a success and we left with lighter pockets and arms full of market delights. 

Floating market, ridiculously adorable

Flower purchase success!

Il est 5 heures quelque part (look it up)

 Since our Paella cooking class was such a success, we decided to try our hand at Provençal style cooking. With Richard back in the fold (he had traveled to the US of A for a good friends wedding), we drove 1.5 hours along country road to Barbara's house in Vaison la Romaine. Upon arrival, we were greeted by Barbara who is originally from Germany but officially living my dream as she and her husband have retired to Provence. She gave us our cooking aprons and a tour of her amazing property. They have a pool. They have a lovely lawn. They have olive trees and annually collect 11 lbs of olives to make one bottle of oil. They have fresh herbs. They have fig trees. They have it all. They better watch out because I might just move in. 

I am eating a fig. I am holding fresh Rosemary. I am hanging out with a butterfly. I am in heaven.

We spent the first portion of the class learning about olive oil production and collecting various herbs from her garden. She then put us to work chopping, weighing, stirring, mixing and preparing our 6 course lunch, all the while making sure our glasses were filled with Rose´(I must mention the class started at 9:30am and day drinking is totally normal in Provence). We spent the next few hours chatting with the delightful Barbara and watching all the pieces of our menu puzzle come together to create a meal. While we dipped our feet in her pool, Barbara set her patio table and then we all sat down to dine. 

Richard, looking like a French Froggie, drinking his Rose´ by the pool

The meal included: mousseline, tapenade, sable´s, petites quiches, tian de legumes and clafoutis aux abricots

The lunch was amazing and I've officially decided to purchase, at the very least, a "return to Provence" piggy bank. I am positive the winters will bring snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes and the silver white winters will melt into springs. Because, Provence, you are my favorite thing.

Fun Fact: We debunked the french are rude myth! Between a handful of strangers helping us try and find housing and a rental car after a delayed train from Barcelona to Marseilles (we were a day late to Provence) and the hospitality of Patrick and Michele we are officially fans! 

Provençal Bliss

There is a distinct difference to traveling versus being on vacation.  Don't get me wrong, I love traveling, but you're up early, out all day, and generally pretty beat by the time you put your head on the pillow each night. Vacation, on the other hand is a recharge. A license to be lazy that allows the  hours to glide by as the days naturally take shape without effort.  The Provence region in the south of France exists in a state of perpetual vacation.  You literally can't help but to feel the relaxation drift over as you enter.  

Domaine de Tara, our home for 10 full days.  Yeah, I'd hate me too.

For ten full days (August 1st - 12th) we stayed on the Domaine de Tara (vineyards are called Chateau or Domaine), just outside Rousillon, France.  The place was amazing, when I say on the Domaine I mean just that, as our house was literally in-between vines of pinot noir.  

Real crap day.   

Domaine de Tara is owned by Patrick and Michele, they have owned the vineyard for roughly eight years and had absolutely no experience in making wine before they purchased the domaine.  Dedication and hard work have paid off as they have been quite successful in their new venture, a comfort to see as I kick off the next chapter in my career.  They are a lovely couple who graciously invited us over for an aperitif on our last evening.  We chatted for a couple hours while sipping Aperol Spritz (3-2-1!) on their pool deck under the dusk sky.  We learned about their wine, their family and their lifetime adventure of living all over the world.  One of my favorite evenings of the trip.  

We spent our days casually discovering the neighboring towns.  Gordes and Roussillon are fairly well known in the region and definitely deserving of the press.  As the girls like to say they are "cute on cute" both dripping in culture and history.  If you plan to make a trip definitely include these two on your itinerary.  

Gordes.  I can't even make a joke, just Gordes.

At every turn, another insane lookout in Gordes.

We went wine tasting.  We canoed down the Sorgue river.  We took an epic 37 kilometer mountain bike ride.  Provence offered and we accepted.  Oh, they also have lavender fields.  I mean seriously,  they also have lavender fields?  Who needs a vacation after traveling for nearly two months?  

We did, and we took one so lay off.  

Fun Fact:  In order to adhere to the Appellation d'Origine Controlee´ (AOC) wine in the Cote de Provence must produce blended wine.  They cannot post AOC on the label of the bottle if they produce a vintage using just one varietal.  

Zu

Hi Team.  As you know, Jamie and I typically wait until we depart a destination to post on the blog.  We must however interrupt our regularly scheduled programing to bring you a mid destination post regarding the events that transpired yesterday while in Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland.  You'll hear from us again, soon, about the rest of our travels in France, but we had to share this immediately while the memory and feelings were still fresh.

Jamie loves to hike.  It is decidedly her jam.  I, on the other hand, don't really love it. I like it fine, but definitely do not share Jamie's passion.  In Switzerland however, you hike, it's really the only way to truly experience the landscape and massive beauty of the Swiss Alps.  The culmination of these two facts results in me saying yes to a recommended (thanks tourist information center) 5-6 hour hike from Stechelberg to Obersteinberg and back. To steal from the guestbook in our place, it will be a slog, but off we go.

It's worth noting at this point the typography of this planned hike.  To simplify: it's all the way up the mountain (roughly 1000 meters) to the halfway point and then along a ridge all the way back down.  All in, we should be done in about 5.5 hours.

The first portion of the hike goes pretty much as planned.  The hike is very steep but manageable.  The "pretty much as planned" part comes into play as we enjoyed a decent fight about halfway up the mountain (see my previous comments about not loving to hike).  Hi, it's Jamie. I have to interject here. Yes, we had a little tiff about half way up the mountain. Ryan isn't all that great at hiding his distaste for hiking. As he previously mentioned, I love it. I feel it is only fair he pretends to like hiking just as much as I pretend to like watching the Badgers play in freezing cold weather at Camp Randall. I told him as much, and then stormed ahead. I only made it about 2 minutes until I hit a fork in the trail and my juvenile storm off was abruptly halted. 

Ok, I'm back.  The fight ended once I established and illustrated my connection with the mountain. How you ask?  Through the magical powers of drinking spring water.

The guestbook was correct, it was a slog, but we make it.  It takes us a full 2.5 hours to reach the summit. An idyllic Hotel Obersteinberg greets us and offers a cliffside bench to enjoy our much deserved PB&J and Pringles.  As we dine our conversation turns to the planned route back home.  At that point we have a couple options: extend the hike towards Gimmelwald or complete the hike as planned and head back towards Stechelberg.

I mean, c'mon

Hi, it's Ryan interrupting Ryan.  For those who don't know Jamie suffers from a serious case of Vertigo.  It's no joke, her vision starts to spin uncontrollably and often lasts for minutes after we get over, or up, or through, whatever obstacle happened to trigger the spins.  I mention this as it very much contributed to our choice of trail back home.  The route to Gimmelwald, as I concluded from the map, would be along a cliff and would thus be a terrible route to take for anyone who suffered from Vertigo. Back to the story.  

At this point our decision was clear, head back towards Stechelberg.  Gimmelwald would need to wait for another day.  No problem, right?  Dead wrong.  During the first few minutes of our decent we passed by a number of mountain farms and through many gates used to keep the animals off the trail and in their respective paddocks.  Each gate, politely asking in multiple languages, to close the gate behind you. We walk for roughly ten minutes when presented with another trail option: Stechelberg by way of Trachsellauenen or Stechelberg directly.  The first option would mean that we would cover much of the same path we took on our ascent, we opt to go left and choose the road less traveled.

Just a few minutes after our fated decision we come to another gate.  It's marked with a "close" and "zu" on the gate.  As we are still relatively close to the pastures we make the assumption that this gate, is again for the local farm animals.  Fast forward one day we now know that this assumption was widely incorrect as the sign was trying to tell us that the trail was closed.  Zu, as we have come to find out, used as a prefix in Swiss German translates to "to, towards and closed".

In this case it meant two things, closed (as in the trail was closed) and towards (as in towards Jamie's worst nightmare).

Almost immediately (roughly 10 minutes) the trail became insane, with a cliff edge that dropped straight down nearly 1000 meters.  Knowing that steep drop offs trigger Jamie's vertigo I quickly asked her if she wanted to head back up and take the other route. Hi, it's Jamie again. Yes, my vertigo was starting to kick in and I was mildly freaking out. However, I hated the first 10 minutes so much I did not want to relive them by heading back up and taking the other route. The trail was about 1.5 feet wide and the drop off was ridiculous. I figured it couldn't get worse and decided to keep on trekking. Stupid.

We didn't pull out our camera during this part of the hike, but this is the closest replication part I (thanks, Google)

I'll second that. Stupid.  On we went, still so high and so far from our much desired destination.  At nearly ever turn it got worse, the trail more narrow and the cliffs more steep.  Jamie was starting to spin uncontrollably and was having trouble seeing the path before her.  She was understandably emotional at this point, I was doing everything I could to guide her, to protect her.  The terrain however was relentless.  I normally have no problem with heights.  In fact, I enjoy them without the fear that most experience.  This was materially different once danger was introduced into the equation.  To put this into perspective, the entire trail was essentially a traverse along the edge of the cliff, which, at numerous points you also had to cross over a waterfall. I vividly remember one of those waterfall crossings that was especially difficult and dangerous.  The path narrowed (foot or so wide) as the waterfall caused the surrounding rocks to be wet and slippery. Just as we passed along the falls we were forced to climb up a boulder only to climb/slide back down the massive rock.  This all took place with a drop straight down, thousands of feet, that would have surely been the end to either of us.  I remember noticing an old safety railing that had been ripped from the stone and hung from the edge of the cliff.  Yea, we got it, we shouldn't be here. I was scared and I wasn't spinning, I can't even imagine Jamie's mindset at this point.  Hi, it's me, Jamie. To say I was scared out of my f'ing mind is a tragic understatement. I have never felt more scared or more vulnerable in my entire life. I generally think I am pretty tough (besides my stupid vertigo).  I want to try everything, I have an adventurous spirit and I hate to show weakness. I don't bounce back, I just bounce and enjoy the ride. This was the worst. Reading this post freaks me out all over again. I have to give a ton of credit to Ryan. He was amazing. I was losing my sh_t and he got me (spoiler alert) to the bottom of the hike. I didn't think I would make it. But I did, thanks to Ryan.

Closest replication part II (thanks again, Google)

Fake it until you make it.  This was part of the feeble strategy I employed with Jamie as we continued down the trail from hell.  While telling Jamie to just watch my feet so that she could somewhat orient herself I also added phrases like "No problem" and "We got this" while actually thinking, holy sh_t how are we going to get through this.  She kept on, she fought through it.  I have never been more proud of her in my life.  Most people in her situation would have totally shut down.  She didn't, she overcame and walked with me step by step the entire way down.  You may think I sound overly dramatic, I would however challenge you to think of a scenario in which you would be overcome by fear and then contemplate how you would perform.  I am certain that I wouldn't be as strong as Jamie.

Lather, rinse and repeat.  Fast forward another nightmare hour (which included a herd of mountain sheep cheering/mocking us) we finally made it to solid footing.  The final forty minutes were spent recounting the last couple hours of hell in an adrenaline induced haze.  I'm not sure how much longer we would have made it.  Hi, Jamie again. We made it! We totally made it! I probably used more swear words in the last 40 minutes than I did on the way down and I am really trying to stop swearing. Most of them were used in a celebratory way, so I give myself a pass. I even think we high-fived a couple times?? We concluded we are the best, worst hikers in the world. We are terrible at reading foreign signs and choosing the right path. However, we are pretty awesome at working together (ok, Ryan did most of the work and I just whimpered for a few hours) and traversing the most difficult terrain I have ever encountered. I give us an A+.

These sheep thought we were crazy 

Lesson learned, we booked a paragliding trip within 24 hours of this hike...

Fun Fact: Portions of this hike were featured in the 1969 James Bond movie "On Her Majesties Secret Service".

Vicky Christina BarThelona

As a professional blogger, with millions of readers worldwide, I devote hours each day to the continuation of the blog.  I outline all posts with fierce dedication to ensure the depth in development that my readers demand.  It has truly been a full time job to keep this performance at such an elite level.

Or...by millions I mean about 36 or 37 readers (thanks Mom) and by outline I mean the bullet points that I will jot down on my iphone during the day.  We are, after all, on a career break vacation for four months so we are going to enjoy ourselves, damnit.  With such exceptionally average dedication we have come to the point in our journey where we find ourselves playing catch up on our blog.

So, as a result, I present to you a picture montage of Barcelona.

Before I begin with the program I do want to mention that Barcelona has been one of our favorite cities yet, it is tremendous.  So Vicky, Christina or Barcelona please don't think anything less of yourself. You are still one of the belles of the European Ball.

La Sagrada Familia.   Well done Mr. Antoni Gaudi, your work is absolute bananas.

Religious or not, there is an undeniable spirituality inside.

Unlike any other cathedral we have ever seen.
A true original.

Use and progression of light was a central design theme for Gaudi.
Pretty sure he nailed it.

A must stop if you visit Barcelona, their insane market "La Boqueria."  Hold onto your wallets and enjoy the ride inside!

Let me introduce you to heaven on ice.  

No, no, not the yellow sunglasses made of candy, the pink ones please.  Duh. 

Just your average Tuesday at the market.

We came, we saw, we learned how to make paella.  Our new friend Marta taught us how. 

We were excited to eat.

Yes, please.

Very few cities have such a mixed feel.  From the narrow streets of El Gotico, to the markets and shops of La Rambla, to the massive beachfront, Barcelona has it all.  

Which way Chris? Oh, just that way.

Barcelona Harbor.  If you look close you can check out Jaime's new toy,  just a little something we picked up.

 

Fountain at Parc de la Ciutadella.  Yep, that water is bright Green, eat your heart out Chicago River.

Like the Bluth family, Gaudi had his own failed housing development.
You want a pathway to connect the houses?  How about an ocean wave? Perfect.

 We dig you BarTHelona, very much.

Fun Fact:  Those who live in Barcelona speak Spanish and Catalan.  The Catalan people are from northern Spain and are nearly universally viewed as being totally insane by the rest of Spain. Catalonians are very proud of this fact.

Marty B

Ryan and I love to eat, especially when someone else is cooking for us. One of our favorite things to do is enjoy a delicious meal and bottle (or two) of wine on a Friday or Saturday night. We have been fortunate enough to dine at some wonderful restaurants, however our most impressive dining experience to date was at Martín Berasategui just outside of San Sebastian.

Marty B!

When we found out Spain has 7, 3 Michelin star (highest honor) restaurants and 3 of them are in the San Sebastian area we immediately decided to splurge. I often argue you will spend the same amount (if not more) money going to a Broadway show and a nice dinner, renting a cabana or table in Vegas or spending too many hours buying rounds of drinks for your friends during a night out. Most of these events will include a hangover, questionable decision making, or the odd show tune stuck in your head for weeks on end. I will choose a 12 course tasting menu at an amazing restaurant all day, any day. The decision was made and we called to make a reservation.

The restaurant was a short cab ride outside of the city to the small town of Lasarta-Oria. We pulled up 15 minutes early to a modest building across the street from a small park. The tables were simply dressed in white linen with the glow of a candle and small flower arrangement in the center. We were given the option to sit either in or outside, and with the rest of the patrons, chose a seat outside. The outside became completely full over the next hour, however inside remained empty. When we asked our waiter if they ever fill up, he said they always book to 1/2 capacity just incase you want to take your dessert or coffee inside after dinner. Say what?! With our minds already blown at the service level, we settled in and all decided to order the tasting menu.

Outside seating at Martin Berasategui

I don't claim to be a foodie or know all that much about wine, however over the course of the next 3 hours my mind and tastebuds were blown. I am not entirely sure what I ate, or if I would even eat if it I knew what the actual ingredients were or how it was prepared. However, it was the best meal of my life and each plate was a work of art. I am afraid of oysters. I ate one, I loved it, I wanted more. There was a little, fried (I am sure Marty would shame me for assuming it was fried) egg that was the most amazing explosion of flavor. We literally laughed at how good it was. My favorite might have been a red shrimp dish disguised as white and red foam. I love it when something looks different than it tastes. How do they make foam taste and feel like the most flavorful shrimp I have ever had? Well done. 

Our tasting menu, amazing!

Example of ridiculous his dishes are

We ate this one! Beet salad! So good!

 I can't end this post without talking about the service. While the food alone would bring me back, the combination of food and service will have me dreaming of this meal for years. The waiter to diner ratio appeared to be 2:1. They were all dressed in smart black suits and every time they served you a glass or utensil they put on white gloves. Each entree was delivered to us at the exact same time and what impressed me most was how the waiters set pace with the kitchen. There was a couple sitting at a table next to us who started their first course before we did. However, since we were devouring each course with American vigor we started to outpace them. Somehow, the kitchen was made aware of this and while the timing between courses was the same as our neighbors, we were served at a slightly faster pace than they were. Impressive. The waiters were attentive, but never hovered. At one point a young girl rubbed her shoulders signaling she was becoming chilled. Within minutes, she was wearing a smart, black suit jacket. When given the multi page wine menu we all panicked a little bit. There were so many choices and 5/6 of the options felt a little out of our price range. I love wine, but I don't know enough about it to justify a high ticket price when the cheaper stuff tastes just as good to my poorly developed palette. The sommelier came over and must have sensed our confusion. He chose two bottles of wine for us, both in the "cheaper" category and both outstanding. I hate it when sommeliers recommend a super expensive bottle of wine and force you to say you are looking to spend less. Our guy nailed it. The wine was delicious. So good, in fact, we asked if he wouldn't mind writing down the year and label. He took it one step further and not only printed out the type of wine we drank, but peeled each label from our finished bottles and glued them to a piece of paper for us. 

At some point during the meal, I not so casually mentioned that we were all on our honeymoon. I unabashedly admit I assumed this would lead to a comped glass of cava or an extra dessert. Nope, it resulted in a plate signed with a sweet message from Martin himself! Now we have a new plate and a great souvenir to remember our experience by.  Towards the end of the meal, Martin himself came out to make sure his guests enjoyed their experience. He was extremely soft spoken and did not speak english. A waiter translated for him when necessary, which was very endearing. Stuffed to the gills, completely blown away and already gushing over the entire experience, our sommelier came over and asked if we wanted a tour of the kitchen and space where they film a cooking show Martin helps host. Not ones to pass down an experience we obliged and were lead into the completely pristine, 45 cook kitchen. Yes, you read that correct, 45 cooks in the kitchen.

We ended the evening thanking everyone profusely for allowing us such an amazing meal and experience. Marty B, you were worth every single penny of this splurge. Thank you.

Fun Fact: This is a really long post.

Te quiero, San Sebastián/Donostia

Spain was high on our list of countries to visit. Neither of us has ever been and was intrigued by a culture that put so much emphasis on the siesta. I mean, who doesn’t like a nap? We had heard Northern Spain and Basque Country was beautiful. After about a month of pounding large city pavement, we were in desperate need for a smaller, coastal city. My brother raved about San Sebastián, on the northern coast of the Bay of Biscay,  and we thought it might fit the bill. It did not disappoint. 

San Sebastian in all its glory (even on the one cloudy day)

We stayed in the Amara area in our most plush airbnb to date. To best emulate the Basque lifestyle we woke up at a decent hour and started our “working day” by making breakfast, engaging in some form of activity... whether it be researching our next destination, going for a jog or hanging our laundry to dry on the most oxymoronic drying rack we have ever seen. Why put a dryer in the unit when you can build an 8 story drying chamber through the center of the building with individual, rotating drying lines off the back porch?  

Upon completion of our morning “work”, we walked two blocks east to the Umerea River, which feeds into the Atlantic Ocean. If you walk about ¾ a mile north along the river you will reach a point in which you are forced to make a decision. Do I walk further east towards the La Zurriola (the "surfer" beach) and happenstance Jazzaldia festival or do I walk a little farther northwest to the Playa del Concha and enjoy an afternoon of paddle boarding? Well folks, given we had four full days in San Sebastian we did it all. We had found a city that allowed us to stop feeling like tourists and live amongst the locals. We ate afternoon and evening pinxtos in Old Town, rode bikes, soaked in the sun, took multiple siestas on the beach, paddle boarded, walked to the top of Monte Urgull to the Mota Castle, rinsed and repeated.

Santa Maria Church in Old Town. At night the steps are filled with wine drinkers and pinxto eaters!

Ryan protecting the city about mid way up Monte Urgull. By the look on his face, he takes this job very seriously...

Can you spot the tourist in the tunnel?

After a long day of basqueing (sorry?) in the sun

Trust me, George  Clinton and the Parliament Funkadelic has still got it. 

San Sebastián, until next time. We promise to return.

Fun Fact: Pinxtos (pronounced pinchos) are a small snack, typically consumed in bars while hanging out with friends, traditional to Basque country. They are served in individual portions and are typically lined up on top of the counter. You are usually given a plate to fill up and then charged once you realize your eyes are bigger than your stomach. They are called pinxtos because the majority of them have a pinto (Spanish for spike) toothpick or skewer in them.