A Day in La Paz

We travelled all day by bus and catamaran across Lake Titicaca to reach Bolivia, another new country for us.  This time, unlike crossing the Argentina-Brazil or Chile-Argentina borders, getting through was surprisingly efficient.  Having driven alongside the Lake on the Peruvian side we stopped 200m short of the border, changed some money then went into a small office to exit Peru where there was no queue.  We then walked into Bolivia where again, in seconds, we had a passport stamp.  My only problem was when the woman money changer challenged me as I tried to use her toilets (which are for customers only).  Surprising as she had served me about two minutes earlier and I look nothing like anyone else around here. There was more security on her facilities than at the border itself - the guides just wandered across the border without showing anything.  The other moment of note was when the Colombians who were with us went up to the desk and the policeman got up and ran off shouting "Colombianos!" to get his boss.  Dealing with them was obviously over his pay grade.

On the two hour journey from the Lake to La Paz, it quickly became apparent how much poorer is Bolivia compared to Peru.  Their red, yellow and green flag looks African and their are lots of similarities with the "dark continent".  We passed indigenous people working in the fields with their animals (the various native groups make up 75% of the population) before we reached the outskirts of El Alto, the suburb above La Paz.

A view of La Paz

La Paz itself is built in a canyon and is surrounded on all sides by 4000m highlands on which the almost completely indigenous suburb of El Alto stands.  Founded only in 1985, El Alto now has more than a million inhabitants and when the natives aren`t happy they block off access to La Paz and the more wealthy population is stuck.  In the past fortnight there have been blockades across the city in response to the doubling of fuel prices and the place has been brought to a standstill.  Even the government of Evo Morales, the first indigenous president (originally a farmer growing coca mainly for dubious uses), is in trouble as the fuel price rises have led to higher food prices too.  More than one president has met a sticky end here in this volatile place.  Having said that the city does not seem at all dangerous and everyone looked pretty relaxed.  It is a pretty downmarket place generally and even the tourists look shabby.  It is the cheapest place we`ve been to in a long time and it is probably a good place for backpackers on a tight budget to hole up for a while.

Morales is allied to Venezuela president Hugo Chavez and his anti-western stance has led to the drying up of foreign investment.  His threats to seize foreign owned assets have therefore back-fired and an already poor country is struggling.  History has not been kind to Bolivia, which through a combination of wars and treaties has lost around half of its original territory, including a vital 200km of coast to Chile.  These reverses, and the instability of a country that lurches between socialist governments and right-wing dicatators who take power via military coups, have taken their toll.  The native groups remain poor and industry is underdeveloped despite lots of natural resources.  We saw rich parts of the city however and the stats say that Bolivia is one of the most unequal countries in the world in terms of wealth distribution.  In many ways its poverty and volatility give it an African feel and, like Africa, the natives are now in charge.  They may not be doing a brilliant job but it is better than being ruled by someone else.

We had a fascinating city tour with a guide who is from New York but went to live with her Bolivian mother five years ago.  She told us a lot about the current political and economic turmoil to add to the history lesson we had the day before on the bus on the way here.  From a vantage point above the old town we saw how the main city sits in a bowl surrounded by poor areas, or Villas (shanty towns) stretching up to El Alto on the top.  The poor people really do have the rich surrounded as there are only a couple of ways out of La Paz.  As well as seeing the stunning views of the city, we also visited the Witches Market, where all sorts of charms are on sale.  Much of it is harmless stuff such as sweets and herbs which are burned in offerings to Pachamama - Mother Earth.  However, there is a more sinister side with dried llama foetuses at various stages of development being on sale to make the offering more powerful.  Our guide said that these are required as offerings to keep Pachamama happy when a house is erected (on her land). She also said that for bigger buildings, human sacrifices are needed and that for a small fee, local homeless alcoholics can be rounded up and buried alive under the new building, having been induced by the prospect of free booze.  All pretty unpleasant if true - who knows if it really is.  But being familiar with the magic of Cameroon, I wouldn`t entirely rule it out.  When they christened the city "La Paz" (peace) it wasn`t the best choice of name.

Lake Titicaca

We've spent most of the last two days out on the huge lake shared between Peru and Bolivia.  In beautiful sunshine the sky and water are both deep blue and the only clouds to be seen are over the distant Andes mountains which stand well over 6000 metres high, snow-capped year round.

The lake is still sacred to the Aymara and Quechua Indians that inhabit it's shores because the existence of a body of water 100 miles long and 60 wide absorbs enough of the sun's heat to create a micro-climate warm and humid enough to grow a few crops even at 3810m above sea level. It also provides a supply of fish and of course water.

When the Spanish brought Catholicism they replaced the Sun with Jesus and Mother Earth with a Virgin Mary the colour of local women.  They built the most important church in Bolivia at Copacabana on the lake shore near Island of the Sun, the Mecca of the Andean religion. We saw today a local shaman perform a traditional ritual which ended with us receiving a rather catholic blessing - the two religions are interwoven here as the easiest way to force people to convert to a religion they didn't understand was to make it look like the one they already had. Killing people who wouldn't convert was also persuasive.

Here on the lake we have seen two communities who continue to live in peace in their traditional manner despite everything. On the island of Taquile around 4000 people live without roads or vehicles with only a seasonal supply of rain water and some solar panels for energy. Traditional dress dating back to the early colonial period is compulsory. The men wear red and white woolly hats if they are single, red and blue if they are married, while married women wear dark skirts and singles wear bright colours. The men are always knitting and make their own hats while the women do the weaving.  Outsiders can't buy property and anyone marrying into the community has to follow its strict rules.  The only jobs are farming and fishing but these days they supplement their income by selling some of the wool and woven goods that they produce. Taquile is remarkably tranquil and has beautiful views of the Lake.

On Taquile

Still more remarkable in this modern world are the people of the floating Uros Islands. They have lived for a 1000 years on their man-made islands made of the reeds that grow in the shallow part of the lake. We visited a small island no longer than 50 metres in length where four families live in their traditional manner - again supplementing their income by selling to tourists as they now need cash to pay for the kids to go to school and other novelties. They showed us how they make and maintain the islands and build their houses and boats also out of reeds.

Women of Uros floating islands

As we cross the sacred lake by catamaran from Peru to Bolivia from Peru, it continues to provide for the various communities who live here at nearly 4000m above sea level. Despite the hardships of life and the history of violent repression, the indigenous people are starting to reassert themselves and find a place in the modern world which enables them to maintain their way of life. The Incas may have gone but their descendants maintain their memory, identity and values.

Where Next for Peru?

Today is our last day in Peru after nearly two weeks.  We really like the country as there is lots to see and do and the people are friendly.  However many Peruvians seem worried about the future after the results of the first round of the Peruvian presidential elections were announced shortly before we arrived in the country.  The original five candidates have been whittled down to the final two for the run-off in June. These are Keiko Fujimori, 36 year old daughter of former president Alberto Fujimori (born in Peru of Japanese parents) and the former army lieutenant colonel Ollanta Humala. 

There seems general concern among people we have spoken to about the risks to the country presented by both candidates and no one seems to want either to win. Some commentators fear for the future of democracy here itself but one of Keiko and Ollanta has to win. Everywhere, in true Latin American style, one sees the names of the candidates painted on walls in bright colours. 

Peru has made substantial economic progress in recent years but some, especially the rural poor, have been left behind as seems typical in this continent where inequality seems greater than anywhere else. Consequently Ollanta's (probably undeliverable) promises to the poor attracted 31% of the first round vote. However his changing political stance, his closeness to the anti-US Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez and his military past (he was part of an attempted coup a few years ago) worry many that Peru might follow it's neighbour Bolivia in the wrong direction. 

On the other hand Keiko (22% in the first round) is closely associated with her father Alberto, who is currently serving a 25 year jail sentence for corruption. Despite her relative youth she has a track record too. When her father sacked her mother as First Lady in 1994 for accusing him publicly of corruption, the then 21 year old Keiko became First Lady and for six years was therefore implicated in his regime, which as well as corruption included the closing of Congress which effectively made her father a dictator. 

Many suspect that Keiko's father is pulling the strings now from prison and that he will be released if she wins.  While born in Peru, he fled to Japan after being deposed, apparently saying that he was Japanese rather than Peruvian, which further damaged his popularity. To add spice to the current contest it was against Fujimori that Ollanta was involved in the attempted coup and he was only pardoned when Fujimori was found guilty of corruption.  

So we have a soap opera of an election, the result of which no one can predict as nearly half the electorate didn't vote for either candidate in the first round. The only certainty is that a lot of Peruvians and most of the international community are going to get a president they don't want with potentially serious implications for the future of the country. 

Slow Train to Puno

After spending a night in Cusco we caught the Andean Explorer train to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca. This is a first class service with wood-paneled carriages which takes ten (yes, ten) hours to cover just 300 miles. There is an open viewing platform and bar in the last carriage with various forms of entertainment to pass the time.

I´ve always loved trains!

The scenery starts with the urban sprawl of the outskirts of Cusco where dogs chase up and down the side of the train. Apparently they are all owned by families but the Peruvians don't feed them so they have to go out to forage for food among the garbage.

Before long we were into rural areas where the steep sided valleys are filled with cornfields and villages with mud brick houses. Friendly looking people wave at the train including a guy standing knee deep in a river brandishing a large fish he had just caught as if it was the FA Cup. Every now and again a larger more prosperous looking town appears. My assessment of relative wealth is based mainly on the quality of football facilities which range from old goalposts on wasteland to smart little municipal stadia complete with grass pitch, cinder track and seating for a couple of hundred people.

As the journey wears on the track climbs to its highest point at 4320m where we stopped for the first time among snow covered mountains. It is too high for growing corn so the locals keep alpaca and llama, cows, sheep, pigs and donkeys and of course sell woolen garments to train travellers who get off for ten minutes. It is clear that people do actually wear this stuff in their daily lives in rural Peru - not just to have photos taken with tourists - but we suspect that when people get home with their jumpers, ponchos and hats with woven pictures of llamas all over them, they won't be wearing them to the pub.

Su meets the locals...

Beyond the mountains the train descends onto the high plain where the scenery becomes rather featureless. The second stop at Juliaca could not have been more of a contrast to the first. The guide book describes it as like a large, down-at-heel, desert bound work-camp. I wouldn't disagree. You can buy just about anything at the street market which the train passes through at walking pace.  Fruit, vegetables and books lie between the rails so that when the train comes the traders and customers stand back for a minute or two before resuming. The town has a Wild West feel and we weren't encouraged to get out this time.

The most curious sight was earlier on when two grey haired european looking blokes with cameras appeared just as I was trying to take a picture of a local village scene.  Bizarrely a little later the same two appeared again.  All told we saw them four times, standing next to their red 4x4 vehicle taking photos of our train.  The car presumably goes quite a bit faster than the train, enabling determined trainspotters to get lots of shots in different backgrounds. We have seen many exotic new things on this trip but trainspotting is unmistakably British.

Machu Picchu

After three good days weather, some glorious views and fascinating Inca site visits our luck ran out during our last night under canvass. We got up for breakfast just before 4am and left the campsite at daybreak in our waterproofs. Towards the end of the last 6km of the Inca Trail the rain eased briefly and we emerged over the hill through the Sun Gate.

In the distance through a break in the cloud we looked down on the citadel for the first time. But within minutes, like Brigadoon, it had vanished into the mist to the disappointment of those who had come so far on foot. Some were still less fortunate, arriving after the window in the weather and missing the view completely. With tired legs the bedraggled platoon of pilgrims plodded slowly downhill in increasingly heavy rain until finally we were close enough to see the citadel close up. Wow!

Day 1 - a brief respite from rain

We had dreamed of seeing the sunrise here but it was not to be and the walkers mostly melted away. Undeterred, Miguel began our tour as the rain pelted still harder. For more than an hour we explored the citadel, almost alone, even our companions having bailed out. We had got the unlikely outcome of seeing the main sites without the crowds but the surrounding scenery was lost in the cloud.

The citadel sits on a high steep sided promontory surrounded on three sides by a horseshoe bend in the Urubamba River, on a saddle-like piece of land between Wayna Picchu (young mountain) and the higher Apu Machu Picchu (old mountain). All around on the other side of the river are a ring of further mountains which creates a spectacular location suitable for a genuine wonder of the modern world. The citadel is hidden from view in every direction - no wonder the Spanish conquistadors never found it.

There are houses where the nobility lived, temples, many terraces for agricultural purposes and a host of other buildings all perfectly preserved after half a century except for the missing straw roofs. Every now and again one turns a corner and sees some remarkable detail of stonework and carvings - condors, puma, snakes and llamas - the sacred animals of the Incas. It is so captivating we stayed four hours in the rain trying to take it in before we descended the hill to find our hotel.

Disappointed only by the lack of views we decided we were too tired to go back the next morning. But when dawn broke and the sun was out we could not resist and took the chance to climb the mountain again. Sometimes there is a second chance to make a first impression and, bathed in sunshine, Machu Picchu did just that. We just sat and relaxed, drinking it in and then wandered round, all the time noticing more and more. Two days, two incredibly different moods.

Day 2 - what a contrast!

The Incas didn't write nor produce pictorial evidence of their culture like the Ancient Egyptians.  They managed to destroy enough of the trail from Cusco to conceal the citadel from the Spanish and so no one knows the true story or even it's name. Maybe it was the last stronghold of the last Inca king. Maybe it was ultimately abandoned because of disease. There are lots of theories of what happened before a ten year old boy took American Hiram Bingham there 100 years ago this year to find three families living in the overgrown citadel. That no one knows the true story just adds to the mystique of a place that might just be the most magical on Earth.

The Inca Trail

We like walking and we have always wanted to go to Peru so we thought why not do the Inca Trail, the 26 mile trek spread over four days an ending at Machu Picchu? Why not? Simple. It involves camping and we don't do tents. I haven't slept in a tent since my brief spell in the army cadets at school when the camp-site was wiped out by a thunderstorm. Even wedding receptions in marquees worry me.   So why I agreed to do this I don't know. I can't have been under pressure from Su who is too partial to comfortable hotels to want to sleep in a field.

But here we are and it has been great. Our group of up to 12 people turned out to be just us and an Australian couple in their sixties, Keven and Mary (originally from England so we didn't spend three days harping on about the Ashes) with our guide, Miguel.

At the start

The main challenge is not the distance or even the mountainous terrain but the altitude. We've seen people breathing with oxygen tanks just sitting in a hotel in Cusco, so climbing up to Dead Woman's pass on Day 2 to 4,200m is a serious matter.

The mountain scenery is spectacular and dotted with a variety of religious, defensive, urban and agricultural Inca sites which break up the walking. The scenery changes from river valleys with farming to snow covered mountain ranges and sub-tropical cloud forest before the jungle gets thicker towards the end. The trail is mostly built with huge stones - sometimes flat and at other times like a staircase. As a feat of engineering it is remarkable. The Incas could teach Islington Council a few things about road surfaces although amazingly, given their advanced technology they never invented the wheel.

Being in a small group has enabled us to move faster, escape the crowds to a large degree and experience most of this remote scenery with very few people around.  The 200 or so tourists per day come together in the evening at the beautifully located camp sites and have dinner in their groups.

Our support team of eight locals has food ready and the tents up before we arrive. They also bring us water and carry the gear we don't need during the day. The porters are shy, humble indigenous people from the surrounding villages who quietly go about their business.  In between their tasks they look at the tourists with an air of bemusement - what they make of us lot I really don't know.

With the team

In some ways the Trail is very egalitarian. Backpackers and up-market travellers have to walk the same route, take their chances with the weather and rough it a bit in the camp sites where the toilets are not the best. But a huge divide remains between the porters and the guests whose worlds are so far apart. These culture clashes are a part of international tourism and inevitably leave one with some misgivings. Hopefully tourism will ultimately enrich the lives of these local people as much as it has enriched ours.

On arrival at Machu Picchu this morning we felt a sense of achievement on reaching one of the modern wonders of the world the hard way on foot. As for the  camping it wasn't too bad as the weather was kind to us but it may be a while before we are next under canvass.

Into the Valley

Moving on from Cusco towards the Sacred Valley of the Incas where the Inca Trail begins we travelled through Chinchero, Moray and Maras on our way to our overnight stop at Ollantytambo, the last town in the valley before Machu Picchu and where you get the train if you want to visit it the easy way.

At the Inca terraces at Moray

Today has been a fascinating insight into traditional life in rural Peru whose level of wealth does not seem far removed from the equivalent village in Cameroon. Villagers walk their animals along the narrow roads and grow potatoes on the steep Inca terraces built into the side of 5000m high snow covered mountains.

Dyeing alpaca wool using cochineal

We saw traditional weaving and dyeing of alpaca wool using natural ingredients such as the cochineal beetle and visited a salt mine where whole families continue to scrape a living. Our guide said she had met a woman of over 80 who had been extracting salt from the ponds on the hillside for well over half a century. The families need the children to work there too and large families persist because more workers are needed.

The salt mine at Maras

Others have of course switched focus to the tourist market and who can blame them, as traditional life looks tough and increasingly economically unviable.  They find their way to the city and an uncertain future where some women make a living by posing for photos in traditional dress with llamas of all ages.  The baby lambs are sweet and make the best returns.  The street sellers are persistent and start young too. We've met the same 7 year old a couple of times in the town square in Cusco. Being 7 years old his sales technique is abrupt but endearing. "Buy my doll" he instructs you in English, followed by "I take credit card"!  When you say no, like any child he demands "why?".

So the choice is the between the harsh reality of traditional rural family life and the potentially harsher reality of a city which at least offers a small chance of making your fortune.

Cusco, Home of the Incas

Inca legend has it that around 1200 AD Manco Capac, the first Inca leader, left Lake Titicaca in search of the location for the temple to the sun god. This turned out to be Qosqo (now Cusco meaning belly button) which went on to become the centre of an empire that extended along the Andes north past modern day Quito in Ecuador and well beyond Santiago de Chile in the south. On a European scale this would stretch from Lisbon to Moscow, some 2500 miles.

Nowadays Cusco is a cosmopolitan city of half a million inhabitants but its old city centre is full of Inca remains. Spanish colonial buildings sit on top of Inca walls built with huge rocks that were chiseled to fit exactly together.  It is a lovely place to spend a few days and is a worthy destination in itself - not just a stopping off point for Machu Picchu.

While here we have visited the Inca Museum to see some of the treasures that have been unearthed and been to some outlying sites such as Sacsaywayman on the hill above the city.  There we had a demonstration of why the Incas respected nature as a sunny afternoon turned into a vicious hail storm complete with a lightning strike and a rainbow.

Just before the lighting strike at Sacsaywayman

The Inca dominance spread until around 1530 when Pizarro's small expeditionary force arrived from Spain. With the limited resources of just 180 men, 27 horses and a cannon, Pizarro and his brutal conquistadors overthrew one of the world's great empires which had an army of 100,000 men.  He was aided by a civil war among the Incas, a smallpox epidemic and probably the belief locally that they were gods.

The rest as they say is history. And of course history is written by the winners, so the carnage, large-scale theft and attempted destruction of a culture was justified in the name of the Church.    The 1500s was Spain's golden age and the similarities with what we saw on last month's trip to Andalucía are striking. The cloistered patio of our hotel is almost identical to our hotel in Ubeda, which was built to celebrate the reconquest of Spain from the Moors.  The Christians also built on top of the main Inca Temple of the Sun, much as they did at the mosque in Córdoba.  The Moors who were ultimately expelled from Spain by the Inquisition would be surprised I'm sure if they knew that their arches would reappear in the Christian conquerors' buildings in South America.

However despite everything the indigenous culture has survived where the Moors didn't and tell tale signs of Inca resistance can be found even in the religious paintings in the Cathedral where the odd stray serpent appears. Now a new invasion, this time of tourists, has even started to bring the wealth back.

Grounded

Getting to Cusco proved more difficult than we expected as our flight with the local airline TACA was cancelled amid extraordinary scenes at Cusco airport. Irate passengers besieged the desk at the gate as they told us Cusco airport was closed due to bad weather. Meanwhile other flights left for the same destination and they even boarded our plane from a gate downstairs in the hope we wouldn't notice.  

As the truth became apparent we joined the scrum for the last few places downstairs, which were allocated on a "who shouts loudest" basis. When, like us, a group of middle aged women missed out they formed a human barrier across the gate to prevent the last passengers boarding. They were forcibly removed by security.

TACA got us back to the airport for a second attempt at 245am so that we could wait two more hours to check in. More rows ensued as they made a shambolic attempt to separate yesterday's passengers from the people they were going to let down today. It is clear that the people in the Sheraton, where we spent the night, are very used to looking after stranded TACA passengers.

But we made it to Cusco in the end this morning, less than an hour after the new scheduled arrival time and we still have three days to get used to the thin air here at 3,400 metres (11,000 feet) above sea level before we start the Inca Trail - the four day walk to Machu Picchu.

Lima Through the Ages

As 22 hour journeys go the one from London to Lima was pretty good. The highlight of the connection in Madrid was that it was perfectly timed to get some food in the lounge before watching the whole of the Madrid v Barcelona game in the lounge. At 7am on a Sunday morning even the streets of Lima are free of traffic and being able to check in early to our hotel meant we could recharge before exploring the city.

A few hours were enough to see buildings from three eras of its history and to sample the local cuisine for which the city is increasingly renowned. Someone went as far to describe it as the gastronomic capital of the western hemisphere which would mean it has already got better food than anywhere in the USA. Thinking about it I suppose that is quite possible!

First stop was Huaca Pucllana, a large temple complex in a residential area, built around 1500 years ago containing a huge stepped pyramid made of abobe (main ingredient mud) bricks. Some of it has been restored over the last 30 years by rearranging the bricks found but much is in incredibly good condition. While the near desert weather conditions don't cause much damage it is a tribute to these ancient engineering standards that they have survived so many earthquakes intact. The site gives an insight into some of the life of the culture of the Lima people and the Wari who succeeded them around 700 AD a long time before the Incas arrived.

The temple complex also features a fine restaurant with a terrace overlooking the archeological site, where we escaped the heat to enjoy lunch - although the time difference meant that our bodies thought it was dinner.

Then a rather rickety looking taxi sped us forward a thousand years in architectural terms to the colonial and nineteenth century buildings of the old city centre. There is not a huge amount to see but, as in Argentina, one can work out how wealthy the colony must have been when it broke from Spain in 1821.

We soon moved on again via a more modern taxi specially selected by Suzanne to our hotel in beach-side Miraflores where we completed our journey through time to the 21st century.  The impressive Larcomar leisure development sits built into the cliffs overlooking the surfing beach. All along the bay for miles work on the beach has begun as if the city has just realised that the seafront has potential beyond the traditional fishing that dates back beyond the days of the construction of Huaca Pucllana.

The beach at Miraflores

So ancient, colonial and modern sit together in Lima but the Incas for which the country are famous seem to be absent. We are going in search of them next, to the highlands around Cusco.

Motoring

We have driven the entire length of France over the course of two days. We are probably biased but the journey didn't seem as interesting as driving through Spain. The western side of the country seems fairly flat and there is enough room for the motorways to pass by towns without being able to see them. In general therefore 1000km can pass without witnessing more than a subtle change of scenery. A medieval pilgrim on his way to London would no doubt have encountered all sorts of strange happenings on the way through France but if the modern day traveller puts his head down and foot on the gas it is pretty much possible to pass through without incident. So we have very little to report about the country that has brought the world some very good wine and cheese, turned frogs legs and snails into food, turned strikes into an art form and given birth to Napoleon, popular revolutions, William the Conqueror, Joan of Arc, General de Gaulle and of course Thierry Henry.

The highlight of the journey was a very fine evening spent with Suzanne's great friend from school, Fran, her husband Laurent and their boys, Julien and Tom near Nantes.  They live in a nice village house with a big garden and we sat outside drinking wine and barbecuing dinner while we caught up with the events of the previous five years since we last saw them.

Suzanne & Fran reunited

Maria the Spanish Tom-Tom woman guided us pretty well, although we weren't expecting to spend so much time in an industrial estate on the edge of Rouen. Nevertheless we arrived on time for our eurotunnel shuttle to Folkestone.

The other side of the Channel Tunnel went well too as we drove in bright sunshine up the M20 to London but after 2250kms with zero traffic hold ups our luck was bound to run out somewhere. And of course that somewhere was just the wrong side of the Blackwall Tunnel. After a lengthy delay we made it through the last few miles to our London home, which I last saw more than eight months ago. It was a good reminder of what we have been missing. The infrastructure can't cope, everyone is in too much of a hurry, the cyclists are living on borrowed time and the pedestrians in Hackney still think they have right of way over cars. There were various road closures and detours as we relied on local knowledge instead of Maria who is probably sobbing inside the Tom-Tom and pining for Valencia.

But we've made it all the way back by road and we have a week to reacquaint ourselves with the flat, friends and family and the office.  I wonder what we will make of it all. After visiting Africa and Latin America in the last few months this could be the biggest culture shock of our year away!

Home from Home

San Sebastian is our last stop before crossing the border into France. It is nice - very nice and is the sort of place one could get used to. We are staying at the Hotel of London and of England which faces the beach and is essentially like the Grand in Brighton transferred to Spain, given a beautiful curve of sandy beach, some green hills and a few degrees of extra warmth. This is what Victorian English resorts would be like now if the weather had been better and cheap flights to the Med had never been invented.

This is where the well-heeled from Madrid head for summer and as a resort it has a lot more class than the more modern beach towns on the east and south  coasts that have grown up in the last fifty years.  It is also a lot more expensive but no one looks that bothered. The beach was very busy today as people took advantage of the blisteringly hot weather that has arrived a couple of months early. 26 degrees in the shade in the first week of April meant our activities were restricted to eating seafood and walking and sitting on the beach - fortunately things that, with practice, we are getting pretty good at!

The Basque Heartland

Instead of the motorway route from Pamplona to Bilbao, we cut inland on the minor roads to see the interior of the Basque country and some of its many villages that lie in the valleys between the mountains. Because of the high rainfall here the  vegetation is lush and green and more reminiscent of northern Europe.

The village architecture is very different to southern Spain and resembles more the chalets of the Alps. Traditional life continues in these farming communities but things have had to change in the biggest city, Bilbao where, like northern England, shipbuilding and heavy industry have faded into the past. But like a phoenix from the ashes (and even more like the Tate Modern in London) the Guggenheim art museum has given the city a new identity to be proud of. Our hotel room had the unexpected bonus of a large balcony overlooking the museum and the river and after relaxing there in the sunshine we visited a few tapas bars in the earthy old town.

The Guggenheim Museum...

...and its famous spider

Being city dwellers by nature we liked Bilbao. The urban renewal based on the new art museum is reminiscent of the riverfront redevelopment of both our home cities, London and Newcastle, especially the latter.

We took the scenic route next morning to the north coast where the road curves up and down the forested cliffs, making for an exhilarating drive. The highlight of the journey was the remarkably unspoiled fishing village of Mundaka, whose beautiful estuary has long sandy beaches and is a real surfer's paradise in the autumn.

But like many places in Spain the heartland of the Basque Country has a darker side and our route took us to Guernika, the traditional centre of Basque culture, which was virtually obliterated by German bombers in 1937 during the Civil War.  Franco allowed his allies to use the town as target practice and Picasso captured the destruction in his huge mural which we have seen previously in Madrid.

The strong nationalism of the area is understandable given the long history, the very different language, the more recent repression under Franco and the prosperity of the area relative to the rest of Spain. Yet the area seems at peace with itself and a very civilised place to spend a couple of days.

Running with the Bulls

The first leg of our trip back to London took us over 600km north to Pamplona. With relatively few cars for company on quite new motorways that cut across the planes of Spain we made good progress, directed in firm but polite Spanish by the voice of Maria on the Tom-Tom. Her directions have reduced my role as navigator but she doesn't do interesting facts about the places we visit nor spout trivia about the local football teams, so I'm not completely redundant!

Pamplona has been on the pilgrim route to Santiago in Galicia and been capital of Navarre (first as independent kingdom and then part of Spain) for more than a Millenium. It therefore has a more cosmopolitan and prosperous feel than you might expect for a Spanish city of its size and has some impressive defences such as the high city walls above a loop in the river and the military fort, the citadel, now used mostly for art exhibitions.  Despite the current economic crisis there are an incredible number of bars and restaurants in operation and a lot of up market shops. The people walk faster than in southern Spain and, like us, don't wait for the green man before crossing roads. 

The city is well known for its tapas (known as pintxos here - typically finger food instead of the dishes in sauce you get in the rest of Spain) and we had a recommendation from Pau who spent five years here as a student and knows a bit about food. His favourite, El Gaucho, turned out to be less than 20 paces from our hotel entrance and yet we found another good bar on the way to it!  The quality of the food in both was excellent which bodes well for the rest of the mini road trip we are doing while refueling here in the Basque country ahead of the journey through France. 

But Pamplona is really famous for Los Encierros - the running of the bulls through the streets. Each year beginning on 7 July for a week during the fiesta of San Fermín, at 8am every morning the six bulls who are to fight that evening are released and run the course to the bull ring in around three minutes in hot pursuit of a host of brave/stupid humans.  Most runs pass without major incident but from time to time everyone gets a reminder of how dangerous this is. A couple of years ago while we watched live on TV, a light brown bull named Cappuccino ran amok and gored various unfortunates, cheered on by Suzanne who is always one for the underdog. On a quiet spring evening there is no such excitement but there are enough traces of San Fermín to entice one back to Pamplona to visit one of Spain's greatest occasions before someone in the EU closes it down on health and safety grounds.