2017 Day Thirty One

Another day in paradise…or at least it starts out that way.

With the promise of heat later, the morning is devoted to walking the bay from Monte Urgull into the old city, along the spectacular bay beaches of La Concha and Ondarreta, to end at Monte Igeldo.

It’s a spectacular walk, but the curve is deceptive – it’s much further than it looks and by midday the sun is belting down. Not that it stops the sun worshippers.  La Concha is packed, tourists in the main I suspect.  Ondarreta seems to run at a gentler pace,  with its umbrellas and beach tents.  Quite expensive to hire for the day though – starting at €13 and up to €21. 

We walk through a tunnel to cross to Ondarreta, bikes and cars go through another.  At this stage I’m looking longingly at the bike path and wondering why we didn’t ride.  It would have left enough energy to climb Mont Igeldo to see the view from the lighthouse.  I find out later that there’s a funicular railway we could have caught to the top.  Oh well – you can’t do everything! 

At the tip of to headland is a series of sculptures by Eduardo Chillida – The Comb of the Winds. From here, there’s an excellent view of Santa Clara with its winding ancient stone path. Unfortunately the only way onto the island is by boat, although in this heat, I’m tempted to swim it. 

The Southern end of the two bays is dotted with restaurants and cafes, less pintxios, more formal dining.  It’s a great walk, although best done on a slightly cooler day, or even better, on bike.  We have our own, but there’s a good range of bikes for hire.

We’ve picked up some local goodies via the old town for lunch – Iberico jambon and a bread stick, but relaxation is highjacked by a tyre, threatening to deflate.

Those who know me well will know I don’t take well to disappointments that ruin my plans.  Yes, I can see that we have to do something about it – a 5 tonne vehicle with a flat doesn’t bear thinking about. But it’s Sunday and nothing is open and moving will certainly cost us our prize location.

Chris’ logic wins and we find a service station to pump air.  We have to wait for tomorrow for repairs.  Driving the motorhome through the narrow streets of San Sebastian takes courage but Chris has nerves of steel and pulls it off with quiet aplomb.  Meanwhile, I’m seething.   Of course our spot is gone on our return and we have to wait the afternoon and evening out, kilometres out of the city.

The only good thing is that we get to see quite a bit of the new city in our search for air, then a place to accommodate us.  And I can catch up on chores, but most of all, I’d like to take a bat to the guilty tyre and give it the thrashing of a lifetime.

Chris mollifies my temper with promises of returning tomorrow, but all I’m capable of doing is hissing.  I’m not holding out hope for an improvement in parking tomorrow.  Want to be here…

Very. Cross. Indeed. 

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