St-Jean-de-Luz, France
Today we visited what many consider the most attractive resort on the Basque coast. St-Jean-de-Luz is the only natural harbor on the coast between Arcachon, France and Spain, a distance of about 100 kilometers. Mountains rise behind the town and beautiful sandy beaches are separated by limestone ramparts tilted and contorted into fantastic shapes. This is also the birth place of the composer Ravel, and his house overlooks the entrance to the harbor. St-Jean-de-Luz has been a major port for centuries, with whaling and cod fishing being the traditional occupations. Today, it remains one of the busiest fishing ports in France and a principal one for anchovy and tuna.
In 1660, King Louis XIV married Maria Teresa in the lovely Church of St.-Jean-Baptiste. And quite the affair it was. Cardinal Mazarin presented the new queen with 12,000 pounds of pearls and diamonds, a gold dinner service, and a pair of carriages drawn by teams of six horses—all paid for by money made in the service of France. Today, hanging from the church ceiling is an ex-voto model of the Empress Eugenie’s paddle-steamer, Eagle, which narrowly escaped wrecking on the rocks outside St.-Jean in 1867.
In the afternoon, some of us took a tour up the coast to Bayonne, another Basque city with tall half-timbered houses and woodwork painted in the peculiarly Basque tones of red and green. At one time, this city was a center for the production of armaments, giving its name to the bayonet.
The shopping was apparently good in both towns with many guests coming back to the Endeavour loaded with goodies, including the famous local chocolate, which has been produced in this area for over 500 years.
But as the sun set, St-Jean-de-Luz really became magical. Twilight reflected in smooth, oily ripples in the harbor, church bells chimed, and people settled into little cafes for dinner. I found myself in Cafe Theo, which boasted Basque cuisine and photos of matadors and posters advertising bull fights hanging on the walls. A savory gazpacho soup and hunks of French bread preceded a grilled steak of tuna and boiled potatoes, both swimming in a delectable tomato and chili sauce. A bottle of local red wine was a necessary libation. Dessert was a slab of buttery chocolate covered with a vanilla sauce. And, of course, a small cup of strong sweet coffee capped off the meal. Our last night in France was one to remember.
Today we visited what many consider the most attractive resort on the Basque coast. St-Jean-de-Luz is the only natural harbor on the coast between Arcachon, France and Spain, a distance of about 100 kilometers. Mountains rise behind the town and beautiful sandy beaches are separated by limestone ramparts tilted and contorted into fantastic shapes. This is also the birth place of the composer Ravel, and his house overlooks the entrance to the harbor. St-Jean-de-Luz has been a major port for centuries, with whaling and cod fishing being the traditional occupations. Today, it remains one of the busiest fishing ports in France and a principal one for anchovy and tuna.
In 1660, King Louis XIV married Maria Teresa in the lovely Church of St.-Jean-Baptiste. And quite the affair it was. Cardinal Mazarin presented the new queen with 12,000 pounds of pearls and diamonds, a gold dinner service, and a pair of carriages drawn by teams of six horses—all paid for by money made in the service of France. Today, hanging from the church ceiling is an ex-voto model of the Empress Eugenie’s paddle-steamer, Eagle, which narrowly escaped wrecking on the rocks outside St.-Jean in 1867.
In the afternoon, some of us took a tour up the coast to Bayonne, another Basque city with tall half-timbered houses and woodwork painted in the peculiarly Basque tones of red and green. At one time, this city was a center for the production of armaments, giving its name to the bayonet.
The shopping was apparently good in both towns with many guests coming back to the Endeavour loaded with goodies, including the famous local chocolate, which has been produced in this area for over 500 years.
But as the sun set, St-Jean-de-Luz really became magical. Twilight reflected in smooth, oily ripples in the harbor, church bells chimed, and people settled into little cafes for dinner. I found myself in Cafe Theo, which boasted Basque cuisine and photos of matadors and posters advertising bull fights hanging on the walls. A savory gazpacho soup and hunks of French bread preceded a grilled steak of tuna and boiled potatoes, both swimming in a delectable tomato and chili sauce. A bottle of local red wine was a necessary libation. Dessert was a slab of buttery chocolate covered with a vanilla sauce. And, of course, a small cup of strong sweet coffee capped off the meal. Our last night in France was one to remember.
