Dawn Is Me

I learned something about myself yesterday.

I learned that I’ll probably never get used to six-hour dinners.

Yes, that’s right. A group of us from the conference took a short bus ride to a more traditional Basque village yesterday and had dinner. It started at 8 p.m. and it was about 2 a.m. when we all piled back into the buses and went back to our hotels.

I’ll give them this: these Basque natives definitely know how to party.

I’ll bitch about the long hours and the fact that I didn’t get much sleep before having to deliver my speech (in Spanish!) but I actually enjoyed the evening tremendously.

We started out in the courtyard of this little inn, where we were treated to an exhibition of weight lifting — difficult stuff because the guys weren’t using barbells or anything that’s especially easy to lift. They were lifting weights between 130 kilos and 295 kilos (no, I don’t know what that converts to off the top of my head – you do the math) with two hands, one hand, pitting it on the shoulder and walking around, stuff like that.

The weight lifting was interspersed with exhibitions in, believe it nor not, cutting logs. With an ax. While being timed. Made me think of Derek; I felt right at home.

While we watched, we got to drink a Basque drink (the name of which escapes me) that was a kind of cider, tasted vaguely of apples, had more alcohol than beer but less than wine. Tasty stuff. Nice buzz, too.

Then we went inside and got started on dinner.

A lot of it I couldn’t eat; nobody contemplated options for an ovo-lacto vegetarian when they put together the menu. They started with an appetizer of Iberian ham with bread, followed by a green salad served under a pile of shredded crab (which complicated matters for me), followed by a fish course (not filleted fish, either), and ended with these huge slabs of steak. And I do mean huge – the things were cut at about four inches thick. Gino would have been in hog-heaven.

As you can see, though, slim pickin’s for me.

While we ate, we were entertained with music. There was a band, consisting of a set of six flutes of some kind — including the Deputy Minister of Education — a drummer and an accordion player. We also got to listen to a performance by a wonderful choral group called Landarbaso, who sang a capella selections of traditional Basque music.

I can’t tell you how terrific these kids were. They brought a tear to my eye, and I found myself wishing that both Gina and Mrs. Olsen could have heard them. They were truly magnificent; I’d love to see Gina get involved with such a choral group (if we have that sort of thing over here).

After they sang, I started asking questions and the Deputy Minister actually approached the choir director to let him know I was interested. He came over and gave me his card, and they told me the group is going to be competing in California in the near future. Then, during the second set they did, they performed their two English language songs, prepared for the competition — just for me.

I thought that was sweet of them.

After all of that, I stepped outside to get a breath of air. It had gotten pretty hot inside. I got into a couple of great conversations with some of the rest of the English-speaking contingent about all kinds of issues around my professional life: small business, economic development and even a touch of politics — although it was more about administration and bureaucrats.

I didn’t mention the English-speaking contingent before, did I? They consisted of Hans (from Holland), Michael and Gorn (from Denmark), a gentleman from Germany whose name escapes me, and another gentleman from England who never told me his name. It was something of a relief to me to spend an evening with a bunch of people I could talk to without struggling with my pathetic Spanish or having to go through an interpreter.

If I’m going to keep coming back here, I’m going to really have to work of the Spanish.

Anyway, by the time my bladder reminded me of its existence and I stepped back inside, there was almost nobody sitting down. They were doing traditional Basque line dances and singing and having a great old time! I’m told that this is pretty typical, lots of eating and singing and dancing in the countryside.

We finally got thrown out of the inn and sent home. People were still singing as we waited by the buses for the drivers to re-materialize. It was a kind of amazing evening and gave me an even better feel for the Basque and its people.

It’s a genuine subculture, with its own language and art and food and music — not like some of the faux-subcultures that some ethnic groups in the U.S. have rather desperately tried to create for themselves. They have great joy in their uniqueness and great pride in not being Spanish. There was also a touch of militancy in the vibe; they are a bit defensive and hostile toward Spain. I gather that they Basque is often referred to as autonomous but it’s not as autonomous as its people would like it to be.

There is much under the surface here. But I like these people. And I like the way they have dinner.

[tags]travelogue, Spain, Basque country, San Sabastian, Landarbaso, dining[/tags]