EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALDecember 7, 1998
Near Urrugne
Cote Basque
Urrugne is pronounced Uuuuurrh(clear throat here)yuuuunnia,
and ever since Madam Defau taught us the proper phonetics we can’t stop saying it,
flushing the esophagus with every execution. The village is crowned by the Notre Dame
de Socorri, which is a dollhouse chapel at the top of a winding residential road. The
hilltop offers a 360 degree view of the surrounding peaks. La Rhune is the closest,
a 900 metre isosceles triangle on the Spanish border. To the south is the 806 metre wisdom
tooth, Penas de Haya.
A coastal road stretches the entire length of the Corniche Basque.
At first the water’s edge is protected by jaggedy layered rock and a cliff. The vista
is wide with La Pointe de Ste. Barbe and St. Jean de Luz behind to the north. As we
drive south we come upon the town of Hendaye, the last coastal resort before crossing La
Frontier into Spain. Hendaye Plage is flat and deep and follows the length of the
city, beginning at Pointe de Ste. Anne and ending with a breakwall at the Spanish
border. The beach glows with the low light of a glorious winter’s day. Magic hour
milks the afternoon. The tide saunters up the depth of the beach to greet dancing dogs.
Rich is setting up the kite. A treasure-hunting couple combs the sand
with a metal detector. Rich walks backwards with the strings, and the kite and I stand
with our backs toward Spain. Monsieur Treasure-Hunter plops himself down and digs his
shovel into the beach. He waits for take-off.
The kite shoots up and yaws and then nosedives into a tidal puddle. I
pick up and dust off and unwind the strings and we repeat the take-off exercise a dozen
times. The kite is smallish and requires more wind. Monsieur Treasure-Hunter resumes Lost
Ring Profit. Rich winds up the strings, folds up the kite and the wind picks up.
It’s an hour’s walk to Spain and the hard-packed sand and
romping dogs meet us at every step. A passenger jet skims the roof of the Basque Hotel.
All promeneurs stop, crank and mutter a breathy, "higher, higher". The
sun dips and we undertake a flustering feat to find a route back to Urrugne.
Hendaye is a maze of highways and truck routes and border crossings. We
circle the roundabouts looking for a sign that DOESN’T say Spain. All roads lead to
St. Sebastian. We don’t want to board the toll highway north and end up in Bordeaux.
We U Turn and dodge speeding Citroens and pass a sign that says Frontier. Another U
Turn and we’re lined up behind a sea of diesel and air break-billowing camions.
I pass 8F to the tollbooth lady and we’re on our way to the first exit, St. Jean de
Luz, and the home to Urrugne.
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