EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALDecember 13, 1998
Arbonne
Cote Basque
The village of Sare distinguishes itself by nestling in La
Rhune’s picturesque valley. Its Basque name is Sara, and Sara doesn’t
disappoint me. It’s definitive in its Basque charm, quaint with resident cows
masticating the surroundings fields and wild Pottock ponies grazing at the roadside. La
Rhune towers to the west at 900 metres, inviting hikers with well-marked trailheads
and Le Petit Train that’s been taking summit seekers to the peak since 1924.
South of the village, just a stone’s throw from the Spanish
frontier, are the Grottes de Sare. We purchase our tickets and shuffle into a
small, cavernous auditorium where a slide presentation explains the history of rock
formation in graphic detail. The prehistoric caves were sculpted by water over millions of
years. There are dozens of cave "galleries", one after the other, a "second
floor" with dripping stalagmites and stalactites, and a perfect, prehistoric drawing
of a Pottock pony. The entire sight trickles with glistening streams, iridescent moss
abides with gauzy cobwebs, and the bat caves are closed to visitors.
The town of Ascain is buzzing with activity today. The Pelota
court is filled with villagers. They are jumping up and down. Traditional music blasts
through a sound system. Everyone is hopping and smiling and reaching skyward. They hold
hands and turn in circles. We’re just about to join in when the music fades, the
people gather up their cakes and quickly disperse. Children take their place in the court
with paddles and balls.
Madam Aranna, is, of course, pleased to see us again. She is making confit
(pieces of goose preserved in its own fat) with her children. It’s warm. She wears a
Michael Jordan T-shirt.
La Rhune is clear and summons us from Mendialde’s gate. The
grubby sheep toddle past and we set up the "office" once again.
