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It was a late start after a sleepless night of continuous turning onto my sore arm and waking up. We ate, blogged, read, studied, mooched about and then set off to the sports store to buy some new pants for me. My previous pair, impregnated with anti-mosquito mix, had reacted badly to camel sweat. After my perilous ride on a camel in Egypt in January, the fabric had puckered up so that they appeared to be an unusual shirred style that highlighted my leg muscles. On the whole we have had summer since then so it I haven’t worn them much, but with the walk in the mountains coming up, I needed something warmer to wear. This excursion took as long as a trip to a museum since we spent at least half an hour deliberating over a baton (pointed retractable stick) for the walk, another half hour being amazed by the range of knickers and socks for athletes and longer trying on pants. Keith got in quite a bit of French study and I did some training kilometres trecking back and forth with different styles and sizes.
The walk there and back was quite long in the heat, through fairly dull streets, with the only interest coming from the beautiful roundabouts which are lush, landscaped gardens with trees.
A complete contrast came with our evening’s activity, which was a night at the arena, but not for a bull fight. Instead we, and a crush of other people squeezed onto the arena benches and prepared ourselves for the ‘Spectacle’. It was put on by the Or Konpon organisation, which formed thirty years ago to promote and rekindle knowledge of, and enjoyment in, traditional Basque culture.
The light was disappearing fast as our attention was drawn to the arena, the sand being raked by a small army of red uniformed buffoons. They were still on stage when a line of monks trailed around the circle and then made their way up to the choir stalls at the side. Next insects and birds on stilts, the creatures of the night, came in and danced, waving their wings in the night breeze. We did not have a program at that stage, but we bought one later and we read that the whole event was based on traditional pastorals. A pastoral was a combined effort of a village, with singing, dancing, music, acting and animals, all in one show. This one really was amazing and had the crowd, and us, enthralled.
Dancers entered and danced, chasing off the buffoons. The choir sang and on pranced King Charlemagne and four knights on horses. Their troops followed, holding standards aloft. A Saracen king rode on, then led his men in galloping around the ring. His troops of dancers lined up with him. Finally the Basques arrived in red and white.
A complex story of wars, betrayals, death and defeats was told in song, dance and action. It was the story of Charlemagne, Roland and the Basque people. In between, the night creatures reappeared and the buffoons played their traditional role as comedians. At one point a burning city was represented with torches and smoke, and the fleeing of one army. The program gave details of everything that was happening but the themes and characters would all have been familiar to the audience. The singers were incredible – male and female soloists and an unaccompanied male choir. The armies of dancers portrayed battles with displays of skills, as did the horse riders. By the end of the show, everyone was on stage, including a flock of sheep which had entered with some shepherds. They wore rosettes and bells and wandered about freely, although always as a flock, creating great interest with their random moves.
Amazingly, they stood absolutely still, as if mesmerised, during the singing of one very moving song.
It was a great night, if slightly confusing for us, and enabled us to see a range of traditional entertainments and the interior of the arena. Although this was obviously on a grand scale, you could see how a village would be drawn together in preparing for and producing a pastorale that included animals and skills with animals as well as acting, dancing and singing.
It was a late start after a sleepless night of continuous turning onto my sore arm and waking up. We ate, blogged, read, studied, mooched about and then set off to the sports store to buy some new pants for me. My previous pair, impregnated with anti-mosquito mix, had reacted badly to camel sweat. After my perilous ride on a camel in Egypt in January, the fabric had puckered up so that they appeared to be an unusual shirred style that highlighted my leg muscles. On the whole we have had summer since then so it I haven’t worn them much, but with the walk in the mountains coming up, I needed something warmer to wear. This excursion took as long as a trip to a museum since we spent at least half an hour deliberating over a baton (pointed retractable stick) for the walk, another half hour being amazed by the range of knickers and socks for athletes and longer trying on pants. Keith got in quite a bit of French study and I did some training kilometres trecking back and forth with different styles and sizes.
The walk there and back was quite long in the heat, through fairly dull streets, with the only interest coming from the beautiful roundabouts which are lush, landscaped gardens with trees.
A complete contrast came with our evening’s activity, which was a night at the arena, but not for a bull fight. Instead we, and a crush of other people squeezed onto the arena benches and prepared ourselves for the ‘Spectacle’. It was put on by the Or Konpon organisation, which formed thirty years ago to promote and rekindle knowledge of, and enjoyment in, traditional Basque culture.
The light was disappearing fast as our attention was drawn to the arena, the sand being raked by a small army of red uniformed buffoons. They were still on stage when a line of monks trailed around the circle and then made their way up to the choir stalls at the side. Next insects and birds on stilts, the creatures of the night, came in and danced, waving their wings in the night breeze. We did not have a program at that stage, but we bought one later and we read that the whole event was based on traditional pastorals. A pastoral was a combined effort of a village, with singing, dancing, music, acting and animals, all in one show. This one really was amazing and had the crowd, and us, enthralled.
Dancers entered and danced, chasing off the buffoons. The choir sang and on pranced King Charlemagne and four knights on horses. Their troops followed, holding standards aloft. A Saracen king rode on, then led his men in galloping around the ring. His troops of dancers lined up with him. Finally the Basques arrived in red and white.
A complex story of wars, betrayals, death and defeats was told in song, dance and action. It was the story of Charlemagne, Roland and the Basque people. In between, the night creatures reappeared and the buffoons played their traditional role as comedians. At one point a burning city was represented with torches and smoke, and the fleeing of one army. The program gave details of everything that was happening but the themes and characters would all have been familiar to the audience. The singers were incredible – male and female soloists and an unaccompanied male choir. The armies of dancers portrayed battles with displays of skills, as did the horse riders. By the end of the show, everyone was on stage, including a flock of sheep which had entered with some shepherds. They wore rosettes and bells and wandered about freely, although always as a flock, creating great interest with their random moves.
Amazingly, they stood absolutely still, as if mesmerised, during the singing of one very moving song.
It was a great night, if slightly confusing for us, and enabled us to see a range of traditional entertainments and the interior of the arena. Although this was obviously on a grand scale, you could see how a village would be drawn together in preparing for and producing a pastorale that included animals and skills with animals as well as acting, dancing and singing.
Below: Catherine's dog, Jack, looking or someone to play with.
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