It's Monday, this must be Spain.

I arose very early, beginning my voyage in the dark. My long drive skirted Bordeaux, headed across a plain full of tree farms, and into the Pyrennes. As I drive I'm focussed on the road because it is a very rainy, very windy day. Entering the small mountains I realize that I do not understand the road signs. They're no longer in French, but Spanish. Sure, I realized it would happen but the sudden realization of how ignorant I was became sobering. I don't speak nor understand Spanish. Encore, c'est la vie.

My destination is San Sebastian, Spain, which is rumored to be a culinary hot spot. I'm scouting a possible future eating destination. I've become a bit overdosed on French food. Being very poorly prepared for this last minute adventure, arrival in San Sebastian finds me with no map and in a pretty busy small city dissected by a river. What is where? Wandering around into wrong turn after wrong turn, I finally locate a hotel. After a few more erroneous turns, I find my way to the front of the hotel. Inside they are kind enough to speak English and to give me a map of the city. They point me in the correct direction (the old city with many restaurants) and I'm off.

Driving about, looking for a place to park, I see the majority of the old city and the commercial district. Finally, I find a parking spot. One thing I did accomplish prior to my beginning this trip, I amassed a list of five very good restaurants in the area of San Sebastian. So, I began wandering about the core city looking for just one of these fine eating places. I had no luck. So, I began watching what the people were doing for food (by now it was lunch time-1p here). What I noticed was that every bar had its counter filled with plates of food with people standing around, talking, eating, drinking. It looked like a good idea.

It situated myself outside a small bar that was full of very chatty folks who looked so happy, despite the bad weather. I watched for awhile to see how things worked. It was a bit difficult to determine. Everyone seemed to be going in every direction. What were they doing? Finally, two people left and I moved into their place. I ordered a beer and asked the bartender if he spoke English. He did not. I motioned at the food and he gave me a plate. I moved along the bar, trying to determine what was what. These were what they call Pintxos (sp?) and we call Pupus in Hawaii.

I selected from the dishes which had the fewest pieces remaining, assuming that the diners who knew what they were eating liked those the best. I, in general, didn't have a clue what I was eating but each tasted really good. One portion had salmon, another had peppers with anchovies, the next had fish of some sort with olives, a sausage came next, then another and another. Suddenly, everyone left. I was the only person there and my beer was gone. Interesting. I went to the cash register. They asked my something in Spanish. I assumed they wanted to know how much I had eaten. I held up fingers. They punched the keys on the cash register. I paid and moved on. Thankfully, the food was good and I was full. I walked around the old city for another hour or so, looking for one of my recommended restaurants. Again, no luck and I wasn't really attracted to any of the places. So, back to the car and back on the road.

I may not have found what I came in search of but this is a place to which I will definitely return. It's full of happy people and I'm interested in discovering this cuisine which is new to me. Maybe next spring when I return to Plum Village. Maybe I should learn some Spanish. Now, it's time to prepare for my trip home.