Day Thirty-Six: Basquing in the Sun
It is a very great shame to be on the downslope of my vacation when my talent for sitting and whiling away time motionlessly is being brought to perfection.
Today was not the rip-roaringest of the trip, but amusing enough. I felt like I ought to go through the Pays Basque and the Cote d'Argent, so I did... I don't know if I'm getting inured to landscapes, but the Pays Basque really didn't do anything for me. The houses are all so uniform, white with red trim, red tile roofs, all the same, just slightly different sizes and orientation. The Basques also have an alarming propensity for conducting their affairs in the middle of the road -- and I do mean the middle of the road -- discussing the crops, stopping to examine an interesting rock formation, proposing marriage. The life of the driver through the Basque regions is further made a burden to her by shoals of bicyclists shimmering around her fenders like smelt. All of the town names look Aztec, with lots of Q's and X's.
I did not much enjoy St. Jean du Luz, a Basque port and my ultimate destination, though this does not mean that others would not like it. I'm not much a one for beach resorts, and I'm not sure what made me decide that I needed to see one this trip. The Golfe de Gascogne itself is very beautiful, just one shade darker and one shade purer blue than the ocean off Point Reyes. But the beaches were cluttered with flabby, pasty Europeans in that state of partial undress so much more disturbing than actual nudity, making out more often than not. And hardly a scrap of shade to be found in the town. I wandered around like a lost soul, having seen a public WC somewhere near the tourist office but forgetting exactly where after parking. Eventually I gave up and exercised my facility for motionlessly watching the world go by on a bench opposite the Musee Grevin.
This museum harbors an amusing waxworks about the marriage of Louis XIV and the Infanta Maria Theresa, St. Jean du Luz's last big party, in 1659. It was actually not too cheesy-looking, and reasonably informative, although the sprightly recorded narrators would keep saying things like, "No! You're not dreaming! That really is the Sun King standing before you on the right..." I bet this is the only waxworks in the world that includes naked breasts. (I can imagine this conversation with the figuremakers -- "You're going to show the Sun King and Maria Theresa doing WHAT?")