Zarautz, Getaria, Zumaia
♪♫ Lay Here Beside You – State of Sound ♪♫
After the first exhilarating day in San Sebastián I was already drawn to the surrounding small, not entirely unknown, villages. After another breakfast of café and croissant at Bideluze I boarded the bus bound for the surfer’s paradise of Zarautz. Already the drive through villages, over hills and countless curves through the green of the Basque countryside promised a lot of this day. Shortly before 10 am, the village is just coming to life. The beach fills up once again, awnings are put up and the sea leaves the sandy beach to holidaymakers and locals for a few hours. I walk along the shore promenade, runners and walkers, taking advantage of the still slightly cooler morning air, are crossing my way. A completely normal Saturday. On the endless beach, the sea still runs gently ashore, but soon it gurgles beneath me between the small rocky outcrops and stones. My gaze goes along the road, between short rock tunnels, Getaria in the distance, the wide blue here too, and the landscape full of green hills that begins again right at the end of the beach. Stand-up paddlers leisurely do their laps on the smooth ocean. Locals use the small harbour as a swimming pool including diving towers and balancing skills. The sun shines indispensably, the salty air blows my head. Back on the beach, the colourful striped sun tents have been set up in the meantime and offer cool shade. I let myself fall into the waves of the Atlantic with their whitecaps before drifting along the beach with everyone else. Always with my feet in the water, gazing into the wide blue, until I cross the fine sand at the other end of the 2km and then continue upwards. Even halfway up, the view across the beach to Getaria is breathtakingly beautiful. This wonderful, promising sea once again framed by lush green. With the waves rolling in in long sheets, it’s clear to everyone why Zarautz is a surfer’s paradise. Even though the waves are probably rather gentle on this day, they are still powerful and the sea is usually rougher. While people swim on one side, the surf schools bustle at the other end.
Along the coastal road, which hugs the course of the mountain slopes, the route takes you around one bend after another under the hot rays of the sun to the small port town of Getaria. Fashion enthusiasts will find the Balenciaga Museum here, perched a little above the town. Time for a little lunch break on the pier overlooking the unmistakable beach of Zarautz. Boat after boat sails out of the little harbour to spend the afternoon on the water – or has already anchored in the bay in front of the little beach, rocking gently. Over everything there is this filter of glittering sunlight and sea air that makes everything seem a little more unreal, more fantastic. Or simply brings out all the nuances of bold colours. I explore the small winding streets of the old town, built against and on a hill that juts into the sea. Every detail that makes up the small town’s very own charm is imprinted in my memory. The promenade to the harbour below me is full of bustle and fish restaurants inviting you to lunch. Hardly anyone strays into the alleyways further back and up at this time of day. One last wonderful view from the Elcano seafarers’ monument back along the coastal road until the bus takes me to Zumaia.
The city centre is sleepy at siesta time. The beaches are well frequented. Once again, I take a relaxed stroll through the third small town on the Basque coast, whose San Telmo chapel can be seen in countless Spanish films. It sits perched on a rocky outcrop dangerously close to the edge, the wedged-in beach or, alternatively, the roaring Atlantic directly beneath it. A truly idyllic picture – gleaming white with a rust-red roof in front of the meadow-green hill on which the sun and shadows of the drifting clouds are depicted. Below, a wet sandy beach. In front of it – as everywhere – the Atlantic, whose colour here ranges from light green to silver and only far out deep blue. The rock formations of the flysch, pushed together like slabs, which rise out of the water or can be guessed at just below the surface, complete the picture. The waves sometimes crash playfully, then again threateningly against the rocks. The view is even better along the pointed rock that proudly juts further into the sea. To the right, it drops vertically. Behind a bend in the gravel path lined with grass and bushes, some of which form almost fairytale-like arches, the sea comes into view again. This time, the sun’s rays make it glitter and shine all over, completed with whitecaps. Framed in the shadows of the coastline behind, only slightly discernible in the sun’s haze. On the right, the Atlantic is now a lovely turquoise, behind the summery light green, whereas on the left, the flysch juts sharply out of a kind of bay into the distance. The sun makes everything here look rather silvery-grey, although the rocks under the lush grass are rather chalky white. For a long time I just stand there, looking out over the fantastic composition of nature in front of me, finding it hard to tear myself away from this perfection.
I take a quiet path through the meadows back to the centre, which is now slowly coming to life. Lively people in the streets, typical Spanish life on the squares and this very special atmosphere that is hard to put into words and goes straight to the heart.
Zarautz, Getaria, Zumaia. Place names that sound like music. All so wonderful that they still evoke a pure feeling of happiness.
