Twixt France and Spain; Or, A Spring in the Pyrenees

by E. Ernest Bilbrough

[Illustration: SCENE 3.—WHO'S MY DRIVER?]

The favourite of the short drives is known as the "Tour des Lacs." It embraces the prettiest country in the vicinity, and the whole distance is about six miles. We found it most pleasant to start, after lunch, from the Place de la Mairie, turning up the Rue Gambetta past the market and on to the "Falaises," where the sea-breeze blows fresh and free. Keeping to the right where the road forks, the "abattoir" was soon left behind and the Villa Marbella reached; we then curved round "Lac Chabiague," and ascending slightly between fields gay with the "fleur des frontières" [Footnote: A lovely blue flower, something like a gentian.] and the wild daphne, we dipped again slightly to the point where the road to St. Jean de Luz forks to the right. Bearing to the left between hedges overgrown with sarsaparilla, and entering a shady lane, a few minutes sufficed for us to reach the "Bois de Boulogne," where the road skirts the Lake Mouriscot, and passes beside many splendid clumps of the Osmunda regalis fern. The lake is very deep and full of fish; but bathing is certainly not advisable, as there is a great quantity of reeds and weeds all round the water's edge.

Leaving the pleasant woods, we emerged on to the Route Imperiale—the direct road from the Negresse station (on the main line to Spain) to Biarritz—and following it as far as the metals, we turned to the left up the Irun-Bayonne route. This, however, was not our road for long, as we took the first turning on the left-hand side up a pretty lane, which brought Lake Marion into full view. The other end of the lane joins the "Route Imperiale" again; which, leading in turn past the cemetery, the parish church, and the terminus of the "steam tram-line," enters the town near the International Bank.

It will be noticed that there are several ways of reaching Bayonne. The cheapest and most expeditious, for marketing or other business purposes, is by the narrow-gauge railway, with its curious double carriages, one above the other. By driving the two miles to the Negresse station, and catching the express from Spain, is another way, but one not recommended to anybody but travellers [Footnote: Travellers for the Pau line have to change at Bayonne, consequently it is simpler for them to drive the five miles from Biarritz direct to Bayonne, than drive two to the Negresse station, with the necessity of changing ten minutes after entering the train.] going to stations on the line between Bayonne and Paris. Of the three routes for driving we have already mentioned the most frequented one—at the commencement of the chapter; from the Negresse station by the Bayonne-Irun road is another; and the last and prettiest passes behind the Villa Eugénie almost to the lighthouse, but there branches off to the right past the Chambre d'Amour inn, to the pine-woods near La Barre, and thence into Bayonne! This drive may be prolonged in two directions: firstly, by crossing the Nive and the Adour to the Guards' cemetery (where those who fell in the sortie from Bayonne 1813-14, are buried) at St. Etienne; and secondly, by following the bank of the river for some distance (past the market), and turning up into the country by way of St. Pierre to the Croix de Mouguère. This latter makes a splendid picnic, and the locality is a rich hunting-ground for entomologists.

There are four other excursions that we must not omit to mention, viz., Cambo and the Pas de Roland, St. Jean de Luz, Fuenterabia, and San Sebastien. All of these, with the exception of the first, can be reached by rail, and as far as St. Jean de Luz the road from Biarritz [Footnote: There is a more direct route to Cambo from Bayonne.] is common to all; so that to save space we will only mention it on our way to Cambo.

Starting at an early hour with plenty of provisions, we bowled down to the Negresse station, crossed the line, and ascended the hill above Lake Mouriscot, at the top of which Bidart—the first of the Basque villages—comes into view.

Guétary (3 miles), standing on a hill to the southward, was next seen, and in due time we reached St. Jean de Luz (8 miles), a town of over 4000 inhabitants (possessing a very good hotel and baths, and some historical buildings), situated on a strip of sand between the River Nivelle and the sea. Here the road to Cambo branched off to the left, inland—the high road to Spain continuing near the seaboard—and frequently skirting the Nivelle as far as St. Pée, we passed on by Espelette to Cambo. The Hôtel St. Martin there, which generally attracts visitors for a few days at least, was not our destination; so we took a glimpse at Fagalde's celebrated chocolate factory and the old churchyard high above the river—while our horses were being changed—and then resumed our journey to the Pas de Roland. [Footnote: So-called from the fable that Roland, coming to the place and wishing to cross, found the rocks barring his passage, so kicked them, whereupon they parted for him to pass between.] The scenery now became very charming, the winding river (Nive) adding much to the general beauty, especially where it dashed out from between the rugged rocks of the gorge with which Roland's name is associated.

After exploring this narrow pass we found a suitable place for luncheon and sat down.

In returning, we halted near the village of Itsatsou, to gather some of the lovely scarlet anemones [Footnote: A fee of 1 franc for one person, or 2 francs for three, is expected for admission into the fields.] which grow near there, and cover the fields with such a blaze of colour as makes them conspicuous from a long distance. The rest of the journey in the cool of the afternoon was very pleasant, but our route was the same till reaching Bidart, where we curved to the left, and came by a branch road (previously mentioned), viá the Villa Marbella and the Falaises, back to our hotel.

At dinner that night we noticed that there had evidently been some "goings and comings" among the guests; and doubtless the new arrivals were congratulating themselves on having succeeded in getting rooms in the hotel—for be it understood this good house is nearly always full, as it deserves to be. We missed with sorrow the familiar forms of Mr. and Mrs. Berecasque, who, with all their bigoted hatred for anything approaching to High Church notions, were as a rule exceedingly genial and good-natured, as fat people usually are.