We woke up to reasonable weather which was unexpected as the forecast that we’d been watching all week had said rain most days. Two chickens soon appeared outside and seemed keen to get better aquainted!

Over the week we began to look out for them if they weren’t there first thing!

Typically we spent our first morning visiting the nearby village and finding the local tourist office. I’d established where the parking was (no nasty surprises or no entries!), conveniently placed across from an excellent boulangerie and small supermarket. So shopping for some essential bits and pieces we hadn’t brought with us…but no mug! I do like a big mug of tea and had forgotten my ‘holiday’ one.

In the main place there was a lady selling the gateau Basque made with black cherries which our neighbour had recommended to us so an individual one to try was added to our bag.

By the way, I entitled my last post as ‘crossing the frontier’ but signed off without explaining. The pays Basque, Basque country, is exactly that when you visit. A different country with different traditions and different regional specialities and here in Sare as in all other villages and towns the Basque language is alive and well. So much so that a leaflet I picked up in the supermarket thinking it was for a local attraction turned out to be a guide to useful Basque phrases! However, the pronunciation was impossible for me to decipher and even after listening to it on Google translate my one and only attempt to use it was met with incomprehension on the face of the other person!

Across from the cake stall where the lady switched between Basque and French according to her client there was a bar with the tourist office above so coffees and information gathering…

The building was old and very beautiful inside. I bought an IGN map of the immediate area and was given a carte of the village by the helpful young woman. I have always loved French tourist offices and bemoan the ones closed in favour of online information. Chatting to an enthusiastic local is a wonderful introduction to a town and its region.

Coffees drunk and carte consulted we went off to explore, keeping an eye open for a lunch opportunity. It was becoming quite gloomy and we didn’t find many places open. It’s Monday and traditionally nothing is open, Mr McGregor decided.

We did find a pelote court with no players but the sign said it is played in dry weather and it was beginning to drizzle. But we did find a souvenir shop, empty of people and rather forlorn but I found a good sized mug to add to my collection of ‘bought because I forgot one’

Retracing our footsteps we found a cafe open and opted to sit inside.

We ate a good three course lunch and later regretted it. The helpings were ‘copieuse’ and himself wished afterwards he gone for the axoa, a local kind of casserole that didn’t look as heavy as it sounded when served to our fellow diners. I left him sitting under a pretty arch while i went to look at the huge church next door.

I had read that all Basque churches are famed for their wooden balconies along each side of the nave and I wasn’t disappointed, only by the fact they weren’t open to explore. The altar piece was magnificent and I was to learn that fortified churches, as this one was, had huge interiors with amazing decorative altars and similar dark wood galleries.

Collecting the waiting husband it was back to our chalet to sleep off lunch, chat to the chickens, absorb information from the many leaflets kindly left in the chalet and perusal of our new map compared with google earth images….a favourite holiday occupation of mine…