Ez dakit euskaraz hitz egiten.

According to Google, that means "I don't speak Basque." I have no way of knowing if Google is right or not, but I do know that "euskara" means the Basque language.
Let's talk about Basque for a moment. Having lived in Catalunya for a good three plus months now, I am very used to the bilingualism in daily life - not understanding the advertisements, street signs, or the people talking around me; having announcements and important signs in both Catalan and Spanish; and a general confusion as to whether or not I should be understanding things. Of course, all of this has improved with the ever-so-insignificant gains in my knowledge of Catalan. But I was prepared for it to happen all over again, with renewed force and a great deal less ease in San Sebastian (also known, in Euskara, as Donostia). For one thing, Basque is the craziest language I have ever seen. It doesn't look like anything. It isn't related to anything. It is just alone in the world, doomed to a life of lunacy. Catalan is at least a Romance language that looks considerably like Spanish some of the time - Basque is... not. But from what I saw, Basque is not nearly as strong a presence as Spanish in San Sebastian. The street signs are all in Basque, and the restaurants mostly have Basque names, but as far as people speaking on the street, I only overheard Spanish. With the exception of one group of school-aged kids, I didn't hear Basque spoken at all. I was expecting a much more hardcore obsession with their native language, since the Basque country, unlike Catalunya, actually has a terrorist group demanding freedom from Spain. The Basque country seems to be more proactively seeking independence, yet Catalunya seems to not only be complaining more, but also clinging to their culture a lot more.

Donostia, in turns out, is a much lovelier city in the summer. Having been there in June of... 04? with my family, I was able to see it in full swing. The last weekend of November is considerably less exciting. A beach town is just decidedly less pleasant in 45 degree rainy weather. I should note, I have spent a good deal of time at the Oregon coast in 45 degree rainy weather, but for some reason it was ok then. Stacey and I did, however, squeeze in a great hike to the top of Monte Urgull, where a very large statue of Jesus awaited us, while the weather was good. On Saturday we went to Bilbao for the day, where we saw the Guggenheim (which was AWFUL. The entire second floor was this horrible artist, Cy Twombly, who appears to have done little more than smear canvasses with paint directly from the tube, scribble whatever thoughts he is having over them, or write out some random measurements. I was literally pained that people appeared to appreciate them. I mean, I liked a few of them. He had about thirteen pieces in the entire collection that I think were worthy of being in a museum - I don't know what the hell the Guggenheim was doing with the other ninety two. Wow, am I still inside my parentheses?). And on Sunday, we went to the Palacio de Miramar, which isn't open to the public. The guide book said it was a lovely stroll around the grounds though - perhaps. Perhaps on a nice day, when you only have ten minutes but want to see something, anything. The grounds take exactly that long. There was a nice view, and it was lovely to hear the ocean, but they were small and not very interesting. That isn't to say I didn't like San Sebastian - I did, a lot. It just wasn't that exciting.

But our meals! Oh my. For lunch on Friday we braved a pintxos menu, and after a bit of confusion as to how to order, I had tortilla and a bocadillo de jamon iberico, both of which I eat all the time, but that doesn't diminish their brilliance. Friday night we happened upon a random place in the old town, and had an excellent menu del dia which came with an entire bottle of wine, rather than just a glass. This appears to be standard in the Basque country, as it happened to us at lunch and dinner the next day as well. I had a fish cake that was good minus the fact that it was drowning in mayonnaise, and some incredible beef and potatoes, followed by an Euskara dessert. I don't remember what it was called, but the bottom layer was cuajada, a custard-y curd thing, topped with apple preserves, then whip cream, then honey, and finally walnuts. It was outstanding. The wine we had was great too. Saturday, we had lunch in Bilbao, and had another fantastic menu, where I had chicken paella and a white fish which I will never know the name of, along with a bottle of rioja. More dessert (I looove menus) - this time I had natilla, which is a way better custard than flan is. For dinner that night we went to La Perla, thanks to the recommendation of MTV Spain, which was right on the beach. It was again, FANTASTIC, and they brought us shots of pumpkin soup as an appetizer, along with delicious bread. I had an incredible hake and potatoes dish, and for dessert we had some sort of incredible lava cake with bitter orange ice cream. I pretty much died.

The hostel was kind of weird though - it was just one guy that ran it, and it felt like we were all just staying in his apartment. It was his birthday the first night we were there, and they had a huge party. The girls in our room came home reaaaally drunk and woke me up at four with "oh my god, I fell! I fell! The floor is so slippery... if only the floor wasn't so slippery. I fell, and Michael saw it all. Oh, Michael. Michael saw it all," followed by, "Shut the [fudge] up, the girls are trying to [fudging] sleep, Jesus Christ, would you just shut the [fudge] up!" And then Michael, roommate #3, turned on the television and watched for a good... hour? All of this at four am. Once he fell asleep, however, the fun was not over, since Michael snored with such power and volume that the room was practically shaking. The breakfast was a little sketchy too - there were eggs and milk - but they sat out on the "breakfast counter" 24 hours a day, unrefrigerated. Anyway the point is it was weird. But San Sebastian on the whole was cool. Bilbao was cool too, but we saw less of it.

The night before we left was Thanksgiving, what I thought would be a very sad day. NOT SO! Ana made turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes (from a box... but it's the thought), and I made a chocolate pie (which I am shocked to report actually worked out, even with the difficulty of converting to metric and finding things like vanilla extract, graham crackers, and buttermilk). Erik and Bea (cousins, 21 and 23) came over, and we had a great feast of the whole thing. First course was a noodle/meatball soup they have on Christmas (so we could combine our respective countries' holiday traditions), then the turkey + stuffing + potatoes + broccoli (way over cooked, but oh man! Broccoli! How I love thee!), and finally the pie, which we accompanied with a Catalan dessert wine. It was incredible. I have the best host family ever. I even came home on Sunday to homemade chocolate for merienda. Long live the Huergas.

So now all I have to do is pass my classes (two finals a week for the next three weeks - starting tomorrow, plus a paper and two presentations), complete my "last 20 days in Barcelona" list, and then cry with both sadness and elation at the prospect of coming home.