Basque Bylines

landing in St Jean de Luz

2011-03-14T13:01:00.007+01:00

The moment that Chinggis Khaan landed in the sleepy Basque fishing port of St Jean de Luz he knew that he had found a second home. He would have struggled to find a more removed place from his wild and frozen Steppe. A multitide of brightly painted fishing boats sat berthed; enormous nets drying across their masts. Tall neatly packed townhouses in equally colourful resplendour watched on from the rim of the harbour, their windows crammed with curious faces. After ten months at sea the sight, sound and smells of this Basque fishing village embellished a maternal caress. The townsfolk lined the dock to welcome their new resident.

"Ahoy there!" shouted a swarthy looking Basque man, "Ongi etorri!".
"Sain baina uu!" replied Chinggis mimicking the welcome.

The dark, olive-skinned man leaned over and offered the Mongol emperor his arm. Pulling him ashore the two men embraced. It had been a long time since Chinggis had last been made to feel this welcome. A young child carrying a white terrine offered the stranger a splendid assortment of freshly caught fish. Chinggis had never tasted fish before but as the crowd looked on in anticipation he quickly swallowed three sardines and gulped greedily from a bottle of Irouleguy wine his new Basque friend had thrust into his hand. His eyes looked around at the people. They looked very different to those from his homeland. He looked forward to finding out more about them; particularly the women.

Basque of the day:- welcome :: ongi etorri

fond farewell

2011-03-04T16:13:00.007+01:00

"The time has come" the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing wax -
Of cabbages - and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings."

The Walrus had most certainly spent 10 months in Mongolia. Each day has presented its own magic and now that the time has come to leave this land I feel that the sorcery will be left behind. It will remain to be rediscovered another day but new friends made will travel with us...

As for Chinggis and what made him so darned angry? I can only surmise two possible reasons. The first; as an avid cultural explorer he was wont to write poetry but failed in his pursuit to find a word that rhymed with his name. The second; have you ever tried to run the world's greatest ever empire from a remote felt tent surrounded by camels in -40C?

Ae fond kiss; and then we sever...

Mongolian of the day:- thank you :: tand bayarlaa

the times they are a changing

2011-03-02T11:33:00.007+01:00

Today when I woke up in Mongolia it was -40C. On Sunday when I wake up in St Jean de Luz it will probably be +17C. A delightful swing of +57C. In the meantime a nice wee walk across the hills.Hat frozen to head? Check. Nose snot truly frozen? Check. Chilblains across body? Check. Frostbite appearing? Check. Eyelashes carrying icicles? Check. Closing eyes becoming more difficult and viscous? Check. Stupid arse for being out walking in this weather? Check.

Three days before I depart and this wonderous country is still throwing me surprises. I have already started planning my next visit. Too many new friends would be missed otherwise.

Mongolian of the day:- cold :: khuuiten

at the bottom of the garden

2011-03-01T15:23:00.008+01:00

In recent weeks there has been a marked increase in the number of animals in our garden, I say garden, the grounds of our rather lovely ex-Politburo apartments total some 500 acres.

As the winter marches on herds of animals have moved nearer Ulaanbaatar to escape from the Steppe and surrounding mountains. Looking out of my bedroom window in the morning there are generally three options: goats, wild horses or big hairy cows.

Other creature residents include woodpeckers, marmottes, wild dogs (some rabid), the odd cat, Steppe eagles and more carrion than you can find pellets to kill. No sign of any wolves yet. Similarly the bears and snow leopards are staying away for the time being.

The animal visits serve to remind just how much more difficult life is further away from Ulaanbaatar. This year has been relatively soft compared to recent years. Not sure how I would have coped last year in -50C when some 30% of animals in Mongolia died; oddly enough nobody ever reported what % of the Mongolian people moved on...

If wild horses and dogs can't survive what hope for humans?

Mongolian of the day:- animal :: aimtan

the home stretch

2011-02-28T15:58:00.008+01:00

Well, it's almost ten months since I started to think about a wee trip for a couple of weeks to Outer Mongolia. I am still living in the cradle of Ulaanbaatar but my time here is almost done. To mark the start of my last week the weather has very kindly dipped dramatically. I'm not sure when I'll next take a walk along a deeply frozen river in -38C.

I visited the infamous Black Market today. The place was made famous by Ewen McGregor during his 'Long Way Round' adventure (he bought a motorbike there). It is a quite astonishing spectacle. So very unlike any Western shopping experience and even the Arab souks feel somewhat sophisticated against the backdrop of grimy stalls selling everything from tractor wheels to plastic tiaras. Given the size of Ulaanbaatar, some 1 million people, the Black Market is quite especially large. This is one of many markets, albeit the one selling the widest variety of goods, so it's multi hectare span took me aback.

Set into different zones a myriad of wares are touted. From silk to sausages, leather to latex, dishwashers to diamantes - there is something for everyone. If you can put up with the icy wind, hocking vendors and absolute disorganisation then the Black Market offers a retail memory that will last forever. I didn't see any sign of Ewen McGregor, I guess that's a great advertisement for the the Black Market - his motorbike obviously worked. Shame though, I've always wanted to meet Obi-Wan Kenobi...

Mongolian of the day:- shop :: delguur

the minging food people eat

2011-02-22T14:04:00.011+01:00

I like to consider myself a relatively adventurous chap when it comes to eating. You don't get to be my size if you turn your nose up at food too often. I've eaten almost every mammal in Europe; I've tried as many fish as I've had chance and I've even had a kebab on Caroline Street in Cardiff and lived to tell the tale.

However, my tastebuds were completely sickened the other day as I walked down a side street in Beijing. A myriad of startlingly interesting products were being offered up on sticks.

First up there were mice and rat parts; nothing too scary there, dormouse is not bad eaten with the right sauce. Further along came bats and marmotte. I was beginning to lose my appetite here. Venturing further into the masticating throng I saw a host of horrendous appetisers, including: starfish, sauteed dog, giant spiders, spiced cats chunks and to top it all 'live' scorpion kebabs.

If you don't believe the scorpions were alive click on the link here - truly minging.

Mongolian of the day:- food :: khool

you know you've been in Mongolia too long when...

2011-02-21T02:19:00.003+01:00

This morning I woke up, clicked on my iPhone weather app and revelled in the fact that it was an exciting -18C outside. After the crazy cold of recent weeks this felt pretty balmy and I looked forward to a nice long walk outside. It took a few moments before my brain engaged and I realised that -18C is still pretty bloody cold. Time to return to Europe.

Walking back from Ulaanbaatar to my house outside town I hiked along the river which retains a good metre of ice on its surface. The whole river and its banks are frozen; it is incredibly flat (and slippy). By mid afternoon the temperature had risen to -9C; the warmest it's been since mid October. I was far from alone as families took to the ice enjoying the moderate heat that was pouring across the Steppe for the first time this year. None of us wore jackets and some had short sleeved shirts on. As I contemplated taking off my jumper I remembered that it was still -9C. If it was the UK the newspapers would be warning people to stay indoors for fear of death. Perspective is a wonderful thing. Then again, so is good weather. Time to return to Europe.

Mongolian of the day:- Spring :: khavar

preparing to leave Chinggis behind

2011-02-18T03:44:00.008+01:00

After two weeks in Beijing I have returned to Ulaanbaatar for the final time. At the end of the month I am heading back to the warmer (though less sunny) climes of St Jean de Luz deep within the Basque Country. The last nine months has been an awfully big adventure. That leaves me fourteen days to surmise what it was that made Chinggis Khaan so darned angry: stomach ulcer? migraine? parents? overworked? insecure? I will fathom an appropriate answer.It also only leaves me a fortnight to bid farewell to my Mongolian haunts and friends. I long to go horse riding across the Steppe once more but it's impossible sub -20C. Perhaps I could stop off here when I take a train from the Atlantic to Pacific later this year...

Meanwhile, back in the Basque Country the spring tides are raging and the massive wave known as Belharra is generating enormous surf. Watching this wee clip made me feel homesick for St Jean de Luz. La Rhune is resplendant in the background as always.

Mongolian of the day:- good health! :: eruul mendiin toloo!

icy magic tricks

2011-01-31T05:41:00.008+01:00

I've learned a great deal from my time in Mongolia. Apart from the myriad of cultural and historic mysteries there are several funky tricks that I have picked up from living in this challenging climate:-

1. at -35C boiling water turns into snow if you throw it in the air [connect to link here] - love this so much but am afraid to find out what would happen if I took a pee outside at this temperature!

2. at minus 30C ice starts to stop being slippy; even the local ice rink doesn't function properly

3. you really do stick to metal if you touch it below -25C; and if you touch it with your tongue...

4. below -30C any parts of skin that are exposed to the air turn white in about ten minutes, numb after 15 and can cease to ever function again after 25 minutes

5. if your home is warm and it's below -30C outside, when you open a window or the front door a mysterious chill mist drifts inwards - very spooky

6. if your home is warm and it's below -15C outside any tiny gaps in windows or doors sucks the cold air and creates a noisy wind despite it being still outside and that disappears as soon as you open the door

7. below -20C, and if it's incredibly dry, when the snow falls it evaporates before it reaches the ground resulting in a mere couple of inches of snow throughout the 7 month winter

Mongolian of the day:- make :: khiikh

a room with a view

2011-01-28T07:56:00.005+01:00

I'd like to think that I was getting used to the weather in Mongolia; but I'm not. When the thermometer touches -40C only a very tempting offer would get me to leave the house; such offers might include lunch, dinner, coffee etc.

This morning, after coming back after breakfast with friends in Ulaanbaatar, I stood next to the fire, thawed out (eventually) and sat down to get some work down. It takes so long to get dressed to go out in this weather that by the time you've derobed you've warmed yourself up, it save going to the gym.

Halfway through the afternoon my imagination began to wander. I stared out of the window and wondered how so many animals manage to survive such wilderness. Besides the wild dogs there are a host of creatures that roam the icy expanses. From my desk I watched the local herd of wild horses (I say wild but they actually belong to the President of Mongolia who lives next door). Dreaming furhter afield I spotted two Steppe eagles dancing together on the currents. Normal I would say they were dancing on thermals but I can'ty see how there could possibly be any warm out there. Nearer to home a woodpecker rather randomly appeared and brought me back to my apartment. It was a lovely reminder of home; they are such cosmopolitan creatures.

Mongolian of the day:- animal :: aimtan

true grit

2011-01-26T16:45:00.006+01:00

There are not many places where you can look out of your sitting room window and watch cowboys at work. Yet again Mongolia bowls a googly. This afternoon I sat at my desk and watched a cowboy coralling his herd across the mountainside.

The icy landscape rendered his antics unduly hazardous but he moved his charges as if he were picking up freshly cut flowers. They moved willfully in whichever direction he commanded. The mountains he was working on are more steep than I am happy to walk yet he galloped to and fro ensuring that his commerce was undertaken with the utmost efficiency and unerring effectiveness.

The Mongol horseman is a consumate professional.

Ulaanbaatar was the coldest place on earth last week at -47C. Today it was the most polluted place on earth; that's urbanisation and the march of capitalism for you. Thank goodness the winds have finally come.

Mongolian of the day:- horse :: moir

meat me at the market

2011-01-24T02:14:00.006+01:00

Ulaanbaatar is a funny old place. Although it is fairly primitive in many respects (there are only a few hundred miles of tarmac road in a country the size of France, Spain, Germany and UK combined) and while it's remoteness can be unforgiving (Ulaanbaatar is the most remote capital city in the world - and the coldest) the Mongolian capital has markets than can sell you anything from a rare species of monkey to HP Sauce. Some may have seen the Black Market on Ewan McGregor's 'The Long Way Round' (it's where he picked up motorbike parts). It is an intimidating place. However, my preferred market is nearer the centre of town and unlike the Black Market (which specialises in dirty heavy goods) the Mercury Market is just for food - a great passion of mine.

Each week I set off with my shopping list. The market starts in the car park where you can pick up a freshly slaughtered sheep if the mood takes you. The market itself is split into four areas. A small entrance hall that offers perfumes, DVDs and other capitalist oriented consumables leads into the first main hall. Here you can find any fruit you could possibly want and any packeted or tinned items you can imagine (this week I managed to source fresh Russian cranberry sauce in vodka and Bisto veggie stock cubes).

This hall leads onto a passage displaying a variety of interesting dairy products. They say it's cheese but coming from France I ain't going anywhere near it. A dozen or so paces on and you reach another large hall (the same size as the fruit and tinnery). The first half is overflowing with seasonal vegetables (like the fruit almost all imported via Russia or China). An incredible assortment of potatoes line the stalls with any number of intriguing root vegetables piled upon them. The vegetables lead to the second half of the hall houses my favourite stalls - the butchers.

From a room in the back you can hear the nostalgic baa-ing of a sheep. This is followed by a dull thwudd. From here a saw can be heard accompanied by the sound of slops falling on the floor. Within minutes freshly butchered mutton is on offer. That's what I call fresh food. On a myriad of clean(ish) tables an incredible variety of meat cuts are nonchalently displayed. One of the butchers has a seemingly mummified sheep's head as her display sign. The roast mutton I cooked up yesterday was one of the best roasts I can remember.

Mongolian of the day:- vegetarian :: [does not compute]

absolute silliness

2011-01-21T09:30:00.006+01:00

Ok, scratch what I wrote yesterday about Mongolia. The cold here is unlike anything I've experienced before. I tried to go for a walk this morning and not for want of trying I was warned against doing so. Combined with the joyful pollution that reeks out of the many gers as they burn cardboard, plastic, tyres - whatever it takes to keep warm - there is a definite bite to your throat whenever you venture outdoors.

There is a hill next to my home here that is about twice the height of Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh (roughly 500m) so nothing too big. I try and walk up it whenever I can as means of keeping fit. When I first arrived it was a struggle because we are a bit higher up than I am used to; but I managed. When summer arrived I found it tough in +40C; but I managed. In Autumn I struggled at 0C; but I managed. As I set off this morning two Mongolian friends implored me to stop. They assured me that if I tried to walk up the hill in this weather my corpse would be carried off the hill. I failed (but am still breathing).

It might be mostly sunny. It might be mostly still. It might not feel too bad if you are only walking from your home to the car and back. However, if you walk any distance or remain outside for more than a couple of minutes your skin starts to get bitten, your bogies freeze, it becomes tougher to close your eyes as the mucous covering your eyeballs begins to turn more viscous and there is a shortness to your breath that would worry even the more fanatically fit athlete. Still, I can't help but be excited by it. Where else could I revel in -40C? Where else could I walks across deep frozen rivers? Where else could I be so often be close to death? Mongolia continues to surprise when you least expect it.

Apologies if I go on about the weather but a) I am British and b) it is amazing.

Mongolian of the day:- I speak a little Mongolian :: tiym, bi Mongol hel zhaahan medne

meanwhile, back in Mongolia

2011-01-20T02:28:00.006+01:00

Flying back across the South Gobi last night was a world away from the heady parties, fine banquets and consumerist excesses that have marked my last month in Europe. Despite having gained some ten pounds and spent considerably more enjoiying myself with friends and family I readily changed currency and by the time the last snow capped mountain loomed out of sight I was safely in the land of the tugrik.

My wonderful wife had her birthday while we were in St Jean de Luz; the Basque port town definitely remains our intended eventual home. I recall the evening well. We sat outside on Place Louis XIV, ate freshly caught seafood and quaffed a delightful grand cru. How different to wake up two weeks later in an ice filled -38C landscape.

Despite the wonder and ferocity of winter in Mongolia I confess that I actually found it colder in Britain. It must be something to do with the wind or wet but the -5C I experienced while sitting in Murrayfield watching Edinburgh beat Glasgow at rugby felt a darn site colder than my bracing walk over the river this morning.

Mongolian of the day:- return :: butsaj irekh

silver bells

2010-12-23T13:21:00.004+01:00

The only downside to Christmas that I can see is that they become less spread apart the older we get; after all absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Far from being Mr Scrooge I am whole-heartedly looking forward to the next fortnight. It will take in four countries, forty friends and family members, four hundred too many calories per meal and four thousand miles.

If you do everything to excess it surely levels itself out someplace.

Happy Christmas!

Zorionak!

Joyeux Noel!

Feliz Navidad!

Zul saryn bolon shine ony mend devshuulye!

back to Blighty

2010-12-17T11:20:00.005+01:00

This is the first Christmas I can recall since childhood when I have been truly excited (not in the French meaning of the word). Travelling the lesser voyaged paths is exhilirating and wonderful. It also serves to pinpoint what is important in your life.

Although I enjoy spending what my friends deem an unhealthy amount of time in my own company, this Christmas I am more than happy to be in the warm embrace of so many friends and family members.

Four days back in the UK has seen me do some odd things. After dancing gaily around supermarkets in awe of vegetables, Harrod's foodhall in particular, I have eaten non-stop at a plethora of splendid restaurants. The food is consequential but not nearly as important as the friends I have been eating with.

Tomorrow we return to St Jean de Luz for the first time in an age. I am reliably informed that our cat is still alive. While we have been sent photos of her none of them were date stamped or had newspaper front pages to verify the time. I remain sceptical.

Until then I intend to sit in an old East End ale house, quaff beer and eat stilton cheese with a teaspoon.

Cockney of the day:- abercrombie and fitch :: bitch

the garden of England

2010-12-15T13:23:00.011+01:00

Being back in Europe is odd. After six months in Mongolia I found myself wandering giddily around Morrison's supermarket buying up far more fruit and vegetables than I could possibly eat and purchasing more prawns and squid than I could possibly want. As for fresh cream profiteroles... Scoffed the lot.

I am staying with my old next door neighbours in deepest darkest Kent. I had forgotten just how lovely a corner of the world Kent is. It is truly, quintessentially English and that is no bad thing, and I say that as a Scotsman. Kent also has what is undoubtedly my favourite beer in the world. Sitting in The George last night I enjoyed more than my fair share of Master Brew, seriously good ale.

Walking up on the Weald this morning the bracing views reminded me why I spent so many years living here. It may only be 50 miles from London but it remains unspoiled. Once can easily imagine stagecoaches passing by en route to Paris. The sound of spitfires flying overhead on their way to the Battle of Britain can be heard if you listen closely enough. On a clear day you can almost make out France some 60 miles south.

Kentish of the day:- blouse :: sweat profusely

end of term report

2010-12-10T05:29:00.008+01:00

Today is my last day living full-time in Ulaanbaatar, the fabulous capital city of Mongolia; coldest capital city in the world; fastest developing capital city and a splendidly wonderful and completely barmy place. Following a heavy night of dancing and drinking I have to suffer the pains of first class travel once more as I brave a wee flight across Northern Korea for some time in Seoul before heading back to London, then Paris then sunny St Jean de Luz. It has been some six months; an adventure I feel honoured to have had the privilege to enjoy. Herewith 5 good things about Mongolia, 5 less good and 5 interesting.

The Good

Mongolian music is wonderful, unique and omnipresent. It plays as important a role on Mongolian society as it does in Basque culture.
Mongolian culture and history is unrivalled; its geographic position has largely sheltered its heritage from untoward outside advances and it remains as it has been for centuries.
The Steppe is both wonderful and fearsome; it is one of the largest and most hostile places I have been able to enjoy and riding across it guarantees peace of mind.
The Mongolian people have an amazing sense of self belief; there is little doubt their future is bright given this and the serene anger that lurks under the commercial skin thanks to Chinggis.
I have made some incredible friends in Mongolia; it is a happy place and I hope that as it changes so much over the next few years that it remains so (go now if you want to experience it as it has been)

The Bad

The harsh environment and weather are strking and waring to the outsider.
As the country undergoes dramatic change so quickly there is a sense of potential double standards and corruption; Louis Vuitton is established while orphans struggle to survive.
There is trepidation about outsiders, a little is healthy too much is dangerous; there is a scary right wing movement being established that needs to be quashed soon.
As the country expands economically it needs to make provision for pollution and recycling.
Mongolia needs to get over its perceived dislike of China; the economic upside for Mongolia is immense given its natural resources

...and the Interesting

Mongolia has, in my view, the prettiest ladies in the world (even my wife agrees).
The Mongolian word for beaver is minge; the Mongolian for lion is aslan.
Airag is possibly the most unusual and horrid tasting drink on the planet.
Mongolian horses are the hardest animals I have ever met; they could even beat badgers in a fight if it came to it.
Mongolia has some of the most amusing and wonderful signs

...as for what it was that made Chinggis Khaan so angry; I shall continue my search next year...

Mongolian of the day:- goodbye :: bayartai

stuff what I have eaten

2010-12-09T04:24:00.005+01:00

During my time in Mongolia I have eaten a vast variety of food. Before coming here I had presumed that Mongolia would serve up the same food as you find in Mongolian restaurants throughout the world - how very wrong to presume anything. The staple fare in Mongolia is almost entirely based around mutton, dumplings and fat. Don't let this put you off though, the local dishes are truly delicious. Amongst my favourites so far are buuz (steamed dumplings filled with mutton, photo), bansh (boiled dumplings with mutton), khuushuur (deep fried mutton - this appeals to my Scottish taste buds - think juicy Cornish pastie). Other dishes include noodles and rice dishes; almost all containing mutton. The diet here is all about using what's readily available and preparing the body for harsh weather.

In and around Ulaanbaatar there are a ridiculous number of eateries (some fine, some less so). Eating out is almost the same price as cooking for yourself so it really is a no-brainer. Besides the usual selection of Thai, Korean, Indian and Chinese menus available there are some foods you would be hard pushed to find in Europe. Imagine yourself cooking up your own table stew of bulls penis and spring onions. Wonder at the taste of fried chicken heads (surprisingly sweet). Marvel at the aroma of sheeps head stew with vegetables. Gorge yourself on fattened duck hearts. Pig out on cockroaches on sticks.

I can safely say that they are all particularly yummy and know that there is one special friend in the Basque country who would happily have eaten everything I did with as much gusto!

Mongolian of the day:- to cook :: khool khiikh

leather and fur

2010-12-08T04:48:00.009+01:00

Mongolians really know how to dress well. More importantly, Mongolians really know how to dress well in frighteningly cold weather. An average amble around Ulaanbaatar is akin to a promenade around Rome on a sunny January afternoon.

When the weather turns you will find almost everybody wearing fur. Fur coats, fur stoles, fur boots, fur scarves, fur hats. Mongolians also have fabulous boots. Boots of every conceivable shape, style and colour. Boots for macho men, boots for petite fashionistas, boots for grandmothers.

There is no room for futile political correctness when the temeperature is this low. In Ulaanbaatar fur is a necessity not a luxury. The government even offers mortgages to help people purchase furry protection against the cold. I saw a homeless person wearing a fur coat earlier this week. Anyone feeling queasy or remotely outraged by fur wearing should come and spend a week walking around Mongolia without a fur hat on - faux fur only offers false promise - get over it! People without protection from the cold die here on a regular basis.

Hot on the heels of purchasing my first fur hat (genuine fox, love it) I have just been measured up for my first pair of Mongolian boots. So normal is it to have bespoke boots made that the fitting took approximately two minutes. Choosing the style and colour took a little longer. This morning I opted for dark brown knee length tight fitters with limited fanciness. I figure they will look something between 'trendy Gestapo' and 'Jilly Cooper addict'. They will be ready on Friday and cost about the same as a pair of Converse. Fox on my head, cows on my feet.

Mongolian of the day:- leather :: savikh

would you buy anything from this man?

2010-12-07T01:08:00.008+01:00

Ask yourself; does this jolly little fellow really encourage you to go and purchase some of the canned coffee drink he is promoting? Personally it makes me think that the drink has to contain drugs of some sort. There is something of Jack Black in the happy wee chap.

Different economies tend to adopt different business plans and different means of marketing their wares. Although there are many highly sophisticated consumers in Mongolia (in some cases far more sophisticated than any in Europe) marketing to the masses in Mongolia remains fairly vanilla. Ulaanbaatar may have Louis Vuitton, Armani, Prada and Gucci but it also has some interesting offerings. Some of my favourite outdoor marketing initiatives include:

Magic Pens, Mamma Mia (Mongolian style) and Morning Glory; what more could any discerning consumer wish for?

It is not surprising that marketing is sometimes a little confused. Mongolia is a country undergoing huge economic and cultural change. Chinggis Khaan has re-emerged over the last decade as a ferocious symbol of national identity. Given his reputation using the Mongol leader for branding purposes gives off several important messages. Secondly Ulaanbaatar is a capital city that is finding its identity. Currently there is debate in different countries, maps and websites about how to correctly spell the city's name: Ulaanbaatar or Ulan Bator. I prefer Ulaanbaatar, it feels more Mongolian.

Mongolian of the day:- market :: zakh

riding out across a winter wonderland

2010-12-06T03:39:00.004+01:00

The sun shone brightly yesterday raising temperatures to a balmy -23C so I thought I would take the opportunity to spend the day horse riding across the Steppe. In weather like this you really must wrap up warm, people die regularly out here. Donning my newly acquired fox hat I looked quite resplendent (even if I do say so myself). Before coming to Mongolia I was not 100% in favour of fur. After six months here I appreciate that it really is the only way to keep the cold out. Anyone saying otherwise should spend some time here.

Riding away from my home we rose into the hills. Rising above the valley floor a breeze picked up. The wind chill factor was hellish. Within minutes my friend's faces were turning white marking the potential onset of frostbite. I made sure we all had our faces suitably protected before we rode on. The occasional flurry of snow hampered our progress but we made good time.

In a nearby valley we passed the Shaman site which looked delightful in the snow. The snow here does not get deep. There is simply very little precipitation. Far from being a good thing the dryness that pervades the air makes living and breathing that extra bit more challenging. Moving on from the spiritual site we met a couple of camels grazing on dry twigs in a tree that remained unsullied by ice. On we rode into the hills enjoying the vast views that only the Steppe can offer.

As the sun began to set we headed home in haste. The colours across the Steppe transport you to some magical kingdom and you expect to see orcs or fawns lolloping across the hillside. The last thing you want is to be caught outside once the sun is down. Thankfully we made it home in time and spent the rest of the day imbibing gin and tonic, purely for medicinal purposes.

Mongolian of the day:- hill :: dov

hats on to Mongolia

2010-12-03T03:57:00.009+01:00

Hats are a big deal in Mongolia. Whether you are walking around Ulaanbaatar or exploring the Steppe you will find hats, hats and more hats.

They have three purposes:

1. They keep you warm in the crazy cold

2. They keep you cool in the heady heat

3. They make you look cool

Mongolian men in particular are avid hat wearers. They will rarely take them off even when indoors. During business meetings men will don something upon their bonce. Eating supper in restaurants men will retain a head piece.

In Mongolia there is one act that is utterly forbidden: never ever touch another man's hat. That way certain violence lies. It is a serious business.

Mongolian of the day:- hat :: malgai

what happens when it gets really cold

2010-12-02T08:13:00.006+01:00

I've mentioned more than once that it is jolly cold in Mongolia. We are beginning to get used to it now. Reading about the media angst in Britain is hilarious; we long for any sign of humidity and as for -10C, that sounds deliciously balmy! It hasn't crept above -20C for longer than I can remember.

A few odd things happen when temperatures are this low.

Last week my nasal passages froze. I was completely incapable of picking any snot and blowing was right out. Walking is tough. When you first leave the house the soles of your shoes have a little warmth in them. This melts a bit of the ice which then refreezes on your shoes. You end up walking ice on ice, no end of fun. If you are outside for too long without protection your face swells up and you get white blotchy patches. This means frostbite and you should get indoors immediately. If you are out walking without enough layers of thermal clothing your legs catch chill blanes which is delightful sensation. My pet hate is body shape. Despite exercising on a daily basis everyone living around the -30C mark puts on between 5-10kg; it is so unfair.

I learned a great trick. If the temperature is less than thirty walk outside with a mug of boiling water and throw it into the air. The water immediately turns into snow. Hours of fun!

I have under two weeks before I return to the tropical weather in the UK.

Mongolian of the day:- freeze :: kholdokh

three feet of ice and counting

2010-11-30T08:31:00.010+01:00

Well, it's been crazily cold for several weeks in Ulaanbaatar now. Proper Mongolia cold like -30C not that wimpy stuff they're complaining about in the UK. All vegetation has died, as have most of the wild dogs and cats. Restaurants are mostly meat stew.

The Tuul River, where I was swimming a few weeks back, has up to three feet of ice. Where Ulaanbaatar had only two bridges connecting the city to the other side of the river and mountains where I live those normal thoroughfares no longer matter. If you want to cross the river you simply walk, or drive, over it. The ice is frighteningly thick and grows as you watch it.

With the ice has come a new game/sport I've never seen before. Think curling-cricket-archery. Men stand at one end of a 50 metre polished ice bowling lane. The project ornately carved stones down the rink aiming for a red piece of felt at the other end. There is one large piece of red felt which is flanked by two others on each side.

Players wear thick felt boots, fur hats and dels. Dels are the traditional Mongolian dress worn by many throughout the country - it is warm but easily opened if the weather heats up, I liken it to an Asian kilt which being St Andrew's Day has a nice feel.

You get five stones and different points depending where your stone goes. Players have no special footwear for the ice. To give them a little bit of grip they dig a niche into the ice to push off from. I tried five times and fell flat on my bum each time much to the amusement of the locals. They have said I can come back to play anytime though I think that was meant as a joke. I call that cultural integration.

Mongolian of the day:- ice :: mos

chasing the dragon

2010-11-22T08:26:00.010+01:00

Another week; another country. This time back to China and Beijing. It was supposed to be a three day event chasing visas but the Mongolian Embassy was mysteriously closed forcing us to stay in 5-star luxury a few extra days. Sometimes life is too cruel.

Beijing has become a surprise entry into my top five favourite cities featuring at number four ahead of Marrakech but behind Rome, New York and London. It is a truly special place where Communism and Capitalism dance a merry jig arm in arm.

This week I spent a good many hours wandering around the 798 District. Originally a Bauhaus styled factory complex from the 50's it is now the vibrant centre of a contemporary art scene that has emerged since the shackles of Communism have loosened a little. What used to be factories are now galleries, what were tool sheds are now studios. Everything from photography and fashion to sculpture and architecture is on display. You can watch people creating, absorb the artwork or partake in purchasing.

Mixed between the buildings a Chinese cafe culture is springing up. Although there are foreign visitors it is almost exclusively a local affair with the trendiest and most fashionable of Beijing hanging out and looking fabulously cool.

The best installation I saw was called 'Come the Wolf'; one hundred and fifty bronze wolves prowling towards a lone swordsman, highly evocative. My sole concern was the irresponsible treatment of dinosaurs I witnessed. It was truly miserable to see such beauties caged.

Chinese of the day:- thank you :: xie xie

when is Spring?

2010-11-10T10:25:00.007+01:00

The weather in Mongolia is a little more extreme than I had imagined it would be. Being born in Scotland and living in the Basque Country I am used to things being slightly cooler than in say Africa or Australia. Having spent most of my life living in one of those places I have had my fair share of snow and definitely more than enough experience of rain. Winter in Edinburgh would be -10C easily and in the Pyrenees I would expect serious snowfall from mid December onwards.

This week I am having my first taste of a real winter.

Not content with sitting at a balmy -13C the weather has decided that wasn't challenging enough. Instead it has been bringing us temperatures nearer -20C, lovely. The one grace is that the climate here is so dry. We did have heavy snowfall at the weekend but rather than turning into the disgusting slush that it would in Europe it has largely stuck around or even evaporated. It's weird. Snow without any mess - I love that!

Being a continental landlocked country Mongolia has a climate that is characterised by low precipitation and sharp seasonal fluctuations. A long sumer and a longer winter. Courtesy of the high Siberian flank to the east and Himalayas to the south low pressures are infrequent. We pray for cloud cover in winter as it can raise temperatures into the sub teens.

The forecast for the coming weekend is showing us weather falling as low as -30C. Instead we are heading to China to sunbathe and bask in heady weather that promises +1C if we are lucky. Break out the t-shirts, unpack the shorts...

Mongolian of the day:- snow :: tsas

does size matter?

2010-11-04T17:22:00.004+01:00

Mongolia is scarily large and complicated country. It takes at least a day to travel north to south or east to west. It is a land of contrasts. The north is mountainous with forests, scary fish and lakes; the south comprises paleontologically interesting arid desert and glaciers. Things used to be a lot different. Mongolia used to be a whole lot bigger and more complex.

For centuries China and Russia have wrestled over Mongolia. Both super-nations have struggled to control the smaller nation and it's sedately savage population. After the Second World War a certain Mr Stalin decreed that Mongolia must never have an opportunity of having more than ten million inhabitants. He said were the country able to do so then Mongolia would surely take over the world; so savage and warlike did he deem its people.

After World War II Stalin took lands to the north around Lake Baikal and gave China what is now Inner Mongolia. Mongolia is still a big place with big challenges but it is not a fraction of what it used to be (size wise). But it is an amazing country with a fierce sense of identity, independence and integrity. It is a country I have come to love. I have always insisted that size really doesn't matter. It is the quality on offer that makes the difference.

Mongolian of the day:- land :: buukh

for Queen and country

2010-10-29T12:13:00.003+02:00

Another Friday arrives in Ulaanbaatar, in Mongolia that means only one thing: The Steppe Inne. The British Ambassador opens his bar each Friday between 1830 and 2100 for those he deems worthy of invitation. It is an occasion when the good and great of the City (and me) can mix, drink lots of beer, learn about one anothers cultures and customs and so forth. Once we have drunk enough ale we close up shop walk along the dusty road to Hazara and partake in a feast of North Indian cuisine. Some things are sacred. Beer and a curry on a Friday night is one of those things. Of course, we will be toasting Her Majesty et al.

Mongolian of the day:- beaver :: minge

[apologies but I found this out today and it has caused no end of mirth]

crossing the Gobi

2010-10-26T04:08:00.009+02:00

The last five days have been all about crossing the remote Sout h Gobi desert of Mongolia. Given inclement weather conditions we cheated and took a small plane for some of the way. The remainder was spent crossing rocky terrain, no tracks, in an old Soviet land rover-minibus cross (think VW camper with monster truck tyres). I have been fortunate to have crossed the Serengeti, traversed the Atlas Mountains and driven through the Empty Quarter of Oman/Yemen but none come close to the sheer enormity and remoteness of the Gobi.

Endless plains, Steppes, run into the horizon with towering mountains rising from beyond. This moonscape is an inhospitable place yet home to many nomads and a myriad of wonderful creatures. The Steppes are teeming with bactrian camels, Mongolian horses, marmottes, goats and snakes. The mountains are home to eagles, vultures, snow leo pards, ibex, brown bears and many others. Two days into our adventure we came across a step in the Steppe, we referred to it as a 'Steppe change'. Here the flat Steppe changes level and red cliffs are born from the shift as the lower level continues on into infinity. Here there be monsters. It is where hardy dinosaur hunters come. Bones from many beasts have been found including the perfectly preserved skeletons of two small dinosaurs that died simultaneously during mortal combat.

There are small ger encampments spread thinly across the desert. There are also, thankfully, a few very small towns (100 inhabitants on average) where you can pick up supplies and petrol. We experienced the first snows of winter with temperatures around -20C. Given there are four months before winter proper starts I cannot imagine how people survive. The nearest hospital is days away once the snow comes. However, there is a camel festival in one of the towns in February and I am tempted to attend. The chap photographed won most of the honours with his fabulous bactrians last year. He invited us to sit with him in his ger where his wife and grand-daughter (photo) gave us some dried mare's milk based biscuits before we set off into the wild beyonds on camel led by his son...

Five days and 1,000km of desert crossing without washing, cell-phone or blackberry coverage reminds you just how good life can be.

Mongolian of the day:- my name is... :: minii ner...

desert rat

2010-10-22T03:47:00.006+02:00

Today may be my last ever blog post. In about an hour I am setting out across the mountains and on into the Gobi Desert. We will be travelling for around five days on a return trip to the furthest reaches of Mongolia via Dalandzadgad and the Three Camels Lodge. It is a fierce environment. The 1,000km round trip has roads for about 100km, the rest is rocky terrain with barely a track to follow. GPS is crucial. We will be sleeping in gers, making some of the journey by camel, staying with nomads and hopefully having a fabulous experience. Journeys like this in Mongolia are unique. It is imperative to take sleeping bags and enough food to last several days. If the vehicle breaks down we could be stranded for days before anyone is able to get to us. With temperatures plummeting to -20C and heavy snow forecast this should be fun!

Mongolian of the day:- good luck :: amjilt husey

a big red surprise

2010-10-21T11:59:00.007+02:00

No entries for a week, 'interesting' web access in China... I arrived in Beijing last week not knowing what to expect. I left this morning with a great feeling of warmth for the city. I know it has the worst human rights record on the planet, I know that its 'die-hard Communism whilst wholly embracing Capitalism' brand of politics is slightly hypocritical and I know that the Cultural Revolution destroyed most of its charm but still I found the capital an awesome and heartwarming place.

Staying on the 66th floor of the Park Hyatt, an enormously fabulous hotel and great cure for vertigo, I was able to watch the city by day and night. To the east Tiananmen Square (an unremarkable place if it were not for its historic poignancy) and the Forbidden City (more impressive than any literature can do justice). To the north SoHo and a myriad of fabulous roast duck restaurants and ridiculously over the top and expensive haute couture magasins. To the west the financial district with its constant money-making (and currency fixing). To the south the Temple of Heaven and a thousand mature patrons enjoying tai chi at 0600. A mammoth assault on the senses.

Escaping the some 20 million inhabitants for a couple of days we headed north to the Commune by the Great Wall. It is a wonderfully set place. Not so much a hotel as a retro-chic community of interesting modernist architecture. More importantly it offers access to a remote section of the Great Wall of China that is little explored. This offered us the joy of a lengthy trek without meeing another soul. We only walked some 6km but given the sheer drops and vertical rises it felt a lot further. How anyone managed to defend this wall is beyond me... oh, yeah, they didn't. When it's defence was tested it failed... As Chinggis said of the Great Wall: "a wall is only as effective as the people that guard it." Allegedly over one million workers died building the wall, the guide books don't tell you that (or that Chinggis & Co broke straight through it).

Beijing is simply captivating. The city is a long way from it overbearing politically motivated reputation. It is an overly fashionable, crazily rich, strikingly poor, startlingly evocative, remotely intimidating, heart warmingly social, scandalously bipolar metropolis. If Bladerunner was to be built from scratch then Beijing 2010 is that urban sprawl. My appetite is whet...

Chinese of the day:- hello :: nin hao

secret liaison in Beijing

2010-10-15T01:46:00.004+02:00

Shh, don't tell anyone but we are sneaking off to Beijing this weekend. As I write we are preparing to flit by moonlight. The reason for being covert? There is serious history between Mongolia and China. Ever since the Chinese overthrew the Mongolian empire and held control for several hundred years the Mongolians have resented them and vice versa (Chinggis & Co had trashed the previously unbeatable Chinese empire). The Russians may have kicked the Chinese out in the 1920's and subsequently killed some 25% of the Mongolian population whilst razing all important buildings to the ground but they are revered. They kicked the Chinese out. The feeling remains strong today. Stories abound in Ulaanbaatar about the Chinese being a sick race riddled with worms, about shoddy Chinese goods that will fall apart as soon as you touch them. A Mongolian friend who studied for his PhD in the US caught me reading a guidebook on Beijing earlier this week, he hasn't spoken to me since. Similarly the Chinese detest a country they view as their poor neighbour suddenly having the fastest growth economy in Asia. Particularly given the growth has resulted from the myriad of gold, copper and coal mines that are dotted along the Mongolia-China border on the side that favours Chinggis' descendents. How he must be smirking...

Mongolian of the day:- how are you? :: yu baina ve?

proverbial ladder

2010-10-14T17:15:00.007+02:00

I spent today riding out across the Mongolian Steppe. It was gloriously cold with snow on the higher ground. The Steppe is one of the few places where absolute silence exists. The senses are turned upside down. There is nothing to hear other than your own heartbeat. You can see for a hundred miles. The aroma of mountain herbs fills your nostrils. You can taste the excitment in your horses mind.

If a setting in this strange and wonderful country typifies itself then it is surely atop a horse riding across the mountains that fringe the Steppe.

My preferred Mongolian proverbs (part one):

1. a tiger wearing a bell will starve

2. a cat that likes to eat fresh fish will not go into the water

3. the distance between heaven and earth is no greater than one thought

4. it is easier to catch an escaped horse than take back an escaped word

5. if you drink the water, follow the custom

Mongolian of the day:- my name is... :: minii ner...

orphans in Mongolia

2010-10-13T09:18:00.006+02:00

Sometimes you find yourself doing something that really makes you realise that you haven't been born yet. We might stress about interest rates hikes, job security, the environment, the size of our bum or our weight. There are others who would give their teeth to have these concerns rather than those they've been dealt. While Mongolia is one of the most beautiful countries on the planet it is also broken in places. No more so is this evident than amongst the vast population of orphans. Every third child in Mongolia lives in poverty. These kids have nothing.

No accurate statistics exist but it is reported there are far more orphans here than in most other countries, particularly those in the west. Many of the orphans live on the streets. Summers are spent scratching a living from passers by. Winters are spent fighting off death. Although far fewer than in years gone by there are still many children who spend winter living below the streets alongside the hot water pipes in the sewers (horrifically this has spawned a sycophantic trade in poverty tourism).

In recent years several privately operated orphanages have sprung up to augment the state facilities. These are not 'privately operated' like the public schools in the UK. They are mostly run by an incredible individual who is willing to dedicate their life to helping give these Mongolian kids the best chance available. They truly need it. Those who are able to find themselves in the orphanages are the lucky few, there are many more who remain on the streets often abused or in fear of their lives. I heard about a mother whose two year old daughter had double pneumonia and TB. She took her to a hospital for help. The state funded the girls recovery. The mother responded by taking her drugs and kicking the infant into the street. Six months later the mother wanted the child back from the orphanage. Six months after that the child returned. The spiral continued downwards until the child died. The mother is pregnant again.

I have been privileged to visit and help at a couple of the orphanages. Today I met some incredible youngsters. Under the guidance of a wonderful nun (think Blues Brothers) a real sense of community has been created that harbours, nurtures and cares for each and every child. The sister receives very little official investment but is brilliant at getting others to donate clothing, food and some money. She is also becoming my mentor for the remainder of my time in Mongolia. From next week I will be doing my best to help and learn from these amazing wee individuals and the wonderful human being who watches over them. Please note, I will also be looking for help from abroad...

Mongolian of the day:- you're welcome :: zugeer

I am awake - Buddhism in Mongolia

2010-10-12T11:01:00.007+02:00

The dominant religion in Mongolia is Buddhism. The oldest may be Shamanism but since the 16th century, and the intervention of Altan Khan, Buddhism has dominated. In 1578 Altan invited the leading Tibetan monk to Mongolia. He formed an alliance with the monk that sanctioned Altan's might (Altan had serious military intentions) in return Altan named the Tibetan leader Dalai Lama, a name that continues today.

Tibetan Buddhism, which is still practiced extensively today in Mongolia, become the driving religious force. It was backed by the ambitious Altan and his wealthy family. It succeeded in forcibly driving Shamanism to the fringes of society and the monks took over the traditional Shaman roles as healers and diviners. Buddhism has not always been as peaceful as one might imagine. This tale certainly has overtures of current select Catholic or Islamic doctrine.

There are many Buddhist temples throughout Mongolia but few as large, presitgious or impressive as Ga ndan Khiid Monastery in Ulaanbaatar (see earlier post on Richard Gere).

It is a truly magnificent and tranquil spot where the hubub and din of the surrounding city are completely forgotten. The monks are quite a spectacle. People come here from all over simply to sit, relax and appreciate life. There should be locations like this in every city. It is the perfect place to contemplate enlightenment, even if you don't find it this time...

Mongolian of the day:- peace :: enx tajva

riding out across the Steppe

2010-10-11T12:18:00.007+02:00

This weekend was all about horses in Mongolia. Together with a group of friends we drove into the mountains an hour south of Ulaanbaatar. Approaching a huddled camp of gers sheltering beneath the snow line our Land Rover's just about made it. We were met by a family of Mongolian nomads that have been working with horses for generations. Keen as we were to get going we were ushered into the family ger and given local tea to warm us up as we sat by the fire. I could quite happily have curled up and read a book but we had more physically challenging endeavours ahead.

Normally when I go riding I ask for a horse that is as close to a sofa as possible: large, comfortable and unlikely to move at any real speed. This time I felt braver and let the fates hand me dealer's choice. What a lovely livewire I received. Boy did he test my galloping skills.

Horses don't have names in Mongolia. There are too many of them (27 per capita) and also they think it's a bit silly. I guess one might be less inclines to eat something one had named and cared for. Talking of which I heard a great piece of Chinggis gossip. To sustain themselves while they crossed Asia into Europe the Mongol warriors survived on the blood of their horses. They would make a nick in the horses neck and suck vitality from it. I love Mongols even more now that they are also vampires...

Heading across the mountains at some 2,500 metres above sea level it really felt as though we were on the roof of the world. The mountains swept down away from us to the Steppe. The Steppe is some 60 miles wide to the mountains that rise into distant clouds. Mongolian horses are uncannily sure-footed. They are also not going to be told what to do by any mere mortal. Fortunately what the horses do want to do is usually in tandem with our wishes, hence Chinggis so easily conquered the known world. They are far shorter though infinitely more handsome and harder than their European cousins.

After two hours we were all a little frozen, it was -7C. We headed back to the gers where our hostess had prepared a lovely broth of mutton and noodles. A grand day out...

Mongolian of the day:- horse :: aduu

funky signposts in Ulaanbaatar

2010-10-07T11:15:00.008+02:00

Over the past week or two as I have been running my shopping errands I have noticed a few fabulous signs around Ulaanbaatar. Not only are there many exquisitely named commercial outlets (Bad Hair, Cozy Meat, Best Camel etc.) many of the products they offer are tremendously named.

My top three in no particular order:

1. This has to be the craziest sign I have ever come across. Imagine my surprise as I entered the chamber of solace only to discover that people are warned not to climb upon the throne to defecate; I left feeling rather unclean.

2. For those of us in need of a little assistance (though I did think having Disney characters in the window was a tad sick). This shop offers something for the ladies. For those of us menfolk who need a little help getting (it) up in the morning they even offer some fine products to assist. Obviously this does not apply to myself or any of the menfolk I have the pleasure of calling friends.

3. Perhaps the most obvious piece of signposting. It is a theory long voiced by those fairer amongst us but until now I had never actually seen a sign that rammed masculine intelligence levels home so robustly.

I will keep my eyes open for others...

Mongolian of the day:- life :: ami

the land of blue sky

2010-10-05T07:49:00.007+02:00

Mongolia has on average over 250 days of clear sunshine each year. For a chap from Scotland that is mighty impressive. Rightly so. The sky here is bigger than anything I've come across in Africa and bluer than any sky I've seen in the Americas. Mongolia also has two clear seasons: hot and cold. Summer starts around the end of April and ends about now. Winter fills in the rest. However, in between there is about a week or so when things change suddenly.

The green forests that line the mountains have overnight turned firey orange and yellow. The gushing Tuul River has been reduced to a relative trickle (it freezes for most of winter). The days are generally warm around +19C although the nights drop to -10C.

The animals are unsure what to do. There are a lot of wild dogs amongst the yaks, horses and goats. They are less used to the extremeties than their fellow animals. As such mothers and puppies desperately seek out some form of shelter to protect against the coming chill. Not much survives at -40C. More importantly, with such wildly changing temperatures, it is really difficult to know what to wear.

Mongolian of the day:- welcome :: tavtai morilogtun

run to the hills

2010-10-04T07:35:00.007+02:00

The snow has gone from Ulaanbaatar and temperatures have crept back up a tad so I am taking advantage and heading outdoors as often as possible. This morning I went into the hills near my apartment on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. I was in search of a shamen shrine I had noticed the last time I was on the hills.

The hills here are all roughly the same height at 700m which takes me safely over 2,000m above sea level. The hills are all also exceedingly steep. Medical practitioners may say otherwise but phsical exertion at this altitude does have an impact on breathing. I can usually manage simple things like getting up a wee hill with no problem; this morning I saw stars and had to rest with ridiculous frequency. I got to the top though.

From there the view spreads across the Steppe encompassing the whole of Ulaan baatar. To the east the valley winds up towards Terelj, to the west the Steppe widens into the horizon. Traversing the hillside I finally found the shrine I had been seeking. It was busy for a Monday morning, not only were there various shamen, a few random cows were wondering what all the fuss was about.

There were three different shamen plying their wares today. It was a little like Shamen Factor or Shaman's Got Talent. Each was trying to outdo the other. Banging drums louder, clashing cymbals with more gusto, chanting more erratically, swaying more pendulously. It was quite an event. I am now raring to get my own shaman rendezvous arranged. I like gravity; the walk home downhill is always easier.

Mongolian of the day:- blue :: nomin

snowstorm in Ulaanbaatar

2010-10-01T03:21:00.005+02:00

Overnight Mongolia saw its first significant snow of the season. I think it was premeditated; too convenient to have snow start at 00:00 on the first of the month. I awoke far earlier than normal. Living outside the city there is absolutely no light pollution. I usually wake up as the sun rises. This morning the moon reflecting on snow woke me two hours earlier at 0500. I wasn't disappointed.

Being as mature as I am I immediately threw on some warm clothes and ran up a nearby hill to savour the magic. I was utterly alone. The only sign of life was a herd of local horses that was slowly making its way along the ridge. Silence muffled all sound. There was no wind and the cold (-9C) gently crisped my face. I have watched a landscape I have come to love turn from green in August to brown over recent weeks, it has changed once more. Moments like this are all too rare. I am riding this afternoon and it promises to be a treat although this is only the start of what looks like being my first real winter.

Mongolian of the day:- snowstorm :: shine utga oruulah

the shamen

2010-09-30T15:50:00.005+02:00

I am living just outside Ulaanbaatar in a valley overlooking the city. There are a million walks from the apartment into the wilds and towards cultural allure. My favourite sojourn is a four kilometre run down the valley and along the river away from the city. Some two kilometres away is a major Shaman site. A large patch of land hosts a number of enormous timber posts. Each post is covered in predominantly blue cotton pendants that are tied to the wooden columns as offerings. It is a tranquil and mysterious place.

Shamanism believes that its practitioners, Shamen, are guides or messengers between the physical and spirit worlds. A Shaman seeking to help physical or mental illness or injury will seek to repair that persons soul. It is said that by alleviating pressure on the soul the physical body is healed. Shamen will also go into the spirit world to help communities and heal social problems. Shamanism has been practised for at least 12,000 years and is still practised widely today. It is the second religion of Mongolia after Buddhism.

Often when I pass through the site there are families of Mongolians camped near their offering. Such instances tend to signify the coming arrival of a Shaman. The Shamen seem to travel wildly as nomads. On arrival they will spend time with the families sharing food and discussing the issue at hand. The Shaman will use a rhythm, normally played on tambor, to start his journey to the spirit world. This is accompanied by chanting of the sort we grew up hearing red indians sing in coboy movies. It is a fascinating and captivating sound. I give families privacy at such times but as I walk on can hear the Shaman chanting wildly as the rhythm escalates. I am keen to know what happens during the trance; determined to know what is said; eager to unearth how it comes to pass. I may not have to wait too long. Today I was asked by a Mongolian friend whether I would like a visit with a Shaman, how can I possibly refuse...

Mongolian of the day:- good luck :: amjilt husey

Hollywood comes to Ulaanbaatar

2010-09-29T14:37:00.010+02:00

Today as I paid a visit to the Gandan Buddhist monastery in Ulaanbaatar I saw a crowd heading towards the main prayer temple. Being ever curious I followed. Drawing the throng a leading Buddhist monk from Tibet was giving prayers. I sat and began my first Buddhist experience. The congregation, if that's the correct term, were almost exclusively monks. I did notice another grey haired non-Asian. As I looked more closely I thought I recognised him, but that surely wasn't possible. His face did seem incredibly familiar though. I tried to move in closer. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that sitting near me in a Buddhist temple in the middle of Outer Mongolia was none other than Richard Gere.

Now I can candidly state that he really is as good looking in real life as he is in the movies. Be it American Gigolo, Pretty Woman, Mothman or playing Billy the Kid he is one cool bloke. He also seemed to have his feet on the ground. I suspect he enjoyed being here, I don't think that (m)any others knew who he was. I did though and was embarrassingly as excited as a Massai tribesman seeing his first snowfall.

I did some digging and it appears that Mr Gere, a long time Buddhist, was in Ulaanbaatar to both hear the esteemed Tibetan monk give prayer but also to attend an international Buddhist conference that was taking place in the monastery. I have had some interesting moments during my time in Mongolia but this was surely the most astonishing. I really do hope that when I am 61 I look as darned handsome as he does, perhaps I need to find Buddha...

Mongolian of the day:- goodbye :: bayartai
(more about the monastery itself another time)

the sole of Seoul has soul

2010-09-27T08:01:00.006+02:00

Going to and from Ulaanbaatar I prefer taking the Seoul route (UB-Seoul-Paris/London-Biarritz). The main South Korean hub of Incheon is a real gem amongst international airports. There are usually some five or six hours to kill between flights but rarely is a moment dull. Upon arrival I head straight for a massage. Not one of those European strokey-strokey efforts, a good old-fashioned Asian pummeling. If it doesn't hurt I want my money back. After 90 minutes of healing torture I'm famished. Reluctantly I have use of the business lounge and therein a fabulous range of savouries, muffins and French wine. By now I am properly chilled out. Time to go exploring.

The airport is huge, not T5 huge, but bigger than most. The terminal is shaped like a huge banana. Both sides of the fruit are adorned by a plethora of upmarket clothing shops, electrical accessories of allsorts, smashing eateries and other retail oriented ventures. As I passed by Prada I heard a group of girls screaming. I guessed it wasn't for me so went to explore. Four young lads stood on a small stage. They broke into some seemingly very popular pop song. It transpires they were the Asian equivalent of Take That, only younger.

In the middle of the banana another avenue leads off so it looks like the banana is on a stand. Down this route is the Korean Cultural Centre. I had seen various interesting processions start from here. First impressions tend towards naff. A second walk past still feels risible but a third begs entry. In the centre you can partake in any number of Korean cultural pursuits: writing ancient scroll, painting historic scenes, making fans etc. It's not (just) for kids and is a great example of a country marketing itself. I wonder what Heathrow would have passengers do at a Great British Cultural Centre...?

Korean of the day:- hello :: ahn-nyeong

life's a beach

2010-09-10T13:10:00.006+02:00

Ten days back in the Basque country and every one of them has presented a reminder why St Jean de Luz is such a special place to be:

1) ridiculously good weather

2) wonderful beach

3) no Brits

4) beautiful people

5) quality restaurants

6) walking the mountains

7) real culture and history

8) promenading

9) aperitifs

10) friends

Ten more days before heading back to Mongolia. It's a difficult see-saw but somebody has to balance it.

Basque of the day:- life :: bizi

back to Basque

2010-09-01T13:05:00.006+02:00

After a ten day round-about trip I am finally home in St Jean de Luz. After two months in Mongolia it is a pleasant shock to the system. Little has changed, the Basque country remains in my mind the most beautiful place on the planet. The boulangerie still smells divine, the sun stills shines brightly, the people still smile enthusiastically and we even managed to miss the invading Parisian hordes during July and August. A better timed trip I have never had.

Thinking about what we have experienced in Mongolia I can see several similarities with Basque culture. Both are matriarchal societies, which means things actually get done, and in relative peace. Both cultures resonate with music, song and dance. A slower more social pace of life is preferred. There have been inumerable battles over the ages yet both cultures remain strong and intact adopting practices dating to before Christ. Even the languages, both of which are alien to European ears, seem to have similarities in syntax, pronunciation and meaning. Mongolia has the edge in terms of wildlife but the Basque country wins on matters culinary. Off to enjoy my first croissant since June...

Basque of the day:- home :: etxe

end of term report

2010-08-19T06:26:00.007+02:00

Today is my last day of term in Ulaanbaatar. The school holidays have arrived and our cat called last night to say she was looking forward to seeing us. So what is my impression of Mongolia after my initial six weeks?

Before I left for Ulaanbaatar I had a fixed image of Mongolia. I imagined it to be a huge place with big mountains and limited urbanisation; people were attractive but unsophisticated and a little fearsome; it was freezing cold all year round; camels and horses ruled and the food was best left to rot.

I was in part correct. It is an enormous country, one of the biggest. It does have magnificent mountain ranges and deep soaring Steppes. However, in Ulaanbaatar it has a thriving and lively metropolis (about the same size as Glasgow or Bordeaux). The people are very attractive, especially the ladies though I am biased, but they are also exceedingly fashionable. Regardless of age, class or gender there is a certain panache and style about your average Mongolian that would greatly impress your average Parisian. Mongolians on the surface appear trepidous about foreigners, rightly so in many instances, but like in so many other less over-touristed destinations once a connection has been made it immediately feels strong.

It is cold, in winter. Summer is a hot and arid affair. In my six weeks I have experienced: +44C and -2C; scorching sunshine and awful storms. Horses certainly do rule, Harry is king, but the camel is an endangered being. I hope Alice and co manage to revitalise their species. As for the food, I would readily swap most of the dinners I have eaten in Europe or the Americas for the offerings given here. It is an eclectic example of eating ecstasy.

Before I came to Mongolia I was excited about the prospect. Now, as I prepare to leave her and head home for a while I am already feeling myself loking forward to being back in her vodka fuelled bosom. Between St Jean de Luz, Edinburgh and Ulaanbaatar I am truly spoiled. And so to Europe...

Mongolian of the day:- depart :: yavakh

the real Crazy Horse Saloon

2010-08-17T05:21:00.007+02:00

Mongolia has its own Crazy H orse Saloon. It's a little different from the one in Paris. I prefer it; less seedy. It's outdoors and men ride right up to the bar.

Horses are everywhere in Mongolia, there are far more horses than people here. The Mongolian horse is the breed of choice. They are very different beasts from those found elsewhere. Measuring in at around 12 hands they are far shorter than their foreign cousins. They are also lighter but this does not make them weaker. On the contrary the Mongolian horse is one of the toughest beasts on the planet. They live outdoors all year round; from +40C to -40C. Closely related to the Przewalski the Mongolian horse is said to be unchanged since the time of Chinggis Khaan (Genghis to the West), and have lived on the Steppe since 2000BC, but this does not mean they are unsophisticated. Why, only yesterday I spent a lovely day with a horse called Harry and his brother Ed. They got excited when I turned up and said 'hey'.

"Just cause we's short, sir, don't mean we's weak" said Harry in a drawl that sounded like Sam Gangee. To prove his point he manfully, well horsefully, carried me far across the mountainous terrain. And I am a heavy chap. On our travels he told me a little about his family. "We has tough feet see, we don't need metal shoes like thems soft developed horses. And our tails. Our tails are special see; the manpeople use them to make violin strings. My wife, that's Edwina right, she don't like the manpeople though, they milk her and make a drink that makes them silly, they call its Airag." I had tasted the stuff, it was 'interesting' to say the least.

Harry asked me to turn off the quotes as he told me that his cousins, and many others, had been eaten by the manpeople. He doesn't like this and feels aggreived they act in this way after all the help they been given. "It was one of yous manpeople, the great Chinggis, who said it was 'easy to conquer the world from the back of a horse' and modern manpeople say that 'a Mongol without a horse is like a bird without wings'. I knows you lot does loves us though. You lot haves more songs about love for us horses than you have for your womenfolk." Strange as it may be, in Mongolia this is an accepted truth.

Mongolian of the day:- horse :: aduu

big man Chinggis rises above the Steppe

2010-08-12T03:22:00.009+02:00

As we drove across the Steppe today we rounded a valley corner and saw a shimmer of silver on the horizon. Driving closer the silver grew and grew and grew and grew. 30 minutes later we were standing at the foot of Chinggis Khaan. Rising out of the arid land, miles and miles from anywhere, a 131 foot tall statue of the warrior Chinggis wrapped in 250 tons of glittering steel stands proudly looking out across his empire. Walking towards the gargantuan emperor I realised that the dots at the horses feet weren't crows but people. It is the biggest, and most oddly located, statue I have ever seen. It's a little like a modern day Abu Simbel. Some hate it, I thought it was incredible.

Inside the monument a museum displays ancient metalwork from the 5th century BC. The craftsmanship is outstanding. At that time Mongolia seems to have been centuries ahead of other countries in terms of culture and skill. Mongolian armour and weapons appear to have been copied by the neighbouring Chinese as they established their empire. Chinggis was the pinnacle of Mongolian power after centuries developing an awesome arsenal. Visitors can clamber inside the horses belly and walk out of Chinggis' abdomen to a splendid view across the Steppe.

I didn't have a video but found this wee clip that puts things in perspective.

The statue is the latest Mongolian venture to rediscover Chinggis. This follows almost a century of Russian occupation during which all Mo ngolia specific cultural, religious and intellectual matters were spurned if not burned. Flying to Ulaanbaatar you land at the Chinggis Khaan International Airport; an enormous statue of Chinggis Khaan dominates the main Sukhbaatar Square; students study at the Chinggis Khaan University and his name is used to brand a myriad of products from vodka to hotels. Mongolian people are refinding their heritage and are exceedingly proud of their most famous father.

I wonder what Chinggis would have made of it all as he stood looking out of the window contemplating his next campaign...

Mongolian of the day:-big :: tom

two humps good; one hump bad in Mongolia

2010-08-11T10:18:00.008+02:00

Today I went trekking in the mountains outside Ulaanbaatar with friends. Hiking with a difference. Rather than getting sore legs, the pain was a little higher in a rumpier zone. Today we were hanging with the Mongolian bactrians.

Alice, Billy, Bob and their friends can live happily in the adverse Steppe conditions. Their two humps, as opposed to one-humped Arabian cousins, are water carriers. Alice told me that a droopy hump means she's thirsty. She can consume 30 gallons of water in 13 minutes. Like their cousins Alice and co's nostrils close and they primp their eyelashes to keep out the sand.

Alice was a good lass. She informed me that bactrians are the only truly wild camels left. She looked forelorn as she said they were a dying breed with only some 1,000 left roaming mostly in Mongolia. She did finish on an optimistic note telling me that some of the larger commercial projects, including Oyu Tolgoi mine, are looking at ways of preserving, conserving and increasing the bactrian population. She shed a tear and we parted lifelong friends (though I doubt she'll ever write to me). She suggested a long hot bath to recover from her rocky movements.

Mongolian of the day:- camel :: temee

me and Ernie go for a spin

2010-08-10T17:45:00.005+02:00

Today I went forth and met some of the wildlife that surrounds Ulaanbaatar. Of Mongolia's beasts the Steppe Eagle is one that I am particularly fond of. About 80cm tall, with a 2m wingspan and weighing in at 5kg it is a funky hunting machine. Although they mostly eat carrion they are also known for helping keep the marmotte numbers under control. The birds can be found from Romania through Mongolia.

Today I hooked up with Ernie and we went for a spin around the Steppes that surround Ulaanbaatar. After taking out a few marmottes we went back to camp, drank some airag (fermented yaks milk) and talked about the good times.

Ernie got drunk and I had to put him to bed early.

Mongolian of the day:- animal :: aimtan

driving mad in Ulaanbaatar

2010-08-09T13:58:00.007+02:00

There are a lot of cars in Ulaanbaatar. This is a new thing. Ten years ago herds of horses were driven through the centre of the city. Now obscene Hummers, ridiculous Mitsubishis and other assorted calamitous vehicles choke the roads. It can take an hour to travel 5km. Some cars are left hand drive, others right. This is Mongolia, there are few rules. Mongolians are proud as punch of their cars. Despite the dust they are washed in the river and polished with frightening regularity so that they look dandy on the roads. 'Roads' is an overstatement. Driving more than 100m without swerving to avoid a moonscaped crater is a luxury. Most 'roads' alternate between shattered one-track concrete and rocky dust. This has as much to do with the extreme weather that fluctuates over 80C during the year as it has to do with infrastructure that offers great opportunity.

Driving is a relatively new phenomenon too. As horses are traded for 4x4s the average driver does little to change their transportation strategy. Space is sought out and taken despite the danger. Being first is all-important. This photo is a narrow one lane road. I am sitting in the middle. I was watching the car in front to the right as it stradled the pavement. Normal enough for these parts until the No.6 bus came hurtling down the centre of the pavement. Passengers laughed; pedestrians scattered; we just got out of the way.

Mongolian of the day:- peace :: enh taivan

take me to the river

2010-08-06T09:58:00.006+02:00

For a moment this afternoon the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar were moved from Mongolia to the Deep South circa 1938. The sun shone high in the sky; birds sang blissfully as they flew up-river; children played gleefully in the Tuul River as their mothers watched on from bankside picnics; men passed by on horseback singing in harmony, tipping their hats whenever they encountered a lady. I sank into the river and let the coolness soak away my worries. I communicated freely with other bathers; no words were exchanged but we understood each other well enough. There were no cars, no mechanical sounds, no email, no cell-phones, just time to watch the sky and trail your feet in the river. The only thing missing was abject racism and we were all happy about it. There's no way he even received an invite. His invite was sent to harmony instead, she's far prettier. As Keats once said 'a thing of beauty is a joy forever'.

Mongolian of the day:- cool :: seruun

Chinggis Khaan, the original Mr LoverMan

2010-08-05T10:43:00.005+02:00

When Chinggis Khaan (aka Genghis Khan, aka Mr Funky-If-Angry-Love-Stuff) set out from near Ulaanbaatar c1200 with his Mongol hordes he had two agendas. His PR people in Mongolia espoused his fond desire to establish history's biggest ever empire; stretching from the Pacific to the Med; embracing and uniting all religions. What Mr Khaan didn't tell his advisors was that all he really wanted to do was bed as many women as possible before he dropped dead. This man had hot pants.

Besides being the most formiable warrior the world has ever known Chinggis was a shrewd politican, canny diplomat and had a keen eye for the ladies. Soon into his campaign the internet was full of stories that he killed his foes before bedding their wives and daughters. There seems to have been some truth to this. His empire covered almost half the world and he is alleged to have slept with many many thousands of women. His seed travelled far and wide. A genealogical study in 2003 suggests that there are over 16m men walking the planet who are directly related to Chinggis and his wandering trousers. Chances are we can each identify a Chinggis gene candidate from amongst our friends.

Mongolian of the day:- perspire :: khols tsutgakh

street kids in Ulaanbaatar

2010-08-04T10:08:00.011+02:00

The population of Ulaanbaatar has increased dramatically in recent years as winters get harsher forcing erstwhile nomadic people to fix roots. There is a proliferation of ger camps on the outskirts of town. Mongolia is an emerging economy; many families in the camps have little to live on. Drug and alcohol abuse are prevalent in the camps. Many children are born unwanted or simply become undesirable as they get older. Others lose their parents. Others simply run away. There has been a mounting number of homeless children. A solution is being developed by an unlikely source.

The Metropolitan Police of Mongolia have bought a large house on the outskirts of the city. The house is for the exclusive use of orphaned street kids. A middle-aged doctor has given up her livelihood to focus on acting as matron to the forty or so children. The children are free to come and go as they please. Mostly, they seem to stay. The eldest child is 16, the youngest is 3. The house offers protection and a chance; no matter how small. These children have had it harder than any others I have come across. Poverty would be a luxury for some of them.

Set over three storeys the property contains two large dormitories; one for boys, one for girls. It has a large kitchen and dining area. The rest of the house is dominated by music and craft rooms. This may seem odd but the matron, assisted by local musicians, offers the children a chance to learn a musical instrument, sing in a choir, learn a craft or simply appreciate. I was privileged to be invited to this wonderful home for a day alongside the International Women's Association of Mongolia (IWAM), a charitable organisation, run by the delightfully energetic Mo, that is currently helping provide for the children.

When I arrived some of the older boys were hanging around outside looking far older and tougher than their ages warranted. I greeted them and went inside. They mostly ignored me. Inside I was given a tour of the home and several of the children played traditional Mongolian music or sang folk songs. There was some real talent amongst them. The ladies and I then offered to teach the children art, beadwork, juggling and writing.

I was on juggling duty together with the only other chap there. We had several sets of juggling bags with us for the children. After playing with some of the smaller kids one of the tough-guys from the front door came into the room. He was clearly keen to learn but was too cool for school. We eventually coaxed him to join us. Seeing the lad juggle killed me. As the bags flew from hand to hand years of solitude and harshness disappeared, if only for a while; a broad smile spread and relaxed across his tense face. He took the bags and disappeared to practice on his own; he laughed enthusiastically as he left the room. The other boys looked on astonished, this kid was not known for being happy. As we were leaving he hugged me and promised to learn five new tricks for my next visit. He didn't know if I was coming back, after meeting him and his friends it's impossible not to.

Mongolian of the day:- children :: khuukhed

real life dinosaurs and big open spaces near Ulaanbaatar

2010-08-02T14:47:00.007+02:00

This weekend we ventured forth out of Ulaanbaatar into the Terelj National Park. It is an enormous space some 50km northeast of the capital and a popular destination for the city's residents. As we drove north we passed groups of locals lining the bedraggled road selling freshly picked wild strawberres, delicious; one jar for 50 pence. The valley gets wider the further from town you get. Massive boulders line its edge. It is as if you are in the set of a western starring John Wayne. Yaks, goats and horses mingle along the valley floor. Lush forests disappear up the hillsides. The space feels as wide as it seems long. High on the hill tops, tied to large branches, blue ribbons stream in the air. They are blessings for spiritual grounds and await the visit of passing Shamen. I spent an hour with one Shaman. He was very serious and mumbled a lot. I wish I could have understood what he was saying. There was much incense and giving of offerings. He kept banging a drum though and what Mongolian I know evaded me. I kept thinking about Ebenezer Goode. Next time.

Rounding one particularly enormous rock, fondly known as Turtle Rock, we came across a herd we hadn't expected. Some twenty life-sized dinosaurs stood idling away the hours in glorious concrete. Quite a shock. Thirty kilometres further north, as the road gave way to mud we found our haven for the weekend, the Terelj Hotel. The only hotel in Mongolia to feature in the Small Luxury Hotels guide. The clientele reminded us of Mumbai. Very fashionable and conversing freely in English smattered with the odd word in Mongolian. A super lush haunt if you find yourself in these parts.

Mongolian of the day:- thank you :: bayarlalaa

drinking and dancing in Ulaanbaatar (part1)

2010-07-30T02:28:00.006+02:00

Ulaanbaatar dishes up a surprisingly wide array of nightlife. There is at least something for most tastes.

Sophisticates

Monet and Sky Lounge - located on the top floor of Central Tower (Louis Vuitton, Zegna, Armani and Boss on ground floor) this is 'the' place to hang out with the beautiful people of Mongolia. Kitten heels and sharp suits are the order of play. Astounding views.
Veranda - again I enthuse about this place. The best place to enjoy a bottle of wine with friends.
Crystal Lounge - modernist, trendy hang-out serving only cocktails; decent ones at that.

Drinkers
Ulaanbaatar has almost as many pubs as Edinburgh. Most are wee vodka dens; a must for the more intrepid drinker. Most of the big bars are themed, sounds tacky but it actually works.

Dublin - even deepest Mongolia has its own Irish bar. This is a better and more genuine offering than many other countries boast. Good beer, great atmosphere and a leg of lamb for a pound - bargain! Miners love this place.
Dave's Place - a British pub that runs a pub quiz alongside decent football (if that's your thing). Nice outdoor patio.
Brau Haus - to Germany and as you'd expect: loud, big beers, hearty food and live music. Not for a quiet night.

Clubbers

Ismuss - weird weird weird. The multi-level club boasts a 7 metre high statue of Joseph Stalin! A throw back to Soviet-chic, worth a visit.
Zouq - the first Egyptian themed club I've come across. Catwalk dance floor.
Silence - late night trance music.

Mongolian of the day:- drink :: undaa

bears and bulls in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-29T10:11:00.009+02:00

There is a stock exchange in Ulaanbaatar. The Mongolian Stock Exchange (MSE) must be the dinkiest, sweetest exchange I have ever seen. Indeed, it is the world's smallest stock exchange by market capitalisation. It is resplendent in red and used to be the children's theatre; how apt is that? Secondary market trading (basic trading in equities) began for real in 1996 after the transtion from central planned economy to market economy (from Communist State-owned to a more Anglo-Saxon structure).

Since 1996 the MSE has traded shares worth a combined value of 39bn tugrugs/US$32m/GBP21m. This compares with the London Stock Exchange which has a daily trading value of some 13trillion tugrugs/US$11bn/GBP7bn; and against the NYSE Euronext group which has a whopping combined daily trading value of 190trillion tugrugs/US$157bn/GBP100bn. The MSE is a fairly small outfit in the scheme of things, but it is growing.

Comparatively, the MSE is a large chunk of the Mongolian economy. Total GDP in Mongolia is around US$4.2bn, the same as Guinea, Montenegro and Zimbabwe; far behind the US with US$14trillion. However, there are a couple of particularly large mining projects underway in Mongolia such as the Oyu Tolgoi copper-gold mine. Mining is widely viewed as the way forward and these projects are forecast to dramatically increase the size of the Mongolian economy, at a time when other economies are stagnant or shrinking, and catapult it onto the main stage of Asian business.

In Mongolia the National Development and Innovation Committee estimated that every US$1m output in mining generates: 51 new jobs; $115k demand in energy; increases imports by $404k; stimulates transportation and trade by $98k; $5k demand in agriculture/food; $27k demand in industry.

There is a feeling of electricity in the air around Ulaanbaatar. It has the feel you get before an enormous storm. This is a city that is about to change dramatically. It is already a great city so let's hope the change is for the better. The bull is most certainly in town.

Mongolian of the day:- money :: mong

life in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-27T09:04:00.008+02:00

Living in Ulaanbaatar means not being in a hurry. The city centre is about 5km from my apartment. Some days it takes 5 minutes, other days 1 hour; no rhyme or reason. We are a week into the (very) hot weather and having moved outside town is the smartest move we have made to date. Getting irked by traffic is not an option, it wastes too much energy; this is a commonly held view resulting in a pleasantly placid non-threatening atmosphere. (We are in the apartment block, the president's palace is the big white bulding)

At the bottom of our driveway the Tuul River meanders along the southern limits of the city. Tull means 'to meander through' in Mongolian. The 800km long river has long been held sacred by the Mongols, presumably because of the naturally arid nature of the country.

Tuul River is a very popular place for swimming, gathering and barbecues. In the evening groups of friends and families hang out on the riverbank; playing, splashing, eating, talking and generally having a nice time away from the stinging heat. The water comes from the mountains and retains its cool freshness. With temperatures remaining well over 35C during the day (and above 25C most nights) plunging into the water is the only way of keeping cool. Mountains surround our apartment, acting as an oven. There is no air-conditioning and little breeze. It may not be the Grand Plage in St Jean de Luz but without the river life would be a lot less tolerable; sharing it with horses and goats is simply a bonus.

Mongolian of the day:- good evening :: oroin mend

eating in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-26T09:28:00.006+02:00

When I told people I was moving to Ulaanbaatar they suggested I wasn't moving for the food; that every dish was mutton with mutton; that I would finally shed those extra pounds I've been carrying. How wrong everybody was. Contrary to popular belief the Mongolian capital has an exceedingly fine selection of fantastic eating places. So far my top 5 off-the-tourist-trail favourite haunts are:

1. Veranda: Overlooking the Choijin Lama temple be sure to reserve a table outside. The restaurant specialises in Italian-Mongolian fusion which is healthy, hearty and hedonistic. A great atmosphere and mixed clientele. The story goes that Veranda and the restaurant below were once the same run by husband and wife. They divorced, she took upstairs and is now kicking her husband's derriere. Tourists downstairs, locals upstairs.

2. Millie's: I thought I wouldn't like this place. How wrong I was. Millie has been in Ulaanbaatar for years and set up her cafe to cater for foreigners living here. It has none of the expat feel you get in other countries and there are rarely any tourists. It is for locals, Mongolian and otherwise. A fabulous selection of food given a Cuban twist by her excellent head Daniel. Millie herself is a delightful legend.

3. Sexy Jazz Lounge: I had to visit given its excellent name. It is a dark and moody place that serves up a suprisingly excellent burger and milkshake. A favourite haunt of office workers. I saw nothing particularly sexy other than the melted cheese and bacon topping and double-thick chocolate shake after which all sexy thoughts dissipated.

4. Hazara: A wonderful northern Indian restaurant situated behind the wrestling arena. My favourite restaurant decor in town, very zen inside your own tent. Too many fantastical spicy dishes to list; a great place to gorge over a number of hours if you have an afternoon or evening to spare. The best naans and saffron rice I have ever tasted.

5. Sakura: Masticatingly good Japanese cuisine at the Kempinski. A hefty menu served by lovely lasses. I ate the soba everyday while I stayed at the Kempinski. They also serve Chinggis in litre glasses; probably the most refreshing beer in the world.

I haven't included any overtly 'Mongolian' restaurants in the list, that's not to say the traditional, local food is not good, it is. Given the weather we have experienced thus far, Mongolian food is aimed at more wintery clientele, we will return when the ice comes. However, for the ultimate in snacking everybody should try huushuur, bansh, buuz and mantuu...

Mongolian of the day:- food :: khool

hot daze in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-22T11:42:00.009+02:00

It is unseasonably hot in Ulaanbaatar. Definitely windows closed weather. An average summer will see temperatures knocking 30C, today we recorded 44C and it is getting hotter. For a Scotsman abroad this is testing the limits.

Having moved outside town at the weekend at least I get fresh air rushing in from the mountains but at the moment even that is hot. Hawks, buzzards and eagles seem to be revelling in the weather. They spiral upwards effortlessly on currents before plunging headfirst back to earth for a bite to eat.

The local kids seem to be enjoying the scorching weather too and are jumping happily into the nearby river. The same river serves as a road in winter with ice nearly two metres thick. Given the dryness and altitude the sun is incredibly strong; factor 50 needs to be replenished every 30 minutes you remain outdoors.

At present my only option is to sit as still as possible in an effort to keep cool. With the view I have this is no mean chore.

Mongolian of the day:- river :: gol

people in and around Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-20T13:40:00.005+02:00

Roughly 40% of the Mongolian population live in its capital Ulaanbaatar (some 1.2m people). About 20% live in the other various smaller towns dispersed around the vast country. The remainder are nomadic (over 1m people), that's a lot of nomads. It is a tough life that has changed little since the days of Chinggis Khaan in the 12th century. Almost all live in gers.

Gers are round thick canvas tents. They are designed to be resiliant yet transportable. Everything that needs to be done takes place inside the tent. Outdoors is often too daunting a prospect in Mongolia. Summer temperatures soar above 45C, in winter it plummets to -40C, a swing of some 80C!! The roof has a hole in its conical centre. A stove is lit in the tent for heating and cooking. Nomads sleep snuggled up together inside, take their meals together inside, undertake their ablutions and I suspect ensure the family line, all within sight and earshot of their extended family. The most important factor is warmth. Winter is the longest season and death needs to be avoided.

Despite the forced closeness family life in gers does contain its own more upbeat traditions and cultures. As is common worldwide alcohol plays an important part, generally vodka in Mongolia. Singing and playing musical instruments is surprisingly common and far more prevelant than in developed countries. It is a tough life. Herding horses and camels across the Gobi to market is not a life many can understand let alone choose. The nomads I have met remain resolutely upbeat. They know their way of life has outlived many others. They also know that the world is changing and that perhaps they are better suited than most to cope with some of the adversities that global warming will through at us.

Mongolian of the day:- cooking pot :: togoo

Ulaanbaatar is the wild wild west

2010-07-17T12:00:00.005+02:00

Last night, whilst enjoying drinks at the British Embassy bar in Ulaanbaatar, I heard something I have always wanted to hear. A wild haired gentleman sporting a robust moustache stood upon the bar. He beckoned the throng hush: "Yee-haw, I struck oil this morning, the drinks are on me!" I half hoped he'd pull out two six-shooters and dance a jig while firing them in the air! There was certainly something of the JR about this fellow. Sharing such a momentous occasion with him was a unique treat. For the past fifteen years his small exploration company has been working through various sites he wholeheartedly believed oil rich in Mongolia. Yesterday his dream came true. Congratulations.The Steppe Inne is something of an institution in Ulaanbaatar. The British Ambassador and his charming wife began the weekly gathering years ago as a means of bringing together the very few British citizens who were in Mongolia at the time. Since then many more have arrived: some working for NGOs; others pursuing copper, gold and oil; others dinosaur hunters etc. Membership to the club has long closed but our contact here has had a word and we are members for the duration of our stay.

The gathered crowd was a very eclectic mix: old-school Brits who have probably moved from country to country since the Empire was at its peak; entrepreneurial business and charity directors explore what is innevitably the next booming Asian economy; a wacky mix of artists and craftspeople; local Mongolians returned from overseas education with a love for the UK (this is a large group - I have met more Mongolians with PhDs than I have any other nationality). After several ales we were invited by friends to join them for a curry. It was a rather different take on the average Friday night out in Britain.

Mongolian of the day:- khookh :: wow

sexy warrior princesses in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-15T11:46:00.005+02:00

Today I felt like a public shoolboy in Ulaanbaatar. It is not every day that you see three very pretty girls walking around dressed up as warriors of Chinggis Khaan - I was most taken aback!

It is an interesting city that has not failed to surprise me. Today is my last day before checking out of the hotel (the Kempinski is excellent if anyone finds themselves here). I have been confined to my room trying to get some work done. Other than odd stolen minutes leaning out of the window to take in daily life I have been glued to my screen. The stolen moments were beginning to feel normal: I have grown used to the physical appearance of people here (very striking); the erratic driving is becoming passe; the changing light as thunder clouds steal the sky from the searing sun though still special is almost expected. However, as I enjoyed watching a group of older gentlemen chewing the cud I raised my line of sight above and beyond the buildings nearby. It is in so doing that I am constantly reminded that I am not in Kansas anymore.

Peppered along the surrounding mountains are a multitude of gers. Where suburban sprawl and 2.43 kids would occupy the fringes of a European city; nomadic Mongols and their horses take up station in Ulaanbaatar. It feels as though we are surrounded by people from another age who are laying seige to us. I can't wait to explore more tomorrow...

Mongolian of the day:- camel :: temee

moving house in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-13T15:39:00.005+02:00

Today we found an apartment in Ulaanbaatar. The Russians took control of Mongolia from the Chinese in the 1920's. The Chinese had been long-term rulers and very unpopular with the locals. The Russians were hailed as saviours and are still regarded highly, despite Mongolia breaking free from their hold at the fall of the Soviet block. Anyway, while the Soviets were in place the Politburo (governing body of the Communist Party) needed somewhere nice to stay while they were in Mongolia. And so they built some lavish apartments in the mountains overlooking the city.

The apartments came complete with pool, sauna, snooker room, private cinema, gym, gardens and high security. It just so happens that since the fall of the Eastern Bloc these apartments have been in need of some TLC. That TLC appeared in the last few years and the apartments have recently become residence to some of the more interesting Mongolian families, as well as a couple who normally live in the Basque Country that are moving in on Friday...

Mongolian of the day:- thanks :: bayarlalaa

horseplay in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-12T10:36:00.006+02:00

Every year just outside Ulaanbaatar there is a horse race. It is a horse race quite unlike any I have ever heard about. Two hundred children aged between five and twelve set off on five year old ponies across the breathtaking Mongolian countryside. After rounding several hills and rising several valleys their final furlongs come into sight some 25 kilometres later. Streaming down the last valley they are met by the tumultous roars of an eager crowd. The entire city comes out to watch the spectacle. After almost two hourse of racing several more able riders break from the bunch and charge with lung-bursting effort towards the glory and fame that awaits one of them. Horses are a big deal in Mongolia and this event is the pinnacle of horse related matters. After the race for five year old ponies comes the more important race for two year olds, again ridden by children.

For several days in advance rich horse-owning Mongolian families will have been camped in their gers readying their horses for the event. Gambling is prohibited but you can tell this is as much of a money game as it is a sport. The child-jockeys are incredible. Let alone it being tough for a pony to run for 25 kilometres, having a child ride them at full pelt while retaining full control is some feat. Each year half a dozen or so children fail to complete the race; generally they are trampled asunder as the race commences with few surviving. To win a race though means grace and favour for the jockey and his family. Until recently the sweat of a five year old pony was deemed to bring good luck with multitudes of supporters thronging the horses as they neared the end of the race. This resulted in further accident so the last few kilometres now have a small makeshift fence. The atmosphere is one of carnival; one of the most wonderful carnivals I could ever imagine. If you ever get the chance it is well worth the 5am alarm call and two hour drive.

Mongolian of the day:- horse :: moir

war games in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-11T12:33:00.008+02:00

Today in Ulaanbaatar, the annual festival of Naadam began. It is based on Mongolia's love of war games with competitors boasting their skills at wrestling, archery, horse-riding and ... anklebone shooting (?). War is a big theme, Ulaanbaatar means Red Warrior.

The opening ceremony was a loud colourful affair with enormous credit paid to the country's father and hero, Chinggis Khaan (known as Genghis in the West). A packed stadium, presided over by the president, cheered and whistled as contestants walked the arena accompanied by a bevvy of supporters and pretty girls. Traditionally dressed warriors fired arrows at full speed while others chopped off would-be heads with their swords. It was exhausting to watch with so much happening at once, all set to traditional throat-singing Mongolian music. A wonderful entree into cultural life here.

Following the ceremony, the games began. The wrestling competition was a pyramid with winners progressing to the next level. Many fought at the same time. The winner was the person who threw the other to the floor first. There were lots of wee guys up against giants, but size didn't always win. After winning the fighters do a half embrace and slap each other's bottoms before the winner is given a hat to wear and runs off towards the presidential area to perform an eagle dance. With so many fights taking place simultaneously it was almost impossible to pick and follow a favourite.

The stadium next door housed archery. Archers shot some 100m towards a series of coiled ropes, each 15cm in diameter, that were set out on the ground. The centre coil was coloured red. A group of men stood (dangerously) around the coils and their response to each shot signified success or otherwise. Again we saw the eagle dance. Next to the archery several groups of men sat at what could have been makeshift craps tables. At one end three small bones were piled like cricket bales. Three or so metres away sat the competitors each with a flat piece of wood and a squared chunk of anklebone. The challenge was to flick the anklebone at the targets. This seemed to be the most male oriented of the sports with a good deal of masculine noise being made. A unique experience that promises to be even more so tomorrow...

Mongolian of the day:- war :: dain

underway in Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-10T11:43:00.006+02:00

Arriving in Ulaanbaatar, capital of Mongolia, the last remnants of daylight lit the mountain tops that create a natural bowl around the city. As the plane neared the runway I could see innumerable round tents that are known elsewhere as 'yurts' but in Mongolia are known as 'gers'. The population was once entirely nomadic. Although there are towns other than the capital Ulaanbaatar, there are still many nomadic people travelling the mountains and deserts.

On landing I was informed that there are two reasons why I would have seen so many gers. Firstly, this weekend sees the main national festival Naadam so many people will have travelled to stay with their family for the events (more over the coming days). Secondly, last winter was one of the harshest in the country's history. As such many people have been forced to give up their nomadic ways and move to the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. They have erected the Mongolian version of a shanty town. It looks a lot prettier than those I saw in India or South Africa.

Time for some sleep. Mongolian of the day:- hello :: sain bainuu

from St Jean de Luz to Ulaanbaatar

2010-07-08T16:49:00.004+02:00

I am leaving St Jean de Luz to undertake a long adventure in Mongolia. My family and friends have been exceedingly supportive; in part I assume because it means they get a free holiday cat sitting in my absence. It says something about St Jean de Luz that within a week of mentioning my trip I now have guests staying every single day; so keen are people to experience the town. I hope they enjoy it as much as I do. In the meantime Basque Bylines in Mongolia will be taking up the mantle.

Basque of the day:- adventure :: abentura

things you learn in St Jean de Luz

2010-07-06T19:15:00.005+02:00

My best lesson from 18 months in St Jean de Luz is that no matter how busy and stressed out you are, everything gets done a whole lot easier if you instead sit in the sunshine with a good friend and enjoy a cool, refreshing beer.

Basque of the day:- relax :: erlaxatu

covering your ears in St Jean de Luz

2010-07-04T18:13:00.005+02:00

Sometimes in St Jean de Luz all you want is a bit of peace and quiet. I fully understand that the season has started and shopkeepers are eagerly rubbing their chubby little hands together in anticipation but the biscuit has been well and truly taken this weekend.

3 blokes with 3 instruments have installed themselves for 3 days in the little square beneath my front terrace. Their enthusiasm should be admired, their expertise should not. Castrating cats makes a more harmonious sound.

I have varied musical tastes but have no idea what the instruments they play are called. Nor do I care. The noise lies something between a silent movie piano-score and a drunken Bulgarian mother-in-law singing of her love for dumplings. It is with some trepidation that even the dreaded accordionist seems a better option than this. I can't hear myself think; a plan is needed.

Basque of the day:- war :: gerla

Fete de St Jean de Luz

2010-06-28T10:24:00.009+02:00

This weekend St Jean de Luz enjoyed its wonderful annual festival. The normally brightly coloured town turns black and red for four days as people, houses and shops adorn the traditional Basque colours. Starting on Friday hundreds of children parade through the streets playing drums en route to see the mayor who officially welcomes them and proclaims the festival open. The music continues in many guises for four days. The streets are permanently filled with people enjoying themselves, moving from one group of friends to another, filling one anothers glasses with wine, cider and sangria (though not at the same time).

A myriad of events take place to ensure there are no dull moments: bull running, concerts, beach volleyball (a personal favourite), dancing, fireworks, boat racing. Everything is built around the traditions embedded within the culture and folklore of St Jean de Luz. For four days the sound of laughter fills the air and all is even more fantastical in St Jean de Luz. The weather favoured us with a radiant weekend ensuring that even more liquids were consumed than normal.

There is no doubting the festival is madness. It is a whirlwhind of a weekend with little sleep and a lot of socialising. Marking progress I was amazed at how many people I knew as I walked amongst friends over the weekend. Last year's festival was excellent but I had been an outsider. This year I most definitely felt a part of it.

The festival marks the end of the quieter period. It is the last chance before summer for all locals to enjoy themselves as a group. From next week until the start of September the main tourist season is upon us. St Jean de Luz remains wonderful, as does its ambience, but it has a different more party like feel. From next week onwards most people will be here with the sole purpose of enjoying themselves (god forbid) and the locals will largely be working hard to ensure that everybody does just that. They never fail.

Basque of the day:- party :: besta

cocktails in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-19T11:50:00.004+02:00

Last night I drank too many cocktails in St Jean de Luz. For a change, given my mother is in town, we headed to the bar of the Grand Hotel. It is an upmarket place overlooking the sea and probably the swankiest bar in town. They also mix a superb cosmopolitan and a dashing vodka-martini. There is a good, relaxed atmosphere in plush yet not stuffy surroundings and the staff are excellent. We met some lovely people from a wide mix of places (New York, Dublin, Biarritz, Paris). It's always interesting to hear visitors opinion of St Jean de Luz; it generally reaffirms why we chose to live here. This morning I regret that the cocktails tasted too good.

Basque of the day:- hangover :: biharamun

the cost of living in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-18T15:53:00.005+02:00

I had one task to do today in St Jean de Luz. I wanted to buy a nice lettuce for dinner tonight. After breakfast, around 1030, I set out for the market. By 1130 I was still only halfway there. It is all of 700 metres from my home but it being a sunny morning everybody was out and about catching up on local news and gossip (of which there tends to be lots). I had to do my bit. Around this time I received a message that a lovely new friend was taking coffee up the road so I was willingly obliged to go and meet her. Following this I remembered that my dance class was about to start which in turn made me hungry thus forcing me to take a late lunch. There were lots of locals in the cafe watching the football so I stuck around to enjoy the atmosphere. I got home 5 minutes ago. No lettuce. It's now raining and I have another coffee at 5 before drinks at 7. I have decided to stop work for the day and take an hour out of my hectic schedule to read a book.

To the uninitiated this might sound like a workshy sort of day. Let me assure you that I feel suitably fatigued for a Friday. More importantly, this is the way things get down here. It's who you know that matters, and more importantly, what gossip you know. Life in St Jean de Luz is exhausting.

Basque of the day:- busy :: lanpetu

spa day in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-17T11:55:00.004+02:00

Overnight St Jean de Luz picked up the weather that has wreaked havoc on the Cote d'Azur. It has lost little of its gusto as it traversed the Pyrenees. The sea is boiling, the sky is sinking and there is only one thing for it, a day of thalassotherapy.

The Helianthal in St Jean de Luz offers a fabulous spa experience. It is located right on the beach; you can literally walk into the sea from the swimming pool. The spa has a very strangely shaped waist deep pool filled with warm sea water. Around one side are arranged a series of jets positioned to pummel various parts of the body. Another part of the pool is a jacuzzi, another offers a strong current to swim against. There are semi-submberged beds to lie on that are tickled with fizzing bubbles. An excellent hammam offers an opportunity to sweat out impurity, as does the sauna. Finally there is my favourite, the 'cascades ecossais' - Scottish waterfall - a downpour of icy water. It sure beats the weather outside, my poor plants.

Basque of the day:- storm :: ekaitz

keeping slim in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-15T16:39:00.005+02:00

People in St Jean de Luz eat and drink more than I think fair given how slim and healthy the majority are. Meals often contain fattier foods (such as hams, fois gras or duck), rarely include much by way of vegetable or salad and are always washed down with wine.

Baffled by how they manage to retain their happy, svelte glow I have uncovered a secret. This secret also serves to explain something that has annoyed and confused us Anglo Saxons for decades. Lunch is the main meal and is enjoyed slowly over several hours. This gives the body plenty of time before bedtime to fully digest the meal and detoxify the alcohol. It also serves to relax the mind and provoke social behaviour. Supper is often little more than a small morsel.

Breakfast like a king; lunch like a prince; supper like a pauper. Perhaps the adage should read: 'missing' lunch is for wimps.

Basque of the day:- food :: jaki

Louis XIV returns to St Jean de Luz

2010-06-14T10:34:00.005+02:00

On this day 350 years ago St Jean de Luz was waking up with its biggest ever hangover. Yesterday in 1660 Louis XIV married Marie Theresa Infanta of Spain (daughter of Philip IV). This concluded the Treaty of the Pyrenees and finally brought peace between France and Spain.

The wedding took place in Eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste and being who he was Louis XIV insisted that the door he and his wife exited by was immediately bricked up so that noone else could have a marriage like his; so pedantic.

To celebrate the anniversary St Jean de Luz has held events all week culminating in a ceremonial mass at church followed by a re-enactment of the wedding festivities. Baroque music filled the air as revellers in large hats danced around merrily. Macarons also had their first airing for the wedding 350 years ago and as such the town's principal macaron maker, Maison Adam, was offering its delicious fare to hungry onlookers.

St Jean de Luz was chosen for the wedding not simply because the weather here is so good. Louis XIV was also known as the Sun King but had more political motivation behind his choice of venue. St Jean de Luz is the exact midpoint between Paris and Madrid.

Basque of the day:- wedding :: ezkontza

global events in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-11T17:05:00.005+02:00

For the next few weeks there will be little escape from the football world cup, not even in St Jean de Luz. I am not the greatest football fan but cannot ignore how good it is that this event is taking place in Africa. In the midst of so much depressing news coming out of Korea, Palestine et al it is reassuring that a country less than a generation ago deemed amongst the worst has come so far. There is little chance of South Africa winning the tournament, but that is really not the point. Harmonious geographical and cultural collectiveness is more important to the world cup than winning; for once taking part whether in person or in absentia is what is important. It showcases the modern role and opportunity sport has locally and on the global stage in tearing down divisions and unifying peoples.

Basque of the day:- unity :: batasun

Backhanded compliments in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-10T18:28:00.004+02:00

This week has as ever been a social one in St Jean de Luz. I started singing and dancing in order to meet people. Little did I realise that doing such things as an 'outsider' (etranger) would seemingly endear me so readily with the Basque people. I can never quite tell whether they think it is lovely or hilarious that I am throwing myself into things. Regardless it is nigh on impossible to walk down the street without having to stop for a chat. Given the many places I have had the pleasure of living this is the first time that I feel cradled by a real sense of community.

However, this does not come without certain drawbacks. Yesterday a local friend commented:
"Chris, you really do seem to be enjoying yourself"
"Thank you" I replied, "living here it is difficult not to."
"You really seem to enjoy the food here."

That was quite enough of that. I didn't need to hear anymore. Two weeks before the big town festival and beach season proper. Two weeks to avoid such statements being repeated. It's odd, in the UK I am of average shape; here I am seen as rather large. That says something.

Basque of the day:- diet :: jan-edanak

stage debut in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-09T12:59:00.008+02:00

I am still not sure how it actually happened but I allegedly danced Flamenco on stage in St Jean de Luz last Saturday. The ever-lovely Fabienne organised an end of dance season concert at the jai alai (normally the home of pelota). From 0900 on Saturday and for 18 hours thereafter I was at her beck and call.

The day began with a full rehearsal. Over 100 people were involved ranging in age from 4 to 84. I was one of 7 men and would mostly be the only chap on stage at any one time albeit surrounded by a bevvy of brightly attired alluring ladies. Rehearsal good, waiting bad.

The last time I had been on stage I was seven years old and had just won the Edinburgh Schools Robert Burns Poetry Recital Award; I forgot every word and vowed I would never again take to the boards. As the start time neared and the hall filled my nerves began to get the better of me. There would be nearly 500 people watching, including a large group of my friends who promised they would make large amounts of noise in support - how much I looked forward to that.

I had two Sevillanas and one Tangos allegedly committed to memory. The first routine was some twenty minutes into the programme. The longest twenty minutes I can remember. Thankfully my obvious nervousness was greeted by much reassuring hugging by the ladies present - there is always a silver lining.

I heard the first strains of our first song and stepped trepidously into the overpowering limelight. The moment we began to move all sense of trepidation dissipated (footage here). What followed was one of the most enjoyable evenings I have ever had.

Two hours flew past and I regained sense around midnight sitting at a table with forty other revellers and clasping a large pitcher of sangria. As I staggered home around 0300 I decided that it had indeed been a resounding success. Three years ago I was working in the City; now I sing Basque, drink sangria and spend weekends dancing Flamenco with hundreds of women. How times change.

Basque of the day:- change :: aldaketa

a constant in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-04T19:36:00.003+02:00

Today I have mostly been sitting in my house in St Jean de Luz. I am getting a new front door. The builders turned up as promised at 0800 (a surprise). They worked dilligently for several hours before asking for water. Once watered they said they would take lunch. This was around 1100. They had done well thus far so I couldn't say anything. Therein lies the schoolboy error that has so often been manipulated by builders worldwide. Lunch lasted until 1800. During this time my home was open to anyone who fancied a nosey. I was a prisoner. Normally not a problem but today was the perfect beach day and I was forced to work instead. My door has finally been installed. It's horrid and I hate it.

Basque of the day:- lazy :: alfer

the things you do in St Jean de Luz

2010-06-03T12:21:00.005+02:00

There's never a dull day in St Jean de Luz, let alone a dull week or month. Following on from the Festival Andalou (three days of raging sunshine, sangria, dancing, tapas, socialising and general festivalness) people around town have been on a high. The festival season is upon us.

I followed up my dancing exploits with a quick spot of Basque choralling at Musee Basque in Bayonne and a good deal of dance practice with the ladies. This weekend presents the end of year Flamenco spectacle - the fruits of Fabienne's labour. All has gone swimmingly until I pulled a muscle in my back yesterday - no honestly I did...

Every morning at 0730, lunchtime at 1200 and evening at 2000 the eglise St Jean Baptiste is eager to let us know that we should be eating. Rather than the simple peeling; we are offered three peels by three different bells each increasing in pitch. This is followed by 30 peels of the main bell. My bedroom faces the church and at this time of year the French windows are open overnight. There is no chance of my having a long lie in the morning.

Basque of the day:- regular :: ohizko

time for fiesta in St Jean de Luz

2010-05-21T16:35:00.004+02:00

Here we go, three hours until the fiesta begins in St Jean de Luz. This weekend sees the Festival Andalou which translates as much dancing, drinking and eating. It is based largely on the promenade with several restaurants opening their doors to revellers for bespoke parties. On the promenade the 'casetas' (small tents serving sangria and tapas) are open pretty much all night long. The camp is centred around a stage on which more able flamenco dancers dance while we follow suit below. During the day there is non-stop dancing including numerous mass beginners classes which are good fun. At night flamenco oriented bands make sure nobody falls asleep. With the weather forecast to touch 30C and the sea views being hospitably panoramic this promises to be a good weekend. Sunday is the main event. I will report back.

In addition to the festival there is the small matter of a rugby cup final involving the local team Biarritz as well as a swanky private party that my choir are singing at on Saturday evening. I had my first ever siesta this afternoon anticipating that I won't sleep at all between now and Monday. Life in the Basque country continues to be stressful.

Basque of the day:- party :: jai

fags and bikes in St Jean de Luz

2010-05-18T13:18:00.004+02:00

I saw a classic contradiction this morning in St Jean de Luz as I headed out to the boulangerie for my daily croissants and baguette. There was a man in a Basque beret smoking a cigarette whilst standing beside his bike. A normal enough occurrence until I looked more closely. His brand of cigarette and bike were both Gitane. I believe it means 'gypsy woman'.

Who'd have thought that the same name would be used to sell two very different types of lung buster. They also do guitars.

Basque of the day:- esklabua :: slave

embarassing admission in St Jean de Luz

2010-05-13T18:44:00.007+02:00

I've mentioned before that St Jean de Luz is a fairly suave place. I live in the centre of town so I like to hope that a little of that sophistication has rubbed off on me. However, there is a pastime I enjoy that I am compelled to keep secret. Even my wife only found out about it last year. it is something about which my friends would ridicule me and its discovery would certainly lessen my standing amongst the Basque men. I need to share it though, I can't go on any longer living a lie.

I love shopping in supermarkets.

It's not as though this is something new. As a youth, myself and a good artist friend (he knows who he is) used to take delight in people watching at the local supermarket in Edinburgh. There is always such a wild and varied delight of people milling around. It really can be an anthropological insight and treat.

Imagine my delight upon finding Al Campo across the border in Spain. It has to be the largest and most bizarrely stocked offering of its kind. Where Scotland held aisles of ready meals, here we find a thousand varieties of sausage; where Edinburgh presented us with a myriad of fizzy drinks here we find whole aisles stuffed with legs of ham. The clientele is also different and their social patterns as alien as the ingredients I tried to translate.

I feel a new challenge upon me and will endeavour to catalogue the buying behaviours, idle banter and shopping fashions that present themselves over the coming months.

Basque of the day:- shop :: denda

overlooking St Jean de Luz

2010-05-11T11:36:00.009+02:00

The sun shone brightly on St Jean de Luz yesterday. Towering in the background the Pyrenees are omnipresent. Standing proudly at the head of the mountain chain stands La Rhune at 905m high (nearly the same height as Snowdon). Having been here for almost 18 months I figured it was about time I went to the top of the mountain. I've walked its foothills many times but have never taken the time to climb to the top even though it's only a 3 hour hike. However, there is an alternative. A cog-link train drags itself to the summit every 40 minutes or so and proves to be a popular tourist attraction. With my in-laws in tow we set forth.

It reminded me of being on a big dipper as we cranked our way upwards, I just hoped that once we reached the top we wouldn't be hurtling down the other side at stomach wrenching speeds. Not so. Dotted across the mountainside were 'pottok' ponies. A breed unique to the Pyrenees and akin to Shetland ponies. Circling above them various birds of prey sought out their next meal.

The view from up there is quite amazing. The Basque country is laid out below. To the north the beaches stretch up towards Bordeaux. To the south San Sebastian reminds you of lunch. Westwards the mountains rise and fall into the distance and eastwards St Jean de Luz glistens by the Atlantic. Even my mother-in-law was impressed.

Basque of the day:- view :: ikusmen

incredulity in St Jean de Luz

2010-05-08T20:58:00.005+02:00

I sit frustrated in St Jean de Luz this evening. I am supposed to be in England to celebrate my dear friend Peter's important birthday but have had to bend to the whim of the force that is Nature. Darn those blasted inconvenient geological seismic shifts. Most airports in Spain have been closed all day due to volcanic ash with southern France and Portugal following suit. Twice aviation has been affected by volcanic activity and twice I have been caught out. For those that fear there may be some correlation, my next flight is scheduled for May 20th!

Today was VE Day. The town of St Jean de Luz is ardent in its continued support and remembrance of the Allied victory, with particular importance paid to the Resistance who were very active in these parts. A small troop of servicemen marched into town from Ciboure where a small service was held amidst the pomp, circumstance and music that the Basques serve up so well. Afterwards we were all ushered to the town hall for canapes and wine. Nothing is ever complete unless a glass or two are shared.

Talking of which, here's to you from far too far away Mr Bell, I am so sorry we couldn't be with you.

Basque of the day:- happy birthday :: zorionak

April comes late in St Jean de Luz

2010-05-07T18:55:00.003+02:00

April was an unseasonably sunny affair in St Jean de Luz with long unproductive hours spent on the beach. Lazy days were puckered by meandering Parisians wearing the latest season's styles (lots of short skirts with brightly painted wellies?!).

Now that May is upon us, usually one of the warmest months, the weather has turned for the worse. It has rained every day thus far and there was even snow reported in some parts of the Basque country.

Thankfully the singing, dancing, eating and greeting season is in full swing so we are being kept warm by conviviality and rarely have a moment to moan about the weather - it would be nice to get back on the beach soon though...

Basque of the day:- weather :: eguraldi

back on form in St Jean de Luz

2010-05-03T11:38:00.006+02:00

After an absence of two months from St Jean de Luz I returned just as the festival season was getting underway (quelle domage!). This weekend saw the choir holding a wee dinner for us newer members. Having been absent for a while I dodged having to cook anything but did take along a couple of bottles of malt whisky by way of enforcing a modicum of Scottishness.

My experience of meals with guys is fish and chips or perhaps at a push a barbecue. Not so in the Basque country. We started with 4kg of huge crevettes, freshly made mayonnaise with crab, smoked salmon and several large plates of meats. This was only the entree. Main course served up duck breast and pigeon on a bed of pureed potato in a shallot and garlic jus. Dessert presented five enormous chocolate and passion fruit gateau, all courtesy of Alain our singing patissier. Washed down by two dozen bottles of red wine (plus my whisky) our throats were adequately lubricated to enable sporadic forrays into Basque song.

Unlike chaps back home, the Basque men worked as a cohort and I was quickly seconded to chop herbs, wash dishes and serve wine. It was effortless and, dare I say it, working the kitchen was fun. I guess living in a matriarchal society (which the Basque country is) we men need to find solace where we can.

[Apologies for absence: Egypt, Scotland, Sudan, England, Spain, with a bit of volcano thrown in...]

Basque of the day:- absence :: ez izate

a wild weekend in St Jean de Luz

2010-03-02T11:50:00.006+01:00

Sometimes it takes until Tuesday to recover from a weekend in St Jean de Luz. Fabienne was stricter than ever bossing our flamenco class on Friday afternoon. We struggled to get our pasadas, zapateados and vuelta izquierdas in order but she was unrelenting. Saturday night was presenting the biggest soiree of the season so far and our teacher was adamant we would do well.

Once I had recovered suitably a friend joined me for dinner (and wine) to watch France play Wales at rugby. Afterwards we joined friends in several bars around town to discuss France's resounding victory and celebrate until the first signs of daylight started to appear. So much for the alleged Basque lack of hospitality; I was readily accepted by the gang and met far more people than names I can remember, let alone prounouce - Basque names can be...interesting.

Most of Saturday was wasted but I roused myself as evening approached and readied myself for the main event. I was acting taxi for the evening which was most welcomed given the previous night. I picked up my partner for the evening before meeting the rest of our group. Driving in convoy towards the Spanish border the storm that has marred the past few days began to raise its head. An enormous fire on La Rhune burned uncontrollably being driven widely by the wild winds. We arrived in Fue nterrabia and headed for the party.

A huge hall presented itself and soon there were some 400 ready revellers; 300 of whom were elegantly attired ladies. Following a hearty dinner of local fares the music struck up. I am always a little nervous at the start of these events and tend to watch from the sidelines to begin with; in part to remind myself of the moves, in part in hope that there is someone who is worse at dancing than me! My rest didn't last long. With only half of the men dancing the ratio of 6:1 meant that my dance-card was preoccupied for some six hours non-stop. The hard practice Fabienne had put us through paid off and we all astonished ourselves. I used to think I was fit but I was in urgent need of fresh air to cool down between every second dance; it is unrelenting and exhausting (I lost four pounds).

[Click here for video]

The colours and movement were mesmerising; the sounds and smiles elating; the laughter and sense of belonging overwhelming. It is a real privilege to be an outsider allowed to enjoy and partake in something that is so different. At 0300 we were still going strong. During one of my cool-down breaks outside I noticed a thermometer, it read 28C reminding me that we were in the eye of a sizeable storm. I had danced more than I believed possible and exhaustedly corralled my passengers. I really wanted to be home before the storm proper arrived. As it happened I slept through it all and only really woke up sometime Monday morning with a broad smile across my face and a not inconsiderable thirst.

Basque of the day:- I belong here :: hemen bertakoa naiz

(FX, thanks for photos!!)

rugby in St Jean de Luz

2010-02-21T17:11:00.004+01:00

Rugby is the most popular sport in St Jean de Luz. Rather than kicking a football, youngsters on the beach play touch rugby. I can name several famous rugby teams from the Basque region (Biarritz, Bayonne, Pau, Dax) but I can't think of one football team. I guess the nearest big team is Bordeaux. Anyway, it is refreshing that the oval rather than round ball dominates.

St Jean de Luz Olympique are mid-table of Pool 5 in the Federale 1 (a number of pools comprise the third division of French rugby). I have been to watch them a few times and given the sun was shining opted to take some fresh air. Today the match was against Mauleon who lie two places below SJLO. Although the sun was shining the wind was howling which made for interesting conditions.

The first half was uneventful, ending 6-6. There were a couple of heated exchanges and SJLO admirably weathered ten minutes down a man after their scrum-half was sin-binned. The second half started more dramatically and SJLO ran in two unanswered tries which they duly converted. Both tries came from quick thinking back play and the visitors quickly became frustrated. Together with a scrum that destroyed the opposition SJLO were never troubled by a lacklustre Mauleon. Mauleon may have edged the punch-ups but it only gave SJLO penalties which they duly scored. SJLO won convincingly 26-6.

What was interesting was the crowd. Given this is Pool 5 of the 3rd division I am always pleasantly surprised that so many people come along and support their team. I am guessing there were over a thousand today. That's more than most of the Premier Division teams in Scotland could dream off, and the tickets are cheaper and beer more readily available. If you find yourself at a loose end on a Sunday in the Basque Country do try and take in a match. It's no suprise the national team is so strong.

Basque of the day:- rugby :: rugby

frustated in St Jean de Luz

2010-02-20T17:25:00.004+01:00

After an active week in St Jean de Luz (skiing, flamenco, running) I aimed to continue my diet regime with a day of raquettes. Heading inland I drove towards the Foret d'Iraty some 70 kilometres away. Passing behind La Rhune the landscape changes quickly. High mountains and steep valleys engulf you. Picturesque Basque villages nestle amongst the forests. As I headed beyond the lovely town of St Jean Pied de Port (Saint John at the foot of the mountains) the road became smaller and the ascent steeper. St Jean Pied de Port was razed to the ground by Richard the Lionheart in 1177 and was once part of the Navarre region of Spain. It is still a Basque bastion with the language spoken widely here.

Rising above the valley the road started to challenge my vertigo. The views were enormous but I was intent on focusing on the road. I soon reached the snow line and the drive became slower. With 15km to go snow started to appear on the road and fall from above. The going became ever slower. Cars could be seen deserted at the side of the road. I put on my snow chains and ventured on upwards, slowly. The trees were thickly coated in snow and the temperature plunged. With 2km to go I stopped. Ahead of me on the hill were a line of abandoned cars. Cutting my losses I reluctantly headed back to St Jean de Luz. The winter braderie is on this weekend so I cheered myself up with some retail therapy. I will try again next week.

Basque of the day:- danger :: arrisku

skiing near St Jean de Luz

2010-02-19T11:03:00.007+01:00

There is a lot of skiing to be had near St Jean de Luz. Within a short car journey you can be at any one of 25 resorts in the Pyrenees. Given the snowfall we had this week skiing was top of the agenda. Setting off before breakfast we headed to Bareges La Mongie. It's about two hours away on the other side of Lourdes (which is handy if you break a bone on the piste).

Bareges is a good sized resort with more than enough skiing for everyone and more importantly, no queues! The sun shone brightly so after lathering on some factor 50 we took the chairlift up the mountain. It was my first outing this season so I was glad to have a couple of youngsters in tow which meant I could justify taking it a little more sedately. That said after eight hours of non-stop skiing my legs were killing me. Although the majorty of pistes are blue, many of these would definitely be red in other resorts. Similarly many of the reds are more akin to black - be warned! Given the temperature (it was hot by mid afternoon) there was a 70% avalanche warning in place which always adds a little spice to the days events. I had forgotten how good the Pyrenees are, far better than the Alps in my opinion. I am planning another trip next week. I hope my legs recover in time.

Basque of the day:- ski :: eski

bringing chocolate to St Jean de Luz

2010-02-09T10:25:00.006+01:00

Over the last year I have had a few heated debates in St Jean de Luz. Often they are about chocolate. Parisians and Belgians insist that all British chocolate is rubbish and that only Continental European chocolate is real chocolate. Other than remind them that the European variety uses powdered milk (rather than real milk) and other chemicals (rather than natural products) I don't rise to the bait. Comparing chocolate from different countries is like comparing girlfriends and boyfriends. Beauty and taste are in the eye of the beholder.

I visited Cadbury's flagship centre of excellence in Bournville yesterday. Here chocolate is not about quick fixes and profit, it genuinely is a way of life. You only need to walk around the vast village to realise that John Cadbury tried and succeeded in creating a workplace that was ethical, effective, happy and still largely unparalleled: lovely houses for workers, village greens, football pitches, swimming pools (one for boys, one for girls), schools, colleges, etc etc. Head chocolate boffin Tony told us about the company's quaker roots, the chocolate making process and his passion for Cadbury. I have never met a more loyal and dedicated staff. Everything is beautifully manicured and everything has a hint of purple (including Bournville train station). It really is a marvel and makes the acquisition by the plastic cheese eaters even more depressing. I don't think the Cadbury culture will sit easily with American efficiency drives, I see a lot of 'streamlining' and 'synergising'.

Factories are wonderful magical places at the best of times. A factory that makes chocolate is simply amazing. The Cadbury factory at Bournville forbids photography which is why they made the documentary film 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory' starring Gene Wilder (and later Johnny Depp) - fact; the film is based on this factory. Bournville is named after the little river Bourn that runs through it and a desire to be fashionably French. Man and robot dance forever in enormous rooms that smell of the finest chocolate. Conveyor belts carry millions and millions of chocolates miles and miles around innumerable bulidings. It is an awesome place (in the true sense, not as in 'this is an awesome hotdog').

Victorian architecture houses cutting edge technology and the staff, very few of whom were three feet tall and yellow, are all happy. Who couldn't be happy working in a wonderful place like this. They also have the staff shop (I bought 30 Creme Eggs, 4 Easter Eggs, 20 Buttons, 2kg Dairy Milk, 20 Fingers (for 2 regular readers!) all for under a tenner - marvellous!). As we were leaving I noted a particular favourite, the Cadbury Club complete with its own beer festival. Words can't do Bournville justice, it is unique. It won't disappear because of the sale but I fear some of the magic will be lost forever.

Basque of the day:- badger :: azkonar

taking time in St Jean de Luz

2010-02-05T08:57:00.006+01:00

The main street in St Jean de Luz is called Rue Gambetta. It runs parallel to the beach for about a kilometre; from the commercial Boulevard Thiers to the picturesque Place Louis XIV. It is a pedestrianised street filled with quaint Basque home above a myriad of shops (butchers, bakers, Basque linen makers etc.). It is one of the key destinations for the many visitors the town receives each day.

In November 2008 they began to dig up the road to install cabling of various sorts. Workers would dig up vast tracks of street from Monday to Thursday and then fill them in again on Friday before the weekend. The noise and mess has been totally disruptive. Rather than focus on getting a bit done at a time whoever was boss was adamant that they do the whole street at the same time. For a crew of twenty this was no small undertaking. As such progress was achingly slow. It has been truly painful to watch. Each morning shopkeepers stand horror-struck that yet another month has passed with no advancement. It really didn't look like a difficult job but they were doing their very best to make it so.

Before summer came last year they downed tools, patching the holes as best they could. Summer obviously lasts longer wherever the workers are from, they didn't start back until mid December, just in time to ruin Christmas trade for the shopkeepers. However, the magical construction pixie has clearly been up to his old tricks recently. The street is finally being completed. It is beginning to look like it did fourteen months ago. Rumour is that it will be finished by Easter. I wouldn't wager any chocolate eggs on this. I've seen bigger jobs completed in a fortnight but fair play to these guys for milking out a project for so long, what are the bets they're paid by the hour?

Basque of the day:- time :: denbora

Sunday lunch in St Jean de Luz

2010-02-01T10:30:00.007+01:00

A friend from St Jean de Luz invited me for Sunday lunch yesterday. When I accepted I hadn't appreciated lunch would last almost ten hours. They never seem to do things as you'd expect in these parts.

We gathered for an aperitif or two in a wee bar in Ciboure, across the port from St Jean de Luz. We were twelve strong and readily became friends, once again the Basque stereotype for frostiness was shattered. Heading towards lunch I had no idea what to expect. More and more people began walking in the same direction. By the time we arrived at the town square there were several hundred people, four bands (ranging from traditional Basque pipes to funky-brass), a twenty strong male choir and most importantly a huge bar. Sunday lunch was clearly going to be a lot more than the roast beef I had imagined.

To celebrate the end of its week-long annual festival Ciboure held a lunch for the town. A huge tent was erected in the square with everyone seated at four immensely long trestle tables. At one end the bar area, at the other a dance-floor and stage for music. No sign of any Yorkshire pudding. Our group sat in the middle of the throng, who had clearly been enjoying a glass or two more than was customary for this hour but being Scottish I felt the least I could do was throw myself into things wholeheartedly, I succeeded.

By the time the first course arrived we had sung loudly whilst swaying rhythmically. There was a Bavarian beer-cellar feel to the place and I wasn't complaining. I also prefer sangria and red wine over warm, flat beer. We ate for several hours breaking only to pour another glass of wine or break into song. I was grateful for having joined a Basque choir and proudly demonstrated to my new friends that I knew the words to their songs. At the time I felt I sang well but this morning I fear not.

Before long it was seven in the evening and the Patxaran was pouring plentifully. We had been dancing and drinking, singing and eating for over six hours and there was little sign of it stopping. There was also no sign of sticky toffee pudding and custard, this was no normal Sunday lunch. I'm not quite sure when I got home but I'm finding today more of a struggle than normal for Monday. The next time a friend asks me for lunch, rather than asking what time we're to meet, I should really ask what time it's likely to end.

Basque of the day:- time :: denbora

from St Jean de Luz to St James's Park

2010-01-25T12:07:00.008+01:00

Taking a break from St Jean de Luz (it is so exhausting and stressful) I have headed back to my old haunts in London. It's been a wee while since I was last here and I was immediately assaulted by the sheer volume of people. I used to laugh when countryside friends would make such comments but the worlds bigger cities do seem to be getting busier...

One of London's most endearing qualities is its complex enthnicity. Within an hour of arriving I met people from every continent and many countries from within each. The multi-culturalism creates a liberal and accepting generic culture, but one that unfortunately also houses hidden resentments. St Jean de Luz, and the Basque country as a whole, is far less populated and its people largely one and the same. The Basque face can be readily recognised. While there is an enormous sense of community that has been largely lost elsewhere in Europe this can lead to a little sceptism about 'outsiders'.

It seems that people everywhere are nervous about people that look or sound different. While outright dismissal is abhorrent, it can be equally dangerous to embrace without understanding, I guess a little learned apprehension can be a good thing. As an outsider seeking acceptance I feel it is my duty to understand my new society and make every effort to learn its ways rather than expecting it to bend to mine but without forgetting my Scottish heritage. Creating local interest in my differences seems to have helped break down barriers and speed up integration. Life is interesting.

Basque of the day:- travel :: bidaiatze

recharging in St Jean de Luz

2010-01-21T09:43:00.008+01:00

January is definitely my favourite month in St Jean de Luz. Christmas is still a happy memory, I have survived another birthday, it can only get warmer, ski-season has started and it is tranquil, beautifully so. It is the one month of the year when there are next to no tourists. Everyone is truly relaxed in their work, or on holiday. This is not entirely down to there being fewer visitors, much of it is to do with lazily recovering from excessive eating and drinking.

Christmas in the Basque country is a surprisingly social affair. On Christmas Day friends asked round for a quick aperitif that stretched into a dozen bottles of champagne, a trencher of oysters, kilo of foie gras and several langoustines; this was before lunch. Similarly, we joined friends deep in the Pyrenees for a splendid New Year's Eve supper that we hadn't quite expected to contain a dozen courses lasting as many hours. We ate, drank and partied solidly for two weeks and are only now beginning to eat again.

One of the weirder observations was the Basque version of Santa Claus. Rather than the Coca-Cola inspired fat bloke in red they have Olentzero. Dressed in black, including fetching face mask, effigies of him can be seen dreeping from windows throughout the Basque country. He bears a not uncanny resemblance to a thief and fear he may have been responsible for more than one car crash over the years. His name translates as "time of the good ones" and is said to correspond to the old feast of the winter solstice which makes him older than Christmas (which originated in 380AD as a festival). The man himself was allegedly one of the race of giants that lived in the Pyrenees in days of yore, others say he was a hero orphan raised by fairies. Whatever the origin, it is yet another pointer that Basque culture predates all others in Europe.

Anyway, it's good to be back to normal. I am just glad we have this month at the start of each year to recharge our batteries before the imminent festival season begins. Off to the beach for some fresh air, it's a tough life here...

Basque of the day:- refresh :: freskatu

drinking and singing all night in St Jean de Luz

2009-12-21T15:40:00.006+01:00

This weekend St Jean de Luz started to fill up with Christmas spirit. My choir were on duty. Meeting mid afternoon at our clubhouse in the port we crammed into the back of a transit van and headed for Biarritz. Assembling outside Maison Adam, the owner sings tenor with us, we broke into a variety of traditional Basque Christmas songs. Far from being carols the songs are upbeat and more folksy than religious. All very rousing, we attracted a significant crowd. Between songs the lovely girls that work in the shop ensured we were fueled by wine, chocolates and macarons. By the time it started getting dark we headed back to St Jean de Luz and the main event.

Gathering in one of the trinquets (a very Basque place where pelota is played) we enjoyed more wine before heading into the centre of town. Walking en masse with two of our more seasoned campaigners leading the way with large wooden sticks (our costume is that of the mountains) we were immediately the centre of attention. First we sang at a tapas bar, then outside another chocolatier on Rue Gambetta before moving to Place Louis XIV where we set up outside the main Maison Adam. Wearing Basque costume, including large floppy berets, we sang loudly and well. By the time we had finished our set in the Place the shops had closed. I had also sussed that the singing was centred around food and drink. Unbeknown to me the main event was about to start. A traditional event dating back decades and longer, a very Basque event that I was to feel exceedingly fortunate to be part of.

To kick-start the evening we had been invited to sing at the opening party of a new gallery by a famous local painter. He had painted our accordianist as the centrepiece of one of his favourite works. After canapes and wine we moved to Le Petite Grill Basque for more singing, wine, piquillos, crevettes and oysters. Next up one of the main bars in town where the local celebrity group Arin Luzien was practicing, complete with mandolins and other assorted Basque instruments. We combined and sang more, accompanied by a myriad of locals and several bottles of wine. Moving on we arrived at another restaurant where the local fire brigade were holding their Christmas party. Again more singing and more beer. From here, across the river into Ciboure and to Chez Mattin where we set up camp beside the bar. As the evening drew on more and more Basque was spoken, songs became increasingly passionate and the brethren ever more close. It was about midnight when we finished at Chez Mattin. The snow was falling heavily outside so we took a break to enjoy a snowball fight before moving on.

Heading back towards the port in Ciboure we descended upon a bar next to the fronton. Despite the hour, weather and quiet streets the bar was mobbed. We heightened the revelries into the small hours as the barmen kept the flow of beer moving in our direction. I was quite bewildered. I had expected a sedate rendition or two in town, not twelve hours of drinking, singing and socialising. In St Jean de Luz everybody knows everybody else. To have been at the heart of such a local group and embraced by the throng was a delight, something I dare say few other 'outsiders' can lay claim to. Around half two we left the bar, I presumed for home, not so. We still had our own private party to contend with. Back at our clubhouse we set about a feast of marinated veal, song and more wine.

I have no idea when we finished or how I got home but I did wake the following morning feeling exceedingly satisfied at having been part of something quite special. I also seem to recognise many more faces as I walk around town. Slowly, slowly, I think I am being accepted. Before arriving in these parts I had been warned that the Basques are notoriously unfriendly and that it's difficult to get on with them unless your family has lived here for generations. I am yet to experience this and think it's just an image they convey in order to keep unwanted visitors at bay.

Basque of the day:- thank you :: eskerrik asko

free wine in St Jean de Luz

2009-12-18T08:50:00.005+01:00

At Christmas-time the many choirs of St Jean de Luz wander the streets in Basque costume singing traditional seasonal folk songs. My excellent choir, basically twelve blokes who like to drink but also sing brilliantly, are starting in Biarritz at 4pm tomorrow and then back to St Jean de Luz for the evening session. The choirs are amateur but receive payment in kind. We tend to stop and sing outside preferred chocolatiers, patisseries and restaurants. As such we receive fresh chocolates, macarons and glasses of wine. We cheat, the patron of Maison Adam sings with us so we are guaranteed fine fare.

It will be the first time I have worn Basque costume: mountain shoes (black boots that lace up the leg); thick white socks; dark trousers tucked into socks; white top; rough woollen dark overcoat; dark Basque beret. The songs sung in Basque at Christmas are very different from those I am used to. I had hoped it would be the usual carols using music I know but with words translated. Not so. The songs are very local and tell of snowy mountains, family and of course love of a beautiful women (a traditional Basque theme).

Heavy snow has fallen overnight on the surrounding mountains. The mighty La Rhune that stands proudly at the end of the Pyrenees staring out at the Atlantic has turned white. The cold is set to last. My wife finally returns home tomorrow after six months in London so I hope the airport stays open.

Basque of the day:- snow :: elur