Donostia Regatta

Jone walked me to the train station Sunday morning to make sure I got my ticket, then I jumped on a train with hundreds of colorfully dressed enthusiasts headed to Donostia. It was regatta weekend!

The traditional rowing races of Donostia started with whaling boats from the different towns competing in friendly rivalries. Today, the rowers pull their carbon fiber txalupa on the same course from the harbor into the open sea and back, about 2km, in less than 12 minutes. Crowds line the seaway with the colors of the teams.

Best seats in the house

Ainhoa, a friend from my time in Graz, met me at the train station wearing the light green of her mother's hometown Hondarribia. They traced in the second heat with Donostia (white) and favorites Orio (yellow) and San Juan (pink). The crowd was breathless until the boats turned and re-entered the bay, at which point the cheering was wild. The winners will be decided this weekend based on combined times from both weekends.

Looking down the sea wall

A fleet of spectator boats follow the last txalupa into the harbor

Gurutze pointed out to me that evening that 10% of the spectators care about the outcome of the race (many have heavy bets on the outcome) and 90% are there for the after party. The flood of people from the harbor into the narrow streets of downtown confirmed that. The atmosphere was electric in Ikatz Kalea, friends greeting each other witha kiss on each check and joshing about the teams they are repping. I followed Ainhoa and her friends from bar to bar (not at all like an American bar or pub) for a small beer, pintxos (Basque tapas) for lunch, meeting friends, talking, kalimotxo, more talking, laughing, kalimotxo, music you couldn't help but dance to... Everyone laughed when I recognized some of the songs thanks to a music swap with Jone five years ago. In fact, I had more people than I could count walk up to me and start speaking in Euskera because I didn't look lost enough to be from out of town. I traded more cheek kisses with random strangers than I ever thought possible.

Teams carry their boats from the quay to their trailers

Portu Kalea (Portu Street) before things got really packed

It went on like this for a solid 6 hours, until Jone called and asked when I was planning on coming back. I looked at my watch and said I'd be on the next train. It was lucky, really, since the wind change that Ainhoa observed resulted in a thunderstorm forming on my heels as I left the city center. It was pouring as the train pulled into the station 15 minutes later, and dripping as I arrived in Tolosa. I walked home in an erie quiet.

As I arrived back at the Amonarriz Zubeldia house, Kike greeted me at the for with a grin and a "how was it?" I went to respond... And nothing! I lost my voice shouting conversations over the music and people! I headed directly to the shower to wash the stockings of a thousand close packed people of my skin.
Gurutze had made one of my favorite dinners that evening, tortilla patata! Around the dinner table Liere, Maddi, Josefa, and I swapped stories. They had been in the same street as I, but we never saw each other. It was that crazy in the streets!
That night I feel asleep faster than I ever had before in the Basque Country..