Biarritz. Nestled deep into the Bay of Biscay on the French side of the fiercely proud Basque region, unwittingly became a symbol of our burgeoning spontaneity on this prolonged European excursion of ours. As some friends might attest, we tend to err on the side of over-planning. However, on a rare sunny day outside Aberdeen while tasting whisky, we started talking with a French couple about the obvious thing travellers have in common; travel. Perhaps it was the dreamy look of recollection of fond memories or maybe it was the enthusiasm when they spoke of the place, we nonetheless decided based on the input of these two people that Biarritz sounded interesting enough that we’d commit it to journey south towards Spain, the eight hour bus ride from Tours notwithstanding.

Without ripping the scabs of the wound of the travel experience from Tours to Biarritz, suffice to say said bus ride never materialized and we instead subjected ourselves to the expensive and breathtakingly frustrating experience of using the French rail system, SNCF. After way too many hours, missed trains on account of delays and odd train number bait-and-switches we rolled into the Biarritz train station having narrowly avoided intentionally taking separate transportation. To be fair though, ever since the gruelling experience between Swinoujscie and Warsaw in May, we had enjoyed very smooth travel so I suppose we were due for a humdinger of a trip; one where I was riding the French rails longing for the timeliness, if not comfort, of the Bulgarian one.

We had ten days in Biarritz to rest up before we were travelling again though and we were glad for it. Where many smaller, southern-esque European towns that attract tourists, often have a small precisely manicured centre that like a movie set exists to project an image the ‘real’ town cannot live up to, Biarritz is not that. For lack of a better word, I would say Biarritz is authentic. It’s a place where locals intermingle with tourists. At least when we were here in early October. The architecture isn’t grandiose, but at the same time, it’s also not understated. It’s undeniably Basque, but it’s not just Basque. It is lively except when it’s not. The market, the obligatory Les Halles, is bustling with commerce. Looki loos, if they were even there, were in distinct minority. The seafood market, which was situated in its own smaller building right next to the main Les Halles building didn’t just sell fish, crustaceans and other oceanic bounty. A popular pastime in this fishy place was to hang out at one of the counters, drink wine and nibble on oysters and the like.

As we’re now entering the penultimate month of our seven month travel stint, we have dialed back the number of day trips to almost zero. Given the mostly fantastic weather, we preferred to simply walk around town and the incredible coastline. Biarritz is not a secret. Its appeal isn’t lost on people. Nonetheless, it still felt like a gem that mostly surfers and seafood aficionados set their sights towards. If recommendations to alter travel plans can go this well, I think we may have to start planning less and just see where recommendations take us.