Zumaia

Last night it rained heavily, the constant drumming waking us on and off. We knew a band of unsettled weather was due to pass through, but didn't expect it to be so bad. This morning, our onward route took us out of Bayonne and inland over the hills. The road in places narrow, and steep. Oh dear Marge, here we go again! At one point the rain came down so heavily, the visibility was almost nothing. These are the moments that scare us, but also steel us. As we were quite close to leaving France, we stopped once again at a supermarket to buy some camembert cheeses, which are very expensive in Spain.

At five minutes to one, we crossed the border into Spain. The weather was now a little more settled, shame we couldn't say the same about the driving, never mind after Italy, we're ready! Our first stop was for fuel. We were in Spain, now and a litre of diesel was 1.19 euros, compared to France at 1.39 euros.

On the way to tonight's aire, we stopped at the coastal town of Getaria, the home town of Juan Sebastain Elcano, the first man to sail around the world. We walked around the town, the rain now gone, and despite the wind it was warm.

Our nostrils were filled with the aromas of fish and meat cooking on barbecues outside the busy restaurants.

We visited the church, where just inside the entrance was Juan Sebastain Elcano's gravestone. The church is unusual, because the stone floor inside is sloping.

Back outside, the sea waters of the Bay of Biscay rolled on to the shore fast and furious.

For the surfers, bobbing in and out of the white foaming waves, paradise.

This evening, just as the sky was darkening, we walked into the town. We stayed here last year, in Marge 1, so this time did not need to see all the sights.

We sauntered along enjoying the warm evening air, despite the breeze. The tall windows of the apartments above the shops and restaurants were open, and we took the opportunity to look in, an intrusion into somebody else's life for a few seconds, just to satisfy our own curiosity.

By nine thirty, the sky was a dark inky blue. For a few moments, the moon appeared, then hastily retreated, pulling the dark curtain over its face.

Across the water, the lights blazed at the ship builders. It reminded us of Poole in Dorset, where the Sunseeker factory operates twenty four hours a day building luxury yachts.

Tomorrow we will continue along the coast of Northern Spain, looking to stop at some of the coves we missed last year, as we motored by on the fast road above.

Here we are right in Basque country, a people with a unique language unrelated to any other.