#walking party

My guide and intrepid umbrella man.

An authentic French experience in the Auberge du Bois.

Wine tasting at the fire side with Minette Constant at Béthouzet.

A carefully picked picnic site with a view of the Pyren-ankles.

James and Diana source the most authentic ingredients.

Diana’s picnics were always a welcome sight.

A selection of local cheese and “fromage” des quince.

The sturdy Basque ponies resemble the Basques in so many ways.

On the look out for customs officers on the border between France and Spain.

Men sporting Basque berets in the col de Nive.

I have just returned from a week’ walking in the French Basque county, if there is such a thing as French Basque, with James and Diana Tamlyn.

Enthusiastic francophiles, James and Diana moved out to France in 1994 and have found that conducting their own brand of walking holidays is the perfect outlet for their love of France and in particular the food, wine and landscape. I found their knowledge of this particular trinity to be much deeper that the average francophile.

It is safe to say I have never been on a walking holiday quite like it. James casts himself in the role of eccentric Englishman abroad and more specifically on safari. There were no wild animals but wherever he pointed his brolly I would follow.

Their unique approach is to recreate the intimate atmosphere of an extended dinner party and have hence named their company the Walking Party. At no time did it feel formal or organised – although I am certain it was – and I came away feeling I had known James and Diana and the other six, Australian, guests since birth

http://www.thewalkingparty.co.uk

Auberge de Bois

The emphasis is firmly on La Belle Vie but James and Diana are anxious that travelling in France should not be a spectator sport where the tourist merely looks on. Therefore on  the first night we were bussed to the Auberge de Bois near Saveterre-de-Béarn – best described as a hunters’ cafe. When we entered the only other diner scowled to the point that his mono brow merged with the top of his thick framed glasses. Man and spectacles were one.

It was the kind of place where everyone is served at long tables and all the crockery and cutlery you will need is piled up neatly before you. The crockery was almost translucent and the cutlery somewhat lightweight.

The, first course, was a tasty vegetable broth served from a steel basin until I could eat no more. There was a chacuterie, roast chicken and frites and then slices of the local Ossau-Iraty cheese. Dessert was a selection of cornettos offered round in a basket. The wine was Corbiere and came in a plastic bottle with a plastic cap that you flick out with your thumb without the delay involved with using a corkscrew. It was more Chateau 3pm Yesterday than a Chateau Y’qem 1959.

Part of the experience was the TV on the wall. Inevitably the conversation would grind to a halt every time Barcelona scored another goal.

Wine Tasting with Minette Constant

The antithesis of this experience was a wine tasting with master of wine Minette Constant in the creaky elegance of Béthouzet, an isolated manoir built in the reign of Louis XV.

An accentless Scot and platinum blonde, Minette led us through seven wines from the south-west. My favourite was a toasty dry white from the Domaine Berthoumeiu -“Les Pierres de Grés” 2012. Wine tastings are ripe for faux-pas. My faux-pas was to declare that one wine reminded me most specifically of the bubble mixture I used to purchase on a seaside holiday for the purposes of blowing bubbles. “I think your nose is being influenced by the odours from the from the log fire,” was Minette’s diplomatic response.

The damage was done however and for seven amateur wine tasters not inclined to use the spitoons the scents of domestic cleaning products were added to our limited wine-vocabulary.

http://www.tastevindumonde.com

http://www.bethouzet.com

Picnics

James and Diana have taken a great deal of care to select picnic spots that are out of the ordinary. The first was in a field under a spreading oak while another was on sloping ground with a clear view over the foothills (Pyren-ankles) of the Pyrenees into Spain (sorry Navarre).

Diana’s carefully prepared picnics featured fresh asparagus, local sausage, lentil salads and cured Basque ham cut from the leg by James. A completely new one on me was truite de Banka (pronounced bonka) – farmed in a natural circumstances as possible the dense pink flesh is testament to the exercise the fish enjoy swimming against the artificially induced currents. It is the trout favoured by the likes of Alain Ducasse.

Borders

I have not yet touched on the walking aspect of the trip. There were many walks and the highlight of the week for me was a walk from near Sare in France, where we were based, to Berra, in Spain. Following the path of contrabandiers (smugglers) with moved through the head height broom and gorse with no stealth whatsoever to the col de Nive or Lepoz Lepo. Even today I am told it is worth crossing the border for cheap fags, drink and petrol.

The border was patrolled by sturdy Basque ponies known as potok. The frontier is, however, only celebrated in the legal mind and not in any sense by the Basques who welcomed us to Navarre rather than Spain.

It was a week of crossing borders and I had to mindful of the small differences between the Béarnais, the Soulais and the Basque. The only one I can actively recall was that as we entered the Basque the shutters on the windows were the deep red of bulls blood.