The Goopy Ice-Scream

Another Monday, another plane to catch. GC and I compromised about the time we wanted to get into the airport, since, as usual, I am the only mad-person amongst my friends who enjoys the thrill of pulling up to my gate half-hour before departure. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, and it has caused me stress, tears, many sprints across the airport, and one missed flight. Yet somehow, I can’t help myself if I’m travelling alone. So under the watchful eye of my travel companion we arrived with the recommended two hours to spare, and got on the flight stress-free.

Now, from London there are no direct flights to San Sebastian, so we had decided to catch a flight to Bilbao, and take a leisurely hour-and-a-bit-ish coach into San Sebastian (€17 for a one-way ticket). The coach-journey was a beaut, but busy. If you’re a bit of a nervous traveller, or just have a bit of an aversion to strangers like I do, it’s worth getting onto the coach earlier rather than later. They sit in the station for a while, so it’s just a matter of hopping on and grabbing seats with your travelling partners. If it’s busy you can always wait for the next one; a half hour isn’t much if you’d be more comfortable next to someone you know, and it is a lengthy ride so definitely something to consider. So I stared out the window at views which made me want to visit every inch of the north of Spain and hike my way around each mountain-top. Filled with lush green expanses, it had the aura of a tropical rainforest: it wasn’t the Spain I’m used to, and I absolutely loved it.

We pulled in at San Seb bus station, and trundled on over to our hostel. I was nervous. I was very nervous. I am very much a person who likes cleanliness and privacy, and ‘hostel’ is not a word that brings those to mind. GC assured me that she’d done her research, we had a private room, and the reviews were all great. Nevertheless the word had baited my anxiety, and I could feel it shifting about, ready to pounce. Turns out, I had zero reason to worry.

Pension Ibai is a place I would definitely recommend. Slap-bang in the middle of town, its location could literally not be more central. The only downside to this is potentially the noise, but it’s towards the edge of the tiny San Sebastian heart, so although it’s not going to be chirping grasshoppers and the soft sea-breeze, it’s not a deal-breaker - and take this from someone who is a very light, very anxious sleeper. In terms of cleanliness? Absolutely spotless. I have literally showered in friends’ places which have caused me much more ew-factor. It essentially felt much more like a bed & breakfast (minus the breakfast) and we were both very happy with choices made.

Next on our list was food: we were absolutely starving. A little wander seemed to suggest that most pintos bars in the area seemed to have a basic-fee of €2.50 per pinxo. Ideal. The wander also revealed that it was foodie-madness all day every day over here, and so it was rammed wherever we went. I have to say though, although I did get a little worked up, it wasn’t a horribly unpleasant kinda busy, like when you are pressed against you third sweaty armpit on the Victoria line at 7:30am. Everyone was chipper, chatting, enjoying food and wine, and I cannot emphasise enough how much this atmosphere permeates the entire the area. Even the youths (I seem to have become a judgemental 50 year-old real quick) were polite, seemed happy and content, and were never, not once, intimidating. As a woman, let me tell you that this is unusual - particularly at night - so this was a massive plus on the San Sebastian excellence list.
We settled on a place called Atari, and as we waited for a table to free up a group of locals anointed themselves our tour-guides and began a friendly yet heated discussion amongst themselves about what the best order to do things would be for us. They were kind, and funny, but GC and I were both fading fast due to hunger and were glad when a waitress gestured us over to our table. GC and I exchanged a relieved glance, fully recognising the anti-social tendencies in each other which, coupled with a growing hunger, made us two potential psychopaths in a very crowded place.

Fed, watered, and posing less of a risk to the locals around us, GC and I did a little exploring. We headed to a promising ice-cream stall with popsicles which looked fresh, fruity and delicious. The disappointment was real. Whether it was the heat (it wasn’t) or the wind (I genuinely almost flew away) the ice-lollies started to melt into a goop-slobber-like substance that was absolutely out of control what with the hurricane around us. As it splattered onto out faces, our hair, and GC’s very white knitted jumper, we binned them just half-way through and and discussed in lengthy fascination what the contents of the ice-cream goop might have been.

Dinner. Dinner guys. I could go on, and on, and on about dinner, and I will name the restaurant, albeit reluctantly, because I just don’t want it to get any busier. Gandarias. We had booked a table that morning, and it wasn’t until the end of the holiday that we realised how lucky we’d been to get a spot on such short-notice. Gandarias is popular. And for an absolutely good reason. The food, and I do not say this lightly, was spectacular. I have had a lot of food, in a lot of places. I’m not a picky eater, but I am jealous with my praise: Gandarias gets it all. It is not flashy and the wait staff is genuinely friendly. When I was torn about what wine to get, they suggested I get a bottle since it was much more cost-effective. When I said I wouldn’t be able to finish it (GC is not a wine drinker) he looked at me, with friendly surprise at how easy to solve my problem was, and said: “pues te la llevas a casa!” (“Just take it home!”). How absolutely chill is that? How completely and utterly unpretentious. I loved it.

In terms of food GC and I shared one of the best salads I have ever had, and I tend to find salads boring, over-dressed and generally a chore to eat. This one had warm seafood scattered over it, this beautiful balsamic glaze in perfect proportion to the food, not too many leaves and oh the most delicious tomatoes ever. We devoured it in minutes, and as we were mulling over whether to straight-up order another, the clams arrived. Another mouth-watering dish, although very rich. We greedily soaked up the leftover sauce with bread - not something I usually feel like doing, but boy-oh-boy was it delicious. For the pièce de resistance GC and I had both got this monster-steak with the best fries I have ever had (and I don’t usually like fries either) and it was perfectly under-cooked, perfectly juicy, and everything I could ever hope for in a steak. I can’t remember the desert, to be honest, I’m not even sure we had any (although that seems highly unlikely). To top it all, the price-tag? Wildly reasonable, to the point I don’t understand how they make a profit. It was so affordable that GC and I went to bed absolutely ecstatic knowing we could have meals of that caliber every night, and not have our accounts dip dangerously into the dreaded red numbers.Read more