T he Bay of Biscay is renowned for its turbulent waters, but as I fall off my surfboard for the fifth time during a family lesson at Anglet, near Biarritz, I realise this is more a case of “user error” than choppy sea conditions. While my husband and I are perfecting our wipe-outs and feeling like we’re trapped in the cold-spin cycle of a washing machine, our 13-year-old daughter is riding the waves like a pro. Her brother, aged 11, is getting the hang of it too.
And despite the repetitive dunking, we’re having the time of our lives. We’re in the French Basque Country for a week’s holiday, having taken the long, slow ferry route from Portsmouth to Santander in northern Spain. If I’m honest, I’d expected the Atlantic crossing to churn us around, but I was wrong.
Our smooth, 40-hour trip is a holiday in itself; like a mini-cruise with excellent food and drink, dolphin-spotting and deck-strolling. Our four-bed (two-bunk) en suite cabin is compact, but with activities such as quizzes and trips to the onboard cinema, we do little more than sleep there. We disembark feeling relaxed and ready to explore this corner of Spain and France.
Bilbao, 75 minutes’ drive east of Santander, is our first overnight stop, giving us the chance to admire the striking curves of the Guggenheim before exploring the old town. At family-run restaurant Rio-Oja , we indulge in a Basque feast: our table is laden with plates of juicy anchovies, piquant peppers, meaty tuna and fluffy jamó.