Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 146

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After what seemed like forever, they finally made it to shore. Even in the daylight, even in modern Donostia, they wouldn’t have known the layout of the coastline, but in the dark and in the past, they had no clue where they were going. They just wanted to get away from the island and the French.

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

Occasionally, another shot range out. Kepa expected the whole town to be on alert after the shelling and the gunshots, but he hoped they could find a secluded spot to beach the boat. 

“Hor!” he exclaimed under his breath, pointing. “There! That looks like a quiet spot.”

They paddled to the dark corner, more an outcropping of rocks than the beach. 

“Nola?” cried Maite as she looked at the rocks towering above her. “How are we supposed to get up there?”

“I’ll help you,” said Kepa, his half smile both reassuring and infinitely frustrating. Maite hated feeling weak. But, she simply nodded, resigned to the fact that getting to safety was more important than her pride.

Kepa found some purchase and pulled himself up onto a small ledge. Fortunately, the tide had been going out and the rocks were dry. He reached out with one hand, the other wedged into a crevice for stability, and helped pull Maite up. 

“Only one more,” said Kepa. 

Maite felt a rush of relief as she clambored over the edge of the rocks, Kepa’s hands on her buttocks, pushing her up. A moment later, he was also scrambling over the ledge. They looked around. Dawn was breaking. Everything was covered in long shadows. 

“I think we are in the old part of town,” said Kepa. 

Maite barely registered Kepa’s words. “We need to find a place to rest. I can’t go much longer.”

Kepa nodded. “That church,” he said, pointing at the large structure maybe one hundred feet ahead of them. “We should be able to find some shelter there.”

Maite let Kepa lead her to the church. The front door, made of large slabs of wood that were worn and splintered, was locked. Kepa half led, half drug Maite to the side, only to find the side door also locked. He looked around as he picked up a loose cobble stone. Smashing a side window, he crawled in. A moment later, the side door opened. Kepa quickly ushered Maite in before closing the door.

They found a corner in the back, in the sacristy. Kepa pushed aside all of the priestly garments, taking down a few that he threw on the ground as a make-shift bed. He grabbed a few more for blankets. He was about to ask Maite how she was doing before realizing she was already curled up, asleep. He covered her with one of the garments. He kissed her on the forehead before curling up next to her. 

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi

Basque Fact of the Week: Aitor Knives

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One of my more memorable experiences during my first trip to Euskal Herria was a visit to the Aitor knife factory. My dad’s brother-in-law worked there and took me to see the multitude of machines they used to make these storied blades. I got to meet the designers and the people on the floor actually making the knives. And he sent me home with a selection of knives as gifts for me and my brothers. Little did I appreciate the history of this small company in the heart of the Basque Country…

Image from Cortaplumas.
  • Aitor was founded in 1939 by three Izaguirre brothers, Máximo, Eugenio and Alejandro – the original name of the company was IHER for Izaguirre HERmanos. Aitor is one of the oldest knife manufacturers in Spain. In the beginning, they also produced pistols and shotguns, contributing to the famed arms manufacturing of the Basque Country. Their very first knife, a survival knife, was released in 1939.
  • The factory is located in the small town of Ermua, on the border between Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa and next to the Gipuzkoan city of Eibar. Ermua, having about 16,000 inhabitants, was founded about 1279, though the original founding charter has been lost.
  • Aitor creates and sells a wide range of blades, from military and hunting knives to pocket knives and multitools. They supply knives to a wide-range of organizations around the world, including armies and rescue forces in Germany, Estonia, Indonesia, and Spain. They also supply knives to the police forces in Spain, France, and various South American countries as well as the UN and UNESCO. 50% of their products are shipped externally to more than 50 different countries.
  • Aitor is actually a brand that has been owned by a few companies over the years. A troubling period for the company started when then-president, Jose Maria Izaguirre, died in a car accident. In 2002, the company actually closed its doors, but reopened again in 2007 as part of the Pielcu Group. It has since reverted to the Basque company Rehabe and continues making knives in Ermua.

Primary sources: Aitor Knives; Navajas Aitor: Historia, Cuchillería Blanco; Cuchillos Aitor Facebook page; Aitor Knife Company, Wikipedia

Food, Guest Column

Burnt Basque Cheesecake

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By Lisa Van De Graaff

Burnt Basque cheesecake has become a family favorite for us, especially for Blas who has requested it for his birthday cake three years in a row. It is an unusual and oh-so-rewarding experience to smell the burnt top and savor the texture combination of paper thin crunchy char and thick silky smoothness. I highly recommend giving it a try…

My favorite recipe is from Chef Dave Beran and can be found in the March 21, 2019 edition of the LA Times. The article is titled “Master Class: The easiest way to burnt Basque cheesecake” by Genevieve Ko.

I am cooking at a high elevation, so I have made a couple of modifications – I bake the cake for 25 minutes at 440 degrees Fahrenheit, then I broil it for 5 minutes to burn the top. Other than that, I follow the chef’s instructions exactly.

The most important tip I can give you is that you must steel your nerves and pull the cake out of the oven even though you think it isn’t done. I am including a short video to show you just how soft the cake is supposed to be when it comes out of the oven.

Enjoy!

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 145

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Before Kepa could protest, Maite stood and walked onto the beach. She tried to appear weak and wobbly, but her stumbling was less of an act that she wanted to admit. The long run and the gash on her arm had drained her more than she had expected. 

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

She let out a soft cry to get the attention of the soldiers as she pretended to trip and fall to the ground. 

“What?” she heard called out. Though her French was broken, she could understand just enough. “Who is there?”

“Help,” she almost whispered in Spanish.

One of the soldiers came up to her as the others stood back, guns at the ready. “Dammit,” she thought to herself. “It would be a lot easier if they all came at once.”

The soldier, younger than her by a few years, approached. His smooth face suggested he was barely old enough to shave. He was trembling more than she was as he came to her.

“Who are you?” he asked in broken Spanish tinged with a French accent. “How did you get here?”

“My fiance…” she began. “We wanted to escape the city. We came here to spend the day.” Maite started sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could see Kepa circling around the distracted soldiers. He was almost between them and the boat. “The British…”

“Quoi?” exclaimed the soldier. “L’anglais!” He turned back to his comrades. “She says…” he began before seeing Kepa standing between them and the shore. “Là!” he yelled, pointing to Kepa.

As the two soldiers turned, Kepa raised his palms. Maite covered her eyes as a bright light broke the darkness. The two soldiers closest to Kepa screamed as they dropped their guns. The other had turned back to Maite, raising his gun.

Maite had already sprung to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said as she placed her palm on his face and let out her own blast of light. Like his fellow soldiers, he dropped his gun as he fell to his knees, his hands covering his eyes. 

“Bizkortu!” cried Kepa as he waved Maite over. They dashed to the boat and were paddling furiously before the soldiers recovered. Shots rang out in the night as bullets pierced the calm water around them. 

“I’m glad they still can’t really see,” said Kepa with relief. 

Maite simply nodded. Her body ached all over. Inwardly, she cursed the zatia. She cursed Marina. She was about to curse Kepa before she shook her head. No, she thought. This wasn’t his fault. She had agreed to everything, to helping Marina. To find the zatia. She just wanted to sleep.

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi, Travel

Basque Fact of the Week: The Way of St James in Euskal Herria

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The Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, the burial place of Saint James the Great, is one of the most important pilgrimage destinations in all of Christendom – during the Middle Ages, it was one of the three great Christian pilgrimages, along with Rome and Jerusalem. While pilgrims can take many paths to reach Santiago de Compostela, it is hard to avoid passing through the Basque Country. Indeed, two of the most important routes of the Way of St James – the Camino de Santiago, Donejakue Bidea in Euskara – pass through the heart of Euskal Herria.

The various routes of the Camino de Santiago that pass through the Basque Country. Image from Wikipedia.
  • There are two primary routes of the Camino de Santiago that pass through the Basque Country. (There are others, but they are smaller in significance.) The more popular route is the French Way. This one starts in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port on the French side of the border. It passes through Roncesvalles (Orreaga in Basque, the site of the battle that inspired the Song of Roland) before moving into Nafarroa. It passes through the Nafarroan capital Iruña/Pamplona and the smaller town of Estella, and then on to Logroño in La Rioja. The total length of this route is about 800 kilometers.
  • The Northern Way spends more time in the Basque Country. The route became more popular in the Middle Ages as the French Way became compromised by Muslim expansion. This route is also both slightly longer than the French Way (about 817 kilometers) and also more demanding as it follows the coast and has significant changes in elevation along the way.
  • The Northern Way, called Iparraldeko bidea in Euskara, starts in the Gipuzkoan town of Irún, near the French-Spanish border. It passes through the capitals of Gipuzkoa and Bizkaia, Donostia and Bilbo, but along the way it visits many other small Basque villages. From Donostia, it follows the coast, passing through the seaside villages of Zarautz, Getaria (home of Elcano), and Zumaia. From Zumaia, it breaks inland a bit before heading back to the coast to reach Deba. From there, the Camino again heads inland into the mountains, going through the towns of Mutriku and Markina-Xemein to the Collegiate of Zenarruza and on to Munitibar as it winds its way to Gernika-Lumo. It then heads to Bilbo, passing through Larrabetzu and Zamudio. Before leaving Bizkaia, the Camino visits Barakaldo and Portugalete as it heads back to the coast and on to Cantabria. Along the route there are many churches and hermitages that were important stopping places for the pilgrims.
  • Another important Basque town is Izura-Azme, or Ostabat-Asme. Four different Ways converged on this small town in Nafarroa Beherea.
  • The Way of St James was an important economic boost for the region. Drawing large numbers of pilgrims, it provided local businesses with customers. Because of this, some of the towns along the way grew in importance. In 1090, Sancho Ramírez gave special privileges to Estella, and the town reflects the high level of commerce that resulted in, for example, the development of Romanesque architecture. It was also a major vehicle through which ideas were exchanged, as pilgrims from all over Europe met and talked, spreading new ideas further than otherwise possible. The increased traffic also contributed to the rise of the merchant class.

Primary sources: Arozamena Ayala, Ainhoa [et al.]. Camino de Santiago. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/camino-de-santiago/ar-27088/; Donejakue bidea Euskal Herrian, Wikipedia; Camino de Santiago, Wikipedia; French Way, Wikipedia; Full Camino del Norte from San Sebastian to Santiago, Caminoways.com

History, Immigrant Stories, People

The Story of Miguel Etulain

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By John Etulain

Like many other Basques before and after him, my father, Miguel “Mike” Etulain, came to the United States and made a notable life for himself and his family.  In 1952, he arrived in the United States where he worked for his Uncle Juan Etulain in Sunnyside, Washington.  Juan was getting out of the sheep industry at the time, so Miguel eventually moved to the Columbia Basin where his Uncle Sebastian Etulain introduced him to Cal Courtright who worked in the cattle industry.  Miguel worked for Cal for the next 30 years managing the cattle feedlot.  In 1962, he went back to the Basque Country where he married Prudencia Iriarte from Amaiur and brought her to Warden, a small town in eastern Washington.  There they raised four children on the family farm.

His life in America was similar to many other Basques, but my dad had a different childhood which in many ways, shaped his life.  He was born 1930 in the town of Bera de Bidasoa, and lived in Hondarribia with his mother, Juanita, and two sisters, Asuncion and Carmen.  In September of 1936, during the Spanish Civil War, Juanita took the family (and her sewing machine) and crossed over in a small boat from Irun to Hendaye.  They initially stayed with a friend in Hendaye then moved to Ciboure where my grandmother worked as a seamstress or any job she could find.  The family was taken in by two very kind sisters, Sabine Frisou Urrusmendi and Mayi Frisou Despax.  My aunt tells the story that when asked how much it would cost to rent a room, Mayi told Juanita to take care of the children first and they could figure rent out later.  The three of them lived in the single room for many years and were considered family.

A lady by the name of Pantxika Irastorza would deliver milk to Ciboure and took a liking to my father.  She asked him if he wanted to visit her farm and he said yes and soon would go to the farm whenever he could to work and help out.  My dad was very resourceful and clever.  He was given an old bicycle that he used to go back and forth to the farm, but had to be creative and use any old parts he could find to keep the bike going.  

The name of the farm was Tomaxenia and this is where another interesting part of my dad’s childhood began.  The farm was used by the network of local import/export men, also known as smugglers, and this how my dad got to know Florentino Goikoetxea.   During World War II, Florentino was one of the main individuals involved in the Comet Line.  The Comet Line was a resistance organization that guided Allied soldiers and downed pilots in occupied France and Belgium and smuggled them over the mountains to the British consulate in Bilbao where they would be transported back to Britain and the US.  Florentino worked on one of the farms and at night he guided many of the pilots over the mountains, across the Bidasoa river, and on to Bilbao.  He asked my dad if he would be willing to be a courier and my dad agreed but told no one.  My dad told me how he would carry documents from the Hotel Euskaldunak (located across from the train station in St. Jean de Luz) to the farm in Urrugne.  He would make the 6-kilometer trip either by foot or by bike. At times he not only carried documents, but also guided some of the downed pilots from St. Jean de Luz to the farm.  He would take off by foot or bike and the men would follow at a distance.  I am unsure how many trips he made, but the amazing part of the story is that my father would have been between 12 and 14 years old at the time, making him one of the youngest helpers of the Comet Line.

In 1952, my dad came to the US to build his life but did not speak much of what he did during the War.  In the late 70’s we had family from the Basque Country visiting us in Warden and a local paper had come out to run a story on the visitors from a foreign land.  My father mentioned some details about helping the Comet Line to the reporter and the reporter returned to write another story about Dad.  The story was picked up by the AP and soon he was receiving letters and clippings people had sent from other newspapers.  I was looking through some of dad’s papers and came across a folder containing some of these articles.  It also contained an article about the Comet line he had taken from Readers Digest and a photo of Kattaline Aguirre.  But the most important were three signed letters of accommodations he had received from Kattaline Aguirre (who worked at the Hotel Euskaldunak), Martin Hurtado and from Florentino Goikoetxea documenting his service. 

On trips back to the Basque Country, my dad did take me along the route and visited the farm.  I have since read up on the Comet line and have put together some of the pieces that he told me and items I read myself.  Dad would tell stories growing up during that time, the sacrifices that his mother made for the family, friends that he had, and the kindness of others.  He has been gone now for over three years but his example and the life lessons that he taught us are still with us today.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 144

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“The British? The Portuguese?” exclaimed Kepa. “What the hell is going on?”

Maite heard what almost sounded like a sigh in the back of her head. “Do they teach you nothing at school?” mused Garuna almost dryly. “In 1813, the British and Portuguese besieged the city to expel the French occupiers.”

“Dammit!” cried Maite. “What are we supposed to do in the middle of a war zone?”

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“Begira!” exclaimed Kepa. “Look!”

Maite looked to where Kepa was pointing. A few smaller boats were leaving the larger ships and rowing to the island. Kepa couldn’t see for sure, but he imagined each was filled with soldiers.

“They’re coming this way!” he cried. 

“We can’t fight them,” said Maite. “We need to get off of the island.”

Kepa nodded as he grabbed Maite’s hand and dashed down the hill. The path they had taken up was gone, lost to time. Instead the way was covered with dense foliage. Kepa pushed branches aside, breaking them when he could to clear the way. He stumbled more than once on rocks that littered the ground.

“Ow!” He heard Maite cry out. Turning back, he saw her on the ground. His eyes widened when he saw blood staining the white sleeve of her dress.

“A branch ripped up my arm,” she said, teeth gritted, as Kepa helped her up. 

“We’re almost there,” replied Kepa. “Just a little further.”

Maite nodded as they continued their dash down the side of the island. They heard gunshots in the distance.

“They must have reached the island,” panted Maite.

A moment later they burst through the tree line. In front of them was the water. A small dock with a small boat lay invitingly in front of them. It was only then that Kepa noticed the French soldiers standing guard.

He quickly pulled Maite back into the trees. He counted three soldiers between them and the boat.

“What now?” he asked.

Maite looked down at her hands. They began to glow from the inside, such that she could see the veins and bones in her hand. She looked up at Kepa. “We have the power of the zatia.”

Kepa nodded. “I’ve only used it to blind people. I don’t know what else we can do.”

“We’ll figure it out. We don’t have any choice. Let me go first. They are less likely to shoot a woman.”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi, People

Basque Fact of the Week: The Garat Brothers, the Last Representatives of Lapurdi

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The French Revolution and the subsequent reign of Napoleon was a tumultuous time that led to significant changes in and to the Basque Country. Before, the three provinces of Iparralde – Lapurdi, Zubero, and Nafarroa Beherea – had enjoyed some level of self-governance. For example, Lapurdi had the Biltzar, which was effectively a local parliament. The Garat brothers tried to maintain that unique position through the changes rocking France, and even proposed a unified Basque Country at one point.

The Garat brothers (younger left, older right). Photos from Wikipedia (younger and older).
  • Dominique (1735) and Dominique-Joseph (1749) Garat Hiriart were from Ustaritz, a small town near Baiona, in Lapurdi to Pierre Garat and Marie Hiriart. Pierre was a doctor. Dominique, some 14 years older than his brother, was called “the Old.”
  • Dominique the Old settled in Bordeaux, where he had studied law. As a speaker in the Bordeaux Parliament, he spoke passionately against the slave trade. His house became a prominent meeting place for local writers and artists, and it was during one of these gatherings that he met his future wife Françoise Gouteyron.
  • Dominique-Joseph, after also completing his law studies in Bordeaux, moved on to Paris where he was a journalist and an editor for Mercure de France. He also began to teach philosophy and literature.
  • Both brothers were elected to represent Lapurdi as part of the Third Estate in the Estates-General convened in 1789 in Versailles. Their primary goal was to maintain the political status quo of Lapurdi, as embodied by their General Meetings or Biltzar. Both brothers were swept away by the changes proposed by the assembly to get rid of all privileges, including the special foral customs of the Basques, which led to some criticism back home. Dominique the Old argued against incorporating the Basque provinces into a greater territory with Bearn, but his arguments fell on deaf ears.
  • Dominique-Joesph was appointed Minister of Justice in 1792 by Georges Danton. He was told to deliver to King Louis XVI his sentence of execution by guillotine. A year later, he became Minister of the Interior, a disastrous tenure that saw him unable to curb rampant corruption. He resigned in August of 1793.
  • Dominique the Old retired to Ustaritz, where he died in 1799. Before that, in 1795, he became president of the municipality, where he advocated, amongst other things, that a local teacher must know Basque so that the children don’t forget their language.
  • Dominique-Joseph continued in politics, even trying to convince Napoleon to create a united Basque region. He went so far as to propose that the river Ebro be rerouted to separate the southern Basque provinces from Spain. He wanted to call this new entity New Phoenicia. However, political and military realities caused the plan to be abandoned and forgotten. He eventually retired to Urdains, near Uztaritze, and died in 1833.

Primary sources: Dominique Joseph Garat, Wikipedia; End of Basque home rule in France, Wikipedia; Dominique Garat, Wikipedia; Dominique Joseph Garat, Wikipedia; Martínez Artola, Alberto. Garat, Dominique Joseph (1749-1833). Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/garat-dominique-joseph-1749-1833/ar-52019/; Martínez Artola, Alberto; Batua Itzultzaile automatikoa; Arostegi, Agustín. Garat, Dominique (1735-1799). Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/garat-dominique-1735-1799/ar-60920/

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 143

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Maite and Kepa slowly hiked up to the peak of Santa Klara. They were in no hurry. Neither relished the idea of hurtling into another bubble, another unknown time filled with new dangers. It felt like they had just gotten back from their excursion to future Bilbo and here they were, being asked to enter another bubble. While, physically, they were unaffected, as if they hadn’t gone, mentally these trips were a bit taxing.

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

Once they got to the peak, they stopped to look back at the city. Their future home. 

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll make it back, if we’ll get stuck in one of these bubbles?” asked Kepa. 

Maite reached out and took his hand. “To be honest, as long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter to me where we are. What time or place.”

Kepa sniffled back a tear. “Maite zaitut. I love you.”

Maite smiled. “Maite zaitut ere bai.”

They turned away from the water. In front of them flashed the white light that would take them to the next bubble. As it flashed, dark shadows bloomed in and out of the rocks and trees around them.

Kepa sighed. “Prest?”

Maite nodded. “Bai, prest nago.”

She heard a rumbling in the back of her mind. “Are you not going to ask me if I’m ready?” Garuna’s voice echoed through her skull.

Maite grimaced before mentally replying. “Ez. No, I’m not.”

Kepa, still holding Maite’s hand, reached out, his finger extended, toward the center of the light.

There was a bright flash, familiar and disconcerting, that temporarily blinded them. They heard before they could see explosions, seemingly coming from all sides. As their eyes adjusted, they saw a fleet of ships in the bay, canons pointing to the old part of the city. Explosions burst into flames. Maite and Kepa could hear screams from the distant walls.

“What the hell is going on?” yelled Kepa.

“The city is under attack!” exclaimed Maite.

“By who?” asked Kepa.

Maite vigorously shook her head. “Ez dakit!”

Garuna’s voice popped into her head again, eerily calm against the chaos that was erupting around them. “The flags on the ships….”

Maite looked at Kepa. “It’s the British and Portuguese!” 

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.