I’ve been here before. Bayonne. Biarritz. You know I think of them fondly. I know you associate them with painful memories. I would take you here to obliterate those memories. I cannot erase the past but I would show you a magical, extraordinary place that would stick with you as it stuck with me. I would make those words – Bayonne, Biarritz – happier words for you. This is how I would do it. 

BAYONNE

We wake early as light fills the room and bounces off the limestone brick walls in all directions. It creates a soft glow that seems to kill any trace of a shadow. A silent whisper of a breeze blows through the open window. There is no TV, no radio, no phones, no electronics, just quiet. 

Breakfast is delivered. It’s big, hearty. The day will be long because there is just so much to do, so much to see.

We’ll take advantage of the silent, still morning to explore the streets, to get out there before the crowds. 

Fun fact about, Bayonne: it was the first place in France to produce chocolate. Spanish explorers brought chocolate from the New World to Spain. The kings and queens and princes and princesses and all those entitled folk loved chocolate and kept the secret to themselves, not sharing with other countries. Unfortunately for them, they decided to kill, ostracize or expel all the Jewish folk from Spain. Some of those refugees ended up in Bayonne and ended up sharing the secret of xocolatl with the rest of Europe. We’ll stop by l’Atelier du Chocolat to see the chocolate museum then stuff our faces with chocolate.

Even though it’s still early, the streets are beginning to buzz. More and more people are walking about, many in all white ensembles with a red sash or bandanna. Something is definitely going on – like an event or something. Before it gets too busy, we’ll make our way up to the cathedral.

This is not the biggest cathedral, in France. It’s not the oldest. It holds no records and isn’t even considered a major church, but it is extraordinary. The two towers stand giant over the rest of the town, peeking over red roofs, ominously staring down narrow streets.

Once inside, it appears that every noise in the world has disappeared. It is silent and still yet every small sound is amplified as it ricochets off gothic walls and careens to every corner of this space. It’s dark, but light fights it’s way in through the high windows and stained glass. We’ll sit here for awhile and just breathe. Then we’ll go to the cloister and sit there awhile, too. Spirits linger in this place. They can be seen in the graceful arches, the flourishes and the filaments. They speak to us through the gaps in architecture. They tell us, “we built this place, we cared for this place, we lived and died in this place.” Whether God exists, in some form or another, isn’t a material question for me when exposed to the allure of this cathedral. Instead, I revel in the profound beauty that has been created by people trying to understand, “why are we here and what lies beyond?” To me, places like this are the best expression of humanity.

After the cathedral, we’ll get a little to eat. There are hundreds of choices – quaint cafes, creperies or even the les halles de Bayonne.

By now, the white shirts are invading the city in large numbers. We have found ourselves in the middle of the biggest festival in France, Fêtes de Bayonne. People jam the streets. It’s white and red as far as we can see.