i took a train to basque country

I spent the last three days in the heart of pays Basque. We fell asleep each night to fire lit conversations and the soft whisper of an old violin. We awoke each morning to the roar of rough mountain winds filled with the energy of a people and the strength of the high skies. I left my tent early every day to practiced yoga on a large rock, a few paces away from infinitum. And to think on Rodin, whom I have been reading with enthusiasm ever since my most recent sojourn to those enchanting gardens sprinkled with his genius. Rodin who tells us in his Reflections sur La Beauté that

Une statue parfaite doit pouvoir rouler du haut d’une montagne, et ce qu’elle perd en route n’est que superflu



I thought on this while staring down into that cavernous rock so imposing in its mass. The test of true art, if we are to take antiquity as our model. And what about for the body? Staring out into that abyss, wondering where a fall like that would leave me, in what state. But we are accustomed to resisting these temptations.


That afternoon the five of us headed down from the Pyrenees into the valley to eat dinner with the father of jean paul, the leader of our group. The father had prepared a lovely dinner of fresh melons, steamed vegetables, and ribs. We ate outside enjoying the surrounding peaks and laughing at my difficulty in using a knife and fork to eat a melon (uncivilized Americans !), chatting in general about the Basque people and their language. The father swearing to me that in fact it was the Basque People, not Christopher Columbus, who discovered the New World. And we can prove this because of the linguistic relationships between the Basque language and those of the American natives. I tried to disagree, but no one takes you seriously when you speak a heavily accented French and occasionally misplace your indirect pronouns. And so the dinner went on, my group being convinced by the father and me resigning my position. Vive le Pays Basque!