San Sebastián is the jewel of the Basque coast, a classy city sweeping around a perfect sandy bay bookended by two high hills. It has top gastronomy, a well-spread cultural offer and a promenade to preen yourself on. Sure there's a modern urban centre tucked behind but tourists focus on the coast and the old town, which as ever is a compact nugget of narrow streets in a medievally-strategic location. The Basque name of the city is widely used, but the world knows Donostia as the famously attractive resort of San Sebastián. Imagine how many more photographs I'd have taken had the sun come out. [40 photos]
For a prime view of the city head to Monte Igueldo, the 180m peak at the western end of the bay. It's such a good spot that a casino and amusement park were built up here in 1912, the funfair still present and attracting large crowds daily. Find a decent viewpoint (away from tall trees and selfie-snappers) and the entire curve of La Concha bay will be arrayed beneath you. On the far side is the castle-topped peak of Monte Urgull and mid-bay is Isla Santa Clara, a green hump which helps dampen the waves which reach the shore behind. The horseshoe panorama is stunning, a creation worthy of Magarathea, although we only saw thebeach either side of high tide so I'm not sure how low it extends.
The funfair isn't huge but retains several rides that were thrilling in 1912 including a carousel, a coaster and a water ride called Mysterious River. This invites you to board a boat for a brief circuit below the hotel walls, an entirely tame loop except that one side is adjacent to a sheer drop, thus its queue gets very long. Even longer is the line for Swiss Mountain, a rollercoaster mild enough not to require restraints, which intermittently takes riders on a scenic loop around the summit. Even loftier views can be had from the Lookout, a fairytale tower rising from the upper terrace which started life as a wooden lighthouse. Not everyone likes hiking up a hill for their entertainment so to maintain patronage the funfair is linked to the bay below by a woodenfunicular, also pre-WW1, although at 5.50€ return that's a bit steep.
The chief attraction at the foot of the cliffs, if you exclude the 'Wimbledon English Pub', is a trio of iron sculptures by the Basque artist Eduardo Chillida. These were placed at the very far end of the bay in 1977 and are an early triumph of site-specific art. One of the gnarled claws is attached to the cliff, another to an offshore rock and the third in the near distance beyond the end of the walkway. Apparently they represent past, present and future, though not necessarily in that order. More fun are the seven holes in the promenade through which air (or sometimes water) is forced by the action of the waves underneath. I watched as people stood on them thinking "this won't..." and then suddenly the updraught sent their hair flailing upwards generating the broadest of grins. The collective installation is called Peine del Viento, or The Comb of the Wind, and I imagine looks far more dramatic in stormy conditions.
It takes an hour to walk the curve of the bay, which I know because we walked it twice, once to the Comb and once back. Most people don't get that far as you can tell from the density of sunbathers at one end of the beach and the scarcity at the other. One section at Ondaretta is officially private with stripy blue and white parasols furthest from the waves, then hundreds of white chairs stacked in rows at the regulation distance apart. Various points of interest ensure a stroll along the promenade doesn't become a slog, including the brief tunnel beneath the grounds of the Miramar Palace (the summer home of one of Queen Victoria's great-grandchildren, the Infanta Marie Cristina). You'll also pass an abstract sculpture entitled 'Tribute to Fleming' (Alexander, not Ian), a luxury seawater spa called La Perla and a thin white clocktower that's actually a barometer. I apologise to my companions for stopping and photographing the view every few minutes but the ever-changing perspective was entirely beguiling.
The edge of the old town is heralded by tropical gardens and the ostentatious splendour of CityHall. No government money was wasted on its construction, this because it used to be a grand casino until a military coup in 1923 saw Spain outlaw gambling altogether. The divide between old and new is a boulevard called Boulevard, a broad stripe where street-food is sold, buses terminate and buskers in bunny costumes attempt to cadge money off tourists before they overheat. Narrowstreets bear off to the north across the neck of the headland, a wonky grid of bars, cafes, high-brand shopping, more bars and more cafes. Most of it's only 200 years old, the walled city having been burnt to the ground in 1813 when the French garrison was stormed by angry British and Portuguese troops. The only street still standing is called 31 de Agosto after the date of the pillaging, where these days the foreign invasion is mostly for pintxos and wine.
Down by the marina you can eye up some of the smart craft moored there, join a boat trip round the bay or see inside the Aquarium. For 16€ this tells the maritime history of the city (including a fair amount of whaling) before concluding with a walk past 30 fishy tanks. We didn't go in because we were prioritising exploring over experiences, also time was short after the two hour beach walk, also we skipped the Basque-focused San Telmo Museum for the same reasons. Instead we completed the beachfront walk around the foot of the eastern headland, which is Monte Urgull, and definitely didn't walk up to the summit because that would have been knackering. A succession of waves crashed into the outer rocks, a yacht bobbed out into the bay and a garish Mr Bean amusement ride slotted into the gap where a car park would have been were it not festival week.
It turned out we were visiting at the end of Semana Grande, the annual 'Great Week' when the city goes all cultural and fills its streets with entertainment. Chief amongst these are the fireworks that light up the sky each night at 10.45pm, part of an international competition peaking this year on the Feast of the Assumption with a particularly big offshore bash. We'd left by then so all we saw were the participants setting up in the tropical gardens, which were annoyingly fenced-off, and testing the sound system by playing Dire Straits exceptionally loud on big speakers. Maddeningly we also missed the daily parade of the Basque giants...
...despite being in the old town at precisely the right time, I guess just not in the right place on the processional circuit. San Sebastián's not really a city you can cover in five hours flat, and although we had a damned good try there is a limit to how much of a sparkling jewel you can admire in nowhere near enough time.
