The next morning we drove into the tiny burg of Burguete (in Basque known as Auritz) about 40 minutes from Pamplona, a photogenic village of whitewashed buildings, narrow cobblestone streets, the ubiquitous church and the Hostal Burguete in the center. Formerly a farmhouse, the building had been converted to the Hostal Burguete with high ceilings, strong Spanish-style furniture, the main room was large with handsome dark wood walls and floor. Francesca at the reception desk was overwhelming in her welcoming. She escorted us to our room telling us we were in for an unforgettable party. How right she was!

That evening we were reading the menu in the Hostal’s spartan restaurant, though super-clean with white, starched linen and dark furniture. As we perused the menu, Louise suddenly looked up and proclaimed “Ohmigod! Look down the menu.” And then I saw it: Hemingway Soup! (see sidebar for recipe) I then remembered an earlier conversation with Louise. We both had a memory we had heard the name Burguete somewhere, but neither could we put words to that memory.

“It was, of course, well before my time but the story has been passed down from generation to generation. Ernest Hemingway was on his way to Pamplona for the Feast of San Fermin (ed. Note: this was in 1924) and checked in our hotel. Apparently he was a serious trout fisherman and our region is world-famous for its first-class fishing.

Later we discovered he had characters in his most famous novel, “The Sun Also Rises” stay in Burguete here at the Hostal. In our lobby you can see the piano with the name E. Hemingway etched on its side. There’s no proof, but it’s assumed the writer did it. And that’s the history behind Hemingway soup.”

In the novel the narrator Jake Barnes, stays at the Hostal with his friend, Bill Gorton before continuing on to the bullfights in Pamplona. In the novel Hemingway writes through Barnes the two dining at the Hostal Burguete: “Bill plays at the piano to keep warm. The girl brought in a big bowl of vegetable soup and the wine.” 

It seemed all 400 citizens had come out to hear the mayor open the festival and selections from the band. After the celebratory speeches, the band played a number of spirited numbers. We joined some locals at a sidewalk shop for coffee and pan dulce and to find out what we had to look forward to. A local told us the afternoon would be turned over to vendors, mainly citizens of Burguete, selling food, vegetables and fruit and native, hand-made garments. That night the big event would be a dance in the school gymnasium that should last long into the night, our new friends warned.

While we strolled through the open marketplace it finally struck us we were the only outsiders at the weekend party. It was warming and touching how the people took to us, asking, of course, about America and in concert telling us of their life in the Basque country. In Barcelona I had purchased a black beret, which became a regular part of my wardrobe as we cruised through Spain. It was a bit embarrassing as many locals would begin conversations with us in their Basque language. For some inexplicable reason, they thought I could also speak this elusive and unknown language. Louise pointed out there was a telling look of my father with his French-Basque heritage (and you) in their features and build.

All day Sunday we were taken into their homes to show us their children, filled us with home-made goodies and, the greatest compliment, we were admitted in joining them in neighborly gossip. While Louise gossiped and told tales of living in California, I joined the men in sitting at the sidewalk restaurant enjoying Spanish beer and tapas, along with the usual male Basque braggadocio.

We weren’t forewarned for what followed that night. We were in our room, after dinner, getting ready for the announced street dance when the familiar blast of the trumpet and band let us know it was time to go. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the Hostal we watched the street quickly filling up with expectant revelers marching behind the band. A group of soldiers dancing by spied us standing there and began shouting, “¡ Hey! ¡ Hey! Vamos, es hora de fiesta!” (Hey, Hey, come on, it’s time to party!). In a seemingly flash were swept up and carried away.

Well into the early morning darkness bottles of Spanish rojo wine and local beers were passed around with complete abandon. By the time we stumbled into bed, numbed by an endless offering of bottles of wine and beer plus dance partners beyond count, we quickly fell into a near coma sleep. 

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(Above): The village of Burguete-Auritz in Spain.

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Again, we were wakened out of groggy sleep by the flare of trumpet and the band. This was Monday and the final day. The citizens of Burguete once again gathered at the plaza for closing remarks and more musical numbers. The vendors in the bazaar spent the morning closing down and we packed up or belongings at the Hostal and long and intense goodbyes with Francesca and the staff with returned hugs and “Vaya con Dios.” Many of our new friends were out in the street to wave adios as we drove off.

Driving away heading for the French border, there was a palpable quiet throughout the van. We were both reliving the past three days of wonderment of the Spanish people and, particularly, their immense joy of the world. The people of the tiny hamlet of Burguete left us with a feeling our unconscious ongoing learning of the people of the world had just taken a huge leap forward. A warmth of being so quickly accepted, nurtured and letting into their lives and culture. Leaving such episodes on our fantasy-like gypsy life to become the most intense and never to be forgotten points in our life.

Unfortunately, the olive festival is no longer held. Still, there are many, many reasons to still visit Auritz-Burguete. The small community has numerous public events, parades and religious festivals. The trout is still one of the finest in Spain and the country-side is a hiker’s delight. Green, rolling hills surrounded by deep forests and burbling streams. And always the people of Auritz-Burguete, warm, vibrant and brimming with abrir el Corazón. Imbedded in all this are the ghosts of Papa, Jake and Bill.

HEMINGWAY SOUP

• 3 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
• 1 onion finely minced 
• 2 leeks white part only thinly sliced 
• 4 garlic cloves chopped 
• 1 lb cured ham - (serrano or possibly prosciutto) preferably one piece 
• ½ lb dry white beans
• salt to taste 
• freshly-ground black pepper to taste 
• 1 thinly-sliced green or white cabbage 
• 5-6 fresh green beans snapped into halves 
• 1 tbsp frozen green peas 

In a medium (4- to 6- qt) soup pot over low heat, combine extra virgin olive oil, onion, leeks and garlic. Saute/fry till onion has softened, about 10 min. Add in 9 c. of water, ham, white beans and salt and pepper to taste. Simmer, covered, till beans are tender, about 2½ hours. Add in cabbage and green beans. Simmer, covered, for 20 min. Add in green peas and continue to simmer 5 min more. Remove and throw away ham. Adjust seasonings, and serve. This recipe yields 4 servings. 

MINUTIA
HOSTAL BURGUETE:

Address: 31640 Auritz-Burguete, Spain
Rates: 48.90€

Hotel Rural Loizu: Three star hotel in Burguete
Rates: 75€

There is little specific information of rates, lodgings, locations, etc. The best information can be found by searching ‘Burguete-Auritz’ online and clicking on Burguete-Auritz, Navarre, Spain-City,Town.