San Sebastian

The water curves deep inland, so the surf barely stands and children walk far out. Low water bares wide sand, high water reaches the promenade, and the day has two faces. The white railing became the city's mark and repeats on every souvenir.

A funicular with wooden cars has run up since 1912. The little fairground on top dates from the same years, so the rides are small and the bars close by hand. Bay, island and town stack into one view here, which is where most postcards were taken.

The town burned in 1813 and was redrawn on a grid, so an old quarter here runs in straight lines. Bars line every street, and the way of it is one or two plates in each before moving on. The bill comes from counting your sticks, or from what you say.

A hill at the bay's eastern end, with a statue of Christ on the summit. Inside the walls on its flank lies the burial ground of British soldiers killed in a nineteenth-century war. The headstones are in English, and that corner reads as another country.

Three steel claws are driven into the rock and open seaward like hands. Holes were cut through the stone terrace underfoot. On a rough day water and air blow up through them. On a calm day nothing happens at all, so go when it is blowing.

Two glass boxes stand tilted on the sand at the river mouth. The architect described them as two rocks washed ashore. It is the main screen of the September film festival, and that week a red carpet blocks the front.

An island out in the bay, with boats running in summer only. The climb to the lighthouse takes fifteen minutes, and the small beach on its shaded side shows only at low water.

A perforated metal wall was hung on a sixteenth-century convent to carry the new wing. Plants grow out of the holes, and the design counts on the face turning green as the years pass. Inside, Basque household goods and fishing gear are set out by date.

The aquarium dates from 1928, and a whole whale skeleton hangs above the entrance. The record of whaling out of this bay is set beside it. You come for fish and walk through fishing history first.

Built in 1893 as the queen's summer house, its English timber front still looks out of place here. The city keeps the gardens open so anyone can sit on the grass, while the building itself serves as a school and conference rooms.

Baroque work of the 18th century, closing off the Parte Vieja's northern edge against Monte Urgull. From its doorway, Calle Mayor runs straight to the Buen Pastor cathedral at the far end. Above the portal stands Saint Sebastian, the city's patron.

A market built where the walls were breached in the siege of 1813, hence its name, the gap. In the basement fish hall, that morning's hake and anchovies are laid out on ice. Cooks from the old-town pintxo bars do their shopping here each morning.

Gros has this beach to itself across the river, facing open sea and so getting real waves. Surf schools and board shops cluster in the streets behind it. It feels younger than La Concha, and people sit on the breakwater at sunset.

A 1913 tobacco factory beside the railway station, now a centre for contemporary culture. It holds galleries, a cinema and a library, and screens films during the festival. From its rooftop lookout you see the whole town ringed by hills.

A fishing village strung along a narrow harbour channel, a short ride eastward from San Sebastian. A small launch ferries you over from Pasai San Pedro opposite. Victor Hugo lodged in one of its houses in 1843, and a small exhibit there remembers him.

A walled town on the estuary at the French border, reached from the city by bus. Down in La Marina, the fishermen's quarter under the walls, houses line up with balconies painted green, blue and red. A small boat shuttles across the river to Hendaye in France.

An open-air museum Eduardo Chillida shaped from a farmhouse and meadow he picked on a Hernani hillside. Massive iron and stone works sit out on the grass between the trees. The 16th-century Basque farmhouse holds smaller pieces and plaster models.