Chapter 63 A FRENCH FERIA
The ancient city of Dax lay some sixty kilometres to the north of Biarritz,
about half an hour by road on the N10, if Sophie respected the speed limit.
The city was famous for its spa first established by the Romans with its
thermal springs and mud baths. That was not however part of their programme, the
Feria was the main attraction, five days and nights centred on the theme of bull
fighting and drinking.
They were booked into the Splendid Hôtel, an art deco masterpiece. No sooner
than they were in the lobby Kennedy appeared with a broad grin on his face and
rigged out in the white uniform and red scarf of the festayre. Since his first visit to
Biarritz seven or eight years before he become a bull fighting aficionado and a
regular visitor to the Bayonne Festival and its corridas.
Bullfighting was a long tradition in the south-west of France, where in addition to
the Spanish corrida, when bulls were killed in mortal combat, were the courses
landaises an ancient form of bull running that involves specially raised cows and
bulls and does not involve bloodshed. It is a dangerous sport, where injuries are not
infrequent for the human protagonists. Like in Spain the animals, both the bulls
and cows, which take part in the courses landaises are breed for their fighting
spirit. The sport pits sauteurs and écarteurs against the animals, the former
executing flying leaps over the charging bulls head on, whilst the latter confronting
the charging animal by performing a series of passes, without cape, as close to the
horns as is reasonably possible. At the Dax Feria, the cows were replaced by bulls
every four years during the course landaises.
From Saturday until Wednesday five corridas were programmed and Sophie had
tickets for them all. Barton wondered if it was overkill, but he kept an open mind
as Sophie had not stopped talking about the finer points of the tradition since they
had left Biarritz. He had already seen bullfights in the South of Spain and was
curious to compare the two.
Kennedy kissed Sophie on the cheek and shook Barton’s hand before introducing
them to Clancy who had arrived the day before from Spain. He was excited and
raring to go with the thousands of visitors expected over the coming days.
‘All set?’ asked Kennedy. ‘You have your scarves and white clothes?’
‘Of course,’ said Sophie laughing at his excitement.
‘It’s at eight, the mayor hands over the keys to the festayres.’
‘We’ve got plenty of time Pat, just give us time to get our gear on.’
The previous day Sophie had got Barton the complete outfit in Biarritz: a couple
of white shirts, white pants, white shoes and a red scarf.
Liam was in a dream. His visit to San Sebastian had been a roaring success and
here he was with one of the UK’s most successfully bankers about to watch a
bullfight. Things must be looking up he thought, remembering a freight train he
had seen at the border crossing loaded with hundreds of up market BMWs and
Audis…heading south.
