On Sunday morning the many bars of San Sebastian's densely packed Old Town were already overflowing into the streets (possibly never having closed through the night), filled with people dressed in blue and white jerseys of the local football/soccer team while red, green, and white Basque flags flew from balconies and several political banners demanding amnesty for Basque political prisoners hung across the narrow streets. Meanwhile, brass bands, drum corps, and singing groups were parading through the streets in what seemed like a very militant procession, singing in what was most definitely not Spanish. The crowds in the squares were whipped up into a flag-raising frenzy. I think these must be the people my friend Jesus in Madrid warned me about as being dangerous. Ha!

The Basque’s, of course, consider themselves to be a different nationality from other Spaniards since they speak an entirely different language and are believed to have different origins . Their language and culture were brutally repressed for forty years during the Franco dictatorship, and even before Franco conquered Spain he agreed to let the Nazis practice a bombing raid on civilian targets in the town of Guernica, the subject of Pablo Picasso’s most famous painting. In democratic Spain in the three decades since Franco’s death, Basque language and displays of culture are of course permitted again, and the Basque Country constitutes a separate region within Spain with some degree of regional autonomy. Bad memories linger, though, and there still exists a strong Basque separatist movement in the region, mostly peaceful nowadays, but one separatist group found in the late 1960s named ETA has been responsible for many terrorist attacks including car bombings and shootings of police and military over the past four decades and is regarded as a terrorist organization by other countries as well as Spain. The political sloganeering in San Sebastian relates to ETA members held in prison by Spain who many Basques view as political prisoners rather than terrorists. Football/soccer games seem to be opportunities for Basques to express their strong national identity when the local team plays one from elsewhere in Spain.

By the time I finished lunch and let the restaurant the atmosphere has lost all political tinge and Basqueness and descended into regular European football hooliganism as lots of rough young guys got drunker. I kept getting high-fived as I wandered through Old Town’s streets, and since drunk people aren’t very enjoyable to be around unless you’re drunk yourself, I felt compelled to have a few more beers to top off the wine already had at lunch.

By late afternoon the blue and white draped hooligans all began to congregate in a big crowd to start walking en masse towards the football stadium while drumming and chanting. I figured I’d follow the warriors on their march when it occurred to me "what better thing to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon with no set plans than to go to a football game and get good and drunk?" Or by this point just drunker. It’s not that I give a fat baby’s ass about soccer, or any other spectator sport for that matter. My motto has always been “Why watch other people run around when you could be running around yourself.” But I’ve never been to a Euro football game and thought it could be fun.

Unfortunately, when I got to the football stadium I discovered the match was completely sold out. Oh well!