Proud Biarritz Basqueing in the passion of patriotism

BASQUES have always been different. Ever since they appeared in southwest France and northeast Spain 40 centuries ago they’ve been regarded with puzzlement.

Hypotheses as to their origins range from the lost tribe of Atlantis to a single mythical survivor of the great flood. As people they have more rhesus negative blood than any other racial group in the world. Their tricky language — euskera — is unrelated to any other European tongue.

They’re as singular when it comes to sport. They gave the world Miguel Indurain and Bixente Lixaraxu, they invented pelota and exported it to America as jai alai, but they’ve also got other indigenous games — the herri kilorak, or rural sports. These include wood chopping contests, sprint races with a 200lb weight on one’s back, throwing hay bales over a high rope, and the daddy of them all: harrijasotzaile, or stone-lifting.

The premise of stone-lifting is simple. You hoist a hunk of granite from the floor to your shoulder. The only complication is that the stone may weigh over 700lbs; a top Basque lifter, someone like Migueltxo Saralegi, trains for his record attempts with a regime that sees him lift 88,000 lbs per day.

Sounds like the ideal preparation for a tight-head.

“We have three Basque players but the Basque spirit is very important. I came from Perpignan but I’ve been in Biarritz for six years and I’m very proud to play under the Basque colours.”

Thomas Lievremont

THIS afternoon, Munster fans can expect to see plenty of union jack-style flags, but not with red, white and blue. Red, green and white are the colours of the ikurrina, the Basque flag: the red stands for the people, the green for the ancient Basque laws, and the white stands for Christ.

Neatly enough, the inclusion of white and red mean the Biarritz Olympique team colours are included in the flag, and the interdependence of the two is visible in the BO clubhouse at the Stade Aguilera on my visit.

The small, informal bar out behind the Biarritz stadium is part of a large municipal complex which includes training pitches, tennis and pelota courts, as well as a swimming pool; it’s not unusual for a couple of casual tennis players or children fresh from a dip to lunch next to some of France’s most famous rugby players. The lack of formality is refreshing; it’s no great stretch of the imagination to see how the same arrangement would appeal to Munster fans.

“I’ll be travelling to Cardiff,” says the elderly Biarritz fan at the next table over.

“I’m retired, so my time is my own. I’ll probably go on the bus being run by the club, there and back on the day; the flight’s too expensive. Bath weren’t very good, but Munster are different, I expect a hard game ... ”

He finishes his coffee. Then the legendary Basque hospitality kicks in.

“And you’re over from Munster? Hmm. Do you want me to drive you into town?”

“Basque culture, I’ve discovered little by little, marries well with my character and vision of life.

“It’s been an easy step. They’re simple, natural down-to-earth people who don’t get too worked up, which corresponds to my character.”

Serge Betsen

IF Munster fans think there’s something a little familiar about the notion of a southwest enclave viewing itself as an independent entity, the mischievous might just take the analogy a little further. Just as Cork and Limerick are the twin poles of Munster, upmarket Biarritz and its blue-collar neighbour Bayonne, their stadia just 6km apart, are the two big urban sporting centres in the region.

They also have a healthy rivalry. Though Biarritz, with their two French championships in 2002 and 2005, are now far more successful than Bayonne, who languish near the bottom of the French league, derby games still dictate bragging rights.

A couple of centuries ago Bayonne was the economic centre of the region and Biarritz an obscure village of fishermen, but now the reversal of wealth is visible in rugby terms: Bayonne have dozens of small sponsors, as do Biarritz, but the Heineken Cup finalists also have consultants CapGemini pumping perhaps e1 million into their coffers.

Then there’s the question of Basque-ness. Bayonne point out that they speak euskera on the field to disguise back moves and lineout options, and that even foreign players must pick up some of the language. Sniffy Bayonne fans say the only time Basque songs are heard in the Stade Aguilera is when a choir is paid to sing them.

Biarritz fans, for their part, have renamed Stade Jean-Dauger, the Bayonne home ground, as Stade Victor Hugo. Their reason? It’s home to les miserables.

“In many ways the Catalan and Basque cultures are similar: people have a lot of respect for the jersey.”

Jerome Thion

DESPITE Thion’s kind words — understandable, given his background with Perpignan — Catalans are inexorably associated with FC Barcelona; Basques have their own football outfits along the northern Spanish coast in the likes of Athletic Bilbao.

In the French Basque region, however, it’s rugby.

Beyond the glamour of the professional sides like Bayonne and Biarritz there are other oval ball outposts, each with its own distinct personality.

Saint-Jean-de-Luz, the seaside town which had so many fishermen on its team in the 70s that it often had to forfeit games because most of the players were out on the Bay of Biscay; isolated Sare, up on the smugglers’ routes, a club whose members built a pitch out of the side of a mountain at the weekends thirty years ago.

Nafarroa, the club formed as an unlikely amalgamation of Garazi and Baigorry — tourist-friendly, cosmopolitan Garazi always had a reputation for open rugby (Imanol Harinordoquy played for them as a kid), while rural, insular Baigorry was known for dour trench warfare up front, yet the union succeeded.

Menditte, a village of 187 souls so small it had no bakery — unthinkable in France — yet its rugby team competes in the national fourth division.