We arrive in Osses in golden late light, driving from the small town with fountain/church/convenience shop with roasting chickens on a spit and local chestnut cake up to the house. It's a winding green road, across a narrow bridge overlooking perfect-green-river, past farmhouses, one lane of road often coated in dirt off tractor wheels, reversing a bit to let the tractor by, hairpin bends in green gloaming forest, up into open fields and across an endless view straight to the Pyrenees, and into the gate to the house.
Which looks exactly like the pictures online. Difference being, the walls are paper-thin, and there's only one bathroom. Cousin B chooses the bedrooms for her family again, it works better for all that way, and we begin to fill the house with our week's intentions. The view across the terrace is one of those I drink in, store in my fibres, because I'll b eneedign to draw on it again for years, later.
The next day, all we manage for the days is to pack some food, swimsuits, books, and drive to the bridge over the river and swim, eat, laze in the sun. The photos are completely idyllic. This is the holiday we wanted. Perfect after the move from Spain-week to France-week, via the Guggenheim in Bilbao, yesterday. Perfect.
Update: this is one of the most memorable days for the 8 of us. For different reasons: Cousin B was in such agony with her knee, she almost couldn't read her book, much less enjoy our larks in the water. Me because we all stopped, really played where we were, invented stories and cities for the children in the middle of the riverbank, swam them in the strong, cold, current, ate a delicious picnic, which we had really sorted by then - cutting up and making for the children, wine for us in tumblers! A day when we all just were. Together.
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