In the town square we watch bronzed, topless pelota players compete with vein-popping aggression, then hug like brothers after the last lash of the ball. We break off onto a path past tiny wood chapels, part of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route. Though we could have hiked all the way to Navarra in Spain we head for Ainhoa, checking into Hôtel Ithurria, steps from the medieval bell tower. Our great regret is that we can’t bank more time at the palm-lined pool, oversleep in our pastel-painted room, linger longer over pigeon and Breton octopus in the dining room. Ithurria’s restaurant barely whispers about its own Michelin star.
