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Nestling between the Pyrenees and the Atlantic is a corner of France unlike any other. Is it the translucent light, the bucolic hills, the long beaches fringed with silvery surf? The half-timbered villages and towns ablaze with flowers? Perhaps it’s all of those but the real difference comes from the people and their unique identity. This is the home of the Northern Basques who share an ancient language and culture with their Spanish counterparts, ten times more numerous across the border. Their origin may be lost in legend but they have lived in these parts for over 40 000 years.

Come Sunday after church, the familiar thud of a rubber ball echoes on the ‘fronton’ wall. On-lookers gather on the shady side and men in white rush back and forth in a traditional game of pelota. Every village has its ‘fronton’, painted pink like an ice-cream, with a rounded top, and in Bayonne, the Basque Museum devotes a whole section to variants of the Basque national sport.

Guarding the entrance to the Basque lands at the strategic confluence of two rivers, Bayonne is proud of its roots. The twin spires of its medieval cathedral dominate the skyline and as you wander along the lanes or the old city walls, the once turbulent past oozes from every stone and timber. But today the Basque capital has a gentle air of relaxation, all pretty squares and outdoor cafes, tall houses tumbling down the hill and chocolate shops galore, since the port introduced the first cocoa beans 500 years ago.

But in these southern lands, there is more than chocolate to tempt your taste buds. Try ttoro, the local fish stew, piperade, a tasty mix of peppers, tomatoes and onions, a sliver or two of salted Bayonne ham, red chillies from Espelette, mountain cheeses served with black cherry jam, almond biscuits, ‘gateau basque’, whole platefuls of delicious fare which come into their own at festival time. Add wine from Irouleguy or Izarra liqueur made from Pyrenean plants, and you are ready to join the locals competing in a show of strength, chopping logs, lifting stones, tossing iron bars, or just tap your feet under the stars to the hypnotic rhythm of drums and three-holed flutes.

From the blessing of the Espelette chillis to the traditional wedding re-enacted in St Etienne de Baigorry, along the coast or in the hills, every community finds cause for celebration.

For nature lovers, the hills are magnetic, a place to ramble through forests and pastures, look out for marmots or great flocks of migrating birds, picnic by waterfalls, dip your toes in an icy torrent or explore spectacular canyons which send shivers down your spine. Tiny villages snuggle in the hollows or perch on lonely hillocks while at the foot of the pass, on the road to Compostella, the quaint town of St Jean Pied de Port mirrors itself in the clear waters of the Nive, its pink granite houses watched by the church of ‘Our Lady at the End of the Bridge’.

You can go pot-holing or rock climbing, white water rafting or trout fishing or board the rack and pinion railway chugging past stone circles and wild ponies to the summit of La Rhune, at over 900 metres. Up there on a clear day, you look across Basque lands from the High Pyrenees all the way to the French and Spanish coasts.

Far below, Biarritz, the ‘Queen of resorts’, stretches along the sandy shore, with a beach for every day of the week. Once the haunt of pirates and whalers, this grand old lady owes her fame to Napoleon III and Empress Eugenie, and the crowned heads and film stars who followed in their footsteps. They came in search of bracing air and quick fortunes in the casino but today’s visitors can expect a little more, a round of golf on one of 12 courses, a spot of pampering in the thalassotherapy centre or riding some of the best surf in Europe. The sport was introduced in 1957 by film producer Peter Viertel who, on seeing the mighty Atlantic rollers, asked for his board to be sent from California.

Biarritz feels more cosmopolitan than Basque but it remains a nostalgic place with wonderful views and a strange mix of buildings, from the Imperial Villa of Hotel du Palais to the Art Deco Casino and the old cottages gathered around the ‘fishermen’s creek’. On the cliffs smothered in hydrangea and tamarisk, the lighthouse keeps a constant vigil while waves pound on dramatic rocks which turn amber and gold in the sunset.

Follow the coast to the south and beyond the picturesque villages of Bidart and Guethary, where houses stand traditionally with their back to the sea, you come to the popular resort of St Jean de Luz. With its neighbour Ciboure, birthplace of composer Ravel, St Jean is Basque throughout, lined with red and white façades which wear their lopsided roofs like traditional berets. St Jean lies in a sheltered bay with fine sweeping sands and a lovely promenade framed by the mountains, meandering as far as you can see. Outdoor restaurants serve succulent seafood at the water’s edge and the pedestrian streets are awash with all manners of local craft. There’s Basque linen, striped to represent the seven provinces, rope sandals, makhilas -the traditional walking sticks carved from medlar wood-, pottery and jewellery enhanced by the curved Basque cross. Drawn by luminous skies, artists set up their easels around the bandstand and in the old fishing harbour, nets are laid to dry on the quay.

Be sure to pop into the Basque church of St John the Baptist and see the superb gilded altar, the tiered wooden galleries and the model boat hanging from the ceiling, donated by Eugenie after a stormy voyage at sea. The church hosted the wedding of King Louis XIV and Marie-Therese, the Spanish Infanta, in 1660 and the old doorway has been blocked ever since so no one would step over the royal threshold.

True to the joyful Basque nature, St Jean de Luz loves its festivals, be it folk dancing or choral singing, tuna fishing, sand sculpting or the ever present pelota. Meanwhile along the cliff top, the ‘Route de la Corniche’ treats you to breathtaking views down to the border and beyond. This wild stretch of coast is swept by the ocean breeze and the domain of rare plants and birds where only the Abbadie Observatory Castle betrays the human presence.

In Hendaye, the frontier town tucked between mountains and sea, history was made in 1659 when France and Spain signed the Treaty of the Pyrenees, later sealed by the royal wedding. The Bidassoa river still marks the border and a small pedestrian ferry sails back and forth, conveniently beating the traffic on the road.

Hendaye claims the safest sands on the French Basque coast, stretching for three kms, gleaming yachts, watersports and a night market every Thursday in summer. It may be the last town in France but the annual Basque Festival celebrates its heritage with gusto. As dancers spin and twirl and flags flutter, red, green and white, you know this is a special land where at the foot of the Pyrenees, age-old traditions have survived through the mist of times.

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