Sirimiri, clown marches, and botas de trekking

Sirimiri? Huh?

Oh, vaunted and imaginary readership, you ask yourself, "Just what in the hell is sirimiri?" Well, sirimiri is a Basque word which means light rain or drizzle. We might call it a farmer's rain. People in the Northwest - you know what I'm talking about.

Well, sirimiri is what it sounds like: a mischievous and pesky trickle of water from the sky, one that might slightly interrupt any plans you may have to go tanning on the beach, but won't ruin much else. Sometimes it's almost like a constant  spray bottle, or one of those automated misters at Disney World to keep the huddled, sunburnt throngs placated.

In fact, as I was typing this, I heard a commotion outside my window. I stuck my head out and indeed, there was a parade of children in clown costumes plunking on down the street, marching band and all, totally unencumbered by the sirimiri. In fact, they say that a real Basque doesn't even feel the droplets. They are a strong people.

Why were these children marching dressed as clowns? A true Bilbaíno, no matter how small, marches dressed as a clown whenever he damn feels like it.

Sirimiri, which I believe is an onomatopoeia (just imagine a Basque man in a txapela beret going "sirimirirmiririririri" imitating the a light rain - nice, right?) does indeed please and tickle the senses and placate.

However, when it doesn't stop for two weeks straight, it starts to suck.

Doesn't this just look downright pleasant to stare at for 16 days in a row?

 Also, when those relatively pleasing two weeks are peppered with violent hailstorms and knock-you-on-your-ass wind, it sucks even more. It is no longer pleasant sirimiri.

It becomes un poco annoying as hell.

Good thing I've got my typical Basque hiking boots. An ancient and noble tradition.

 

 

 

Every good Basque's got a pair of these somewhere.

I think it's important here to discuss the Basque-ness that is embodied by the noble hiking boot. I am convinced that every self-respecting person in the great land of euskal herria owns at least one, and probably two or three, pairs of hiking boots. They claim it's because "it rains all the time," which it does as I mentioned above, but I think there's more to it than that. There's something inherently Basque about the mountain-y ruggedness of a good pair of botas de trekking, as they are referred to in the local tongue. Yes, they claim it is to not get their poor, little feet wet, but that does not explain why one sees them being worn with abandon in every type of clime and meteorological event. You also see them gracing sturdy, Basque feet in every type of social situation, ranging all the way from climbing a mountain (where they are somewhat called for) to riding the metro (which does not require extra ankle support) to teaching in a high school (the teachers I work with wear them a lot) to dancing in a swanky club (I've seen it, multiple times).

They don't just support your insole, they support your inner soul.

Here's to you, Basques, and here's to your noble and water-impermeable footwear.