Overlooking the town of San Sebastian, 10 miles south of the French border.

Being a San Diego local, I've said before that I would never be able to live in a rainy place. I take that statement back after visiting San Sebastian.

You can find San Sebastian nestled between huge, greener-than-green mountains and calm turquoise waters. Located in the Basque country bordering France, it's safe to say it offers copious amounts of rain – but also sunshine, romance, great food and great vibes.

Beachfront plaza in San Sebastian.

San Sebastian is really the perfect size. It’s not too big in a way that overwhelms you, but not too small that you find yourself twiddling your thumbs to keep entertained. Unlike Madrid or the Andalusian cities I visited, San Sebastian is Basque: so instead of tapas, they have what they call pintxos. Pintxos is derived from the term "to pierce," which is why there’s a toothpick holding the toppings on top of the slice of bread.

Besides pintxos, the Basque Country is known for its delicious cider and historic cider houses. A former coworker had advised that going to a sidrería was a must-do in San Sebastian. We had two places that were recommended to us: one was a famous sidrería that sits 700 people and has a discoteca on the bottom floor, the second was a smaller one housed in a 16th century farmhouse that allegedly “is full of old men that don’t speak Spanish.” Without a doubt, we picked the latter.

Sidrería Lizeaga

Sidrería Lizeaga can be found in Astiarraga, only a short bus from the center of San Sebastian. That is, if you don’t miss the bus stop and have to graciously ask the bus driver if you can stay on the bus and loop around one more time…

After a bus ride that was a nightmare for anyone with motion sickness and a long walk down an empty freeway, we finally stumbled upon Sidrería Lizeaga, 35 minutes late. We ran in there, apologizing to the host and explaining how we got lost. He casually looked at his watch and said, “You’re not late; you’re right on time.” Thank you, Spain.

Basque meal at Sidrería Lizeaga.

Our generous host led us to a long, wooden table with no chairs. It’s tradition to stand while eating at sidrerías; it allows you to get to the cider much faster, of course. The four-course menu that ensued was to die for. To start off, Spanish chorizo and the biggest baguette I have ever laid eyes on. Then, a codfish tortilla, a Spanish omelet, to be followed by more codfish slathered in pimientos verdes, or green peppers, and caramelized onions. The third course, by far my favorite, was the greatest steak I have ever tasted. Ever. I usually don’t like meat unless it's medium or medium-well, but this steak changed my world as I knew it. It was simply seasoned and such a delight – especially paired with the many ciders we tried.

For the finale, they brought out cheese and dulce de membrillo, which is a deliciously sweet jelly called quince cheese in English. The best part about this was the bowl of walnuts that accompanied them, along with a nutcracker, which for some odd reason fascinated me all night and made me love walnuts, even though I am usually not a fan.

Don’t worry; we stayed hydrated during our meal. Randomly, we would hear a yell coming from the room that housed around 7-8 huge cider barrels and make a run for it with our empty glasses. Everyone lined up, a small cork was popped off the barrel, and it was each man for his own. We didn’t quite master the art of pouring cider into our glasses, and we always poured far too much – but we made friends anyways.

The restaurant started clearing out at around 11pm and soon enough, we were left with a group of rowdy and fun men from Asturias. They spoke absolutely no English and only a few words in Spanish. Yet we were able to communicate through the simple words of “Rubia, dale!”, which was always aimed at my friend, Katie, and “Txotx!” I’ll admit that we thought Txotx was spelled choch and meant something vulgar, convinced that our new “friends” were making us say this and laughing behind our backs. We looked it up online the next day and learned that it’s a typical exclamation made in the Basque country to signal the beginning of a new pour of cider. Phew.

Making new friends.

We tried to leave many times but were lured back by yet another “Txotx!” and closed the place down at midnight. The most surprising thing was that this whole evening cost us 24 euros, and I assure you, the experience was priceless and we all considered the price a bargain for the night we experienced.