Donostia/San Sebastián

The Art-Nouveau railings along La Concha beach have seen it all. Since 1916, they've framed snapshots of honeymooning aristocrats, Franco's motorcades, and today's Instagrammers attempting the same perfectly-angled shot of the scallop-shaped bay. This is San Sebastián – or Donostia, depending on whether you're speaking Spanish or Basque – a city where the pavement cafés serve better coffee than most London restaurants, and where the local football stadium doubles as a gastronomic temple.

The Beach That Started It All

La Concha isn't just a pretty face. TripAdvisor ranked it the world's third-best beach in 2024, and British visitors consistently compare it to a warmer Cornwall with better food. The protected bay creates a natural swimming pool where the water temperature hovers around 20°C in summer – positively balmy for those used to the North Sea. The promenade stretches two kilometres from the city hall to the Pico del Loro rock formation, and locals treat it like their outdoor living room. You'll see office workers power-walking at lunch, grandmothers in pearls doing their daily constitutionals, and teenagers practising their flirting techniques with admirable dedication.

The beach changes personality throughout the day. Early morning belongs to swimmers doing lengths between the floating pontoons, midday sees families staking out territory with military precision, and by late afternoon the wind picks up – locals call it the terral – turning the bay choppy and sending children scurrying for their buckets. The western end, Ondarreta, attracts a more local crowd; families who've been coming for generations and regard the tourist-heavy Concha end with mild suspicion.

Pintxos, Politics and Parte Vieja

The Old Town's narrow lanes contain more Michelin stars per square metre than anywhere outside Tokyo, yet the real action happens at the bar. Pintxo culture isn't tapas with a fancy hat – it's an entire social system. The drill is simple: order one speciality, eat it, move on. A proper txikiteo might cover six bars in an evening, though British visitors should pace themselves; these aren't pub-quantity portions, but they're not exactly slimming world either.

At Borda Berri on Calle Fermín Calbetón, the risotto de queso de cabra has achieved cult status. Queues form at 7:30 pm sharp – don't bother turning up fashionably late. The staff speak enough English to explain what's what, but pointing works just as well. Cash is king here; many bars won't take cards under €20, and the ATM machines in the Parte Vieja develop queues that would shame a Ryanair check-in.

The political dimension isn't immediately obvious to visitors, but it's everywhere. Basque flags hang from balconies alongside banners protesting the treatment of ETA prisoners. The city hall – formerly the Gran Casino until gambling was banned in 1924 – faces the bay with neo-Plateresque confidence, but look closer and you'll see bullet holes from the Civil War, carefully preserved rather than repaired. It's history as living memory rather than museum piece.

Up Where the Air is Clear

Monte Urgull and Monte Igueldo frame the bay like bookends, but they offer distinctly different experiences. Urgull, the eastern sentinel, requires a 20-minute climb through eucalyptus and pine. The path winds past English-style gardens planted by 19th-century holidaymakers who couldn't quite believe they'd discovered somewhere this perfect. At the summit, the Castillo de la Mota provides 360-degree views across the city and towards the French coast – on clear days you can spot Biarritz.

Igueldo, reached via a 1912 funicular that clanks up the hillside with Victorian enthusiasm, feels more theme-park. The retro amusement park at the top includes a boating lake where couples collide in pedalos, and a rifle range where teenagers win enormous stuffed toys. The real attraction is the view back towards the city – La Concha laid out like a postcard, the Urumea river snaking through the Victorian grid of the new town.

Between the two peaks, the city spreads across the river's mouth. The Gros neighbourhood, east of the river, attracts surfers and digital nomads. Its beach, Zurriola, faces full Atlantic exposure – the waves that make La Concha look like a pond. Surf schools operate year-round, though water temperatures drop to 12°C in winter. The locals wear 4mm wetsuits and pretend it's tropical.

When to Brave It

June and September deliver the goldilocks zone – warm enough for beach days, cool enough for comfortable walking, and prices that haven't yet reached Monaco levels. August turns the city into what British expats call "Benidorm with better architecture." Hotel rates double, restaurant bookings require military planning, and the beach resembles Bournemouth on a bank holiday.

Winter brings its own rewards. The city's film festival in September segues into San Sebastián Day on January 20th, when the entire population dresses as chefs and marches through the streets banging drums for 24 hours. It's either magical or unbearable, depending on your tolerance for percussion. The restaurants remain open – this is a city that takes food seriously whatever the weather – and hotel rates plummet to reasonable levels.

The chirimiri, that fine Basque rain that seeps into your bones, can appear any time of year. Locals treat it like British weather – ignore it and carry on regardless. The covered market on Calle San Martín provides shelter and education; watch elderly women prodding produce with the authority of university professors, and marvel at fish that look like they've swum straight from a David Attenborough documentary.

Getting There, Getting Around

Bilbao airport, 100 kilometres west, offers the best connections from the UK. The airport bus drops you at the edge of the old town in 75 minutes for under €20. Biarritz, just across the French border, works for Ryanair's winter routes, though you'll need to navigate French railway timetables. Driving into the city centre ranks somewhere between foolish and impossible – one-way systems designed by someone who'd clearly had a liquid lunch, and underground car parks charging €30 daily.

Once arrived, walking covers most bases. The city measures barely three kilometres across, though what the tourist maps don't show is the gradient. Those elegant Belle Époque buildings required serious engineering – streets climb at angles that would give San Francisco pause. The local bus system works well for Gros and the railway station, but the real pleasure comes from discovering that the best bar for pimientos de padrón is the one you stumble into while lost.

San Sebastián doesn't do regrets – it does second helpings. Come for the beach, stay for the food, leave planning your return. Just don't expect to lose weight.