Sunday, November 7, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The North and Basque Country
Monday 18/10/10
Ahhhh..... another sleep in. Our train back to Madrid didn't leave 'til early afternoon. Halfway through our journey, we' discussed how wonderful it is when we travel in Maggie (the motorhome) with a kitchen, our own bed and bathroom and most of all – Casey. Not that we'd like to motorhome in Europe – with the parking here, it would be a nightmare.
Fernie, always a newspaper addict, sits in the station with a Spanish periodical across his lap trying to decipher its content. It's a very odd sight. I guess he's in withdrawal.
The non-stop AVE train from Sevilla to Madrid is the absolute best of them all – it's amazingly fast and smooth and I really appreciate the power outlets on the AVE trains so I can use my laptop without running down the battery. We lucked into a seat with a huge table between dual seats and no seat mates. While I was transcribing my blog notes and watching the scenery flitting by, Fernie slept.
(it looks like all Fernie does is sleep)
There is something to be said for a five star hotel. The difference between a 4 star and a 5 star is vast. I succeeded with a Priceline bid on a five star at a good price and got the Gran Melia Fenix, one of 'The Leading Hotels in the World” as they like to promote. So we enjoyed the marble and glass bathroom with the Jacuzzi tub – that healed a lot of sore muscles. The beds, the décor, the fact we had 3 English TV channels when we didn't get one in Andalucia, the ultra-fast internet connection which enabled me to painlessly publish a blog – all fantastic. But I'd hate to travel that way all the time. I'd miss the local proprietors who struggle to speak English to us but make us feel so welcome, being with the local folk instead of the 'international' crowd. What a turn off to see the restaurant attached to the hotel was a Hard Rock Cafe. Now why would we come all this way for a burger at the Hard Rock when little Spanish kitchens were creating all sorts of area cuisine? It was an easy Metro ride to go back to our favourite area of bar / cafes in the little lanes. We found a little place that had blankets for our laps at the outside tables because autumn was encroaching and the temperature was much lower than a week ago.
Not so much walking today – only about 5 miles – 8 km
Tuesday 19/10/10
How I hate those early morning alarms – 6:15 feels like the middle of the night. But we have to get a train from Chamartin Station, in Northern Madrid, to Salamanca to the west.
One of the major changes we've made with our travel habits is that we used to lug our suitcases onto the subway / metro / tube up and down the stairs and never dream of calling a taxi. We wouldn't dream of doing that now – I'd probably keel over. Age does rear its ugly head. So it was taxi / breakfast / train and as usual, I used the time aboard to transcribe my scribbled blog notes.
Finally there was wild uncultivated land. We climbed up into the low mountains passing many little villages and the deciduous trees disappearing to be replaced by pine trees as we ascended. Cattle here and there – a few horses but mostly just wild and picturesque scenery. In some parts, our train was on the edge of a precipice on a high plateau at the very top of the hills. Crops have mostly been harvested and the landscape is brown and barren.
We stopped in Avila at 3,700 feet elevation and it was 3 degrees C. A massive Roman wall encircled the old city. The new is not so pretty in Spain; row after row of modern apartments, stark and uninteresting like barracks make one wonder if they'd be around a thousand years hence for people to wonder about the society of the 21st century.
We left Sevilla at 28 degrees C and arrived in Salamanca to 3 degrees C. Bright sunshine but brrrrrrr. We were booked at a hostal in the centre of the old town just around the corner from the Plaza Mayor. We requested a front balcony room, which would be regretted later. Our room overlooked a small green plaza full of groomed cypresses and tall palm trees with benches scattered throughout.
We could watch the passing parade from the comfort of our room. The plaza with its niches was a draw for young lovers who passionately smooched quite openly. The cold temperature didn't in any way deter them.
Nor did the cold impede anyone else from getting out to walk. The huge Plaza |Mayor – almost a duplicate of the one in Madrid, was teeming with strollers; the cafes had tables and chairs out in the sunshine and they were filled with folk drinking espressos, vino & cerveza, while basking in the sunshine. Of course, they had their warm coats and scarves on. By 3pm that afternoon though, the temperature must have risen substantially because we sat at a table for lunch in the sunshine and took our coats off.
Salamanca is a lovely university town and all the ancient buildings house one faculty or another. The streets teem with students rushing about. The university, which spreads all over the old city is the oldest in Spain, dating from the 12th century.
It seems that nobody speaks English here. That's to be expected as its off the tourist track. So we were tested on our limited Spanish but made out alright. There's no Moorish influence in Salamanca – all the architecture looks purely Roman.
The Plaza Mayor is ringed with restaurants and bars and around 7pm, everybody came out to promenade around and around. Old couples arm in arm and many of the women also link arms to walk together. In the centre of the square, a casual soccer game suddenly started, children rode their bikes and teens their skateboards and the older folk were extremely tolerant of the din. It's a very family-oriented culture and each person speaks louder than the last to be heard. It is so hard to describe the mix of sounds but it's a cacophony. After a couple of rounds, we'd honed in on our cafe of choice for our evening meal.
I'd like to know the rate of lung cancer in Spain in comparison to ours. So many smokers and you can smoke almost anywhere. Business men in restaurants even light up big stogie cigars after lunch and young women strut down the street with lit cigarettes in their hands. I saw mothers watching their children at the play park with cigarettes waggling off their lips as they talked. It seems so retro …... in a bad way.
It's Tuesday and you'd expect everyone to be home early but ….. no. We were awoken at 2:30am by the first revelers singing as they passed under our balcony window and it continued until 4am. We'd doze off for a few minutes only to be woken again by the next wave. These can't be the most studious of the students.
7 miles - 11km
Wednesday 20/10/10
The hostal receptionist couldn't get our Visa to go through - it kept ringing busy and we had a train to catch and our taxi was waiting, so she haltingly said we had to pay cash, depleting our small bit of remaining cash. Gotta find an ATM.
The train from Salamanca to Bilbao was one of the older ones, definitely not high speed and high tech like the AVE trains, but it was very comfortable and sparsely populated. The ticket agent on the train spoke to us in Spanish and noticed our vague, blank expressions – we struggled to say 'no hablas Espanol'. He sternly but in good English admonished 'You must learn to speak Spanish”. We nodded in agreement – can't argue that – we don't speak enough Spanish :) He then smilingly proceeded to show us how to change the seats in front of us to make a four-seater so we could put up our feet.
The land is flat and brown, the crops harvested already and the leaves of the few deciduous trees along the way are turning – they must have already had their first frost. The terrain changed to hills and eventually mountains as we approached Bilbao; it obviously has a higher precipitation because everything was lovely and green and very much like British Columbia.
Bilbao is a fairly bleak and grimy industrial city overall but they're trying to revive it. There's a lot of new construction and tall shiny highrises are now gracing the downtown skyline. But it's got a long way to go. It's the only Spanish city we've seen so far that has any sort of ethnic mix and it has a large African population but it is a seaport.
Our hotel, the Zabalburu, has no elevator and it has six floors. It's a fairly modern building so it is odd that they expect people to lug suitcases up six floors. Thank goodness we were only on the second floor. The guy at the registration desk admonished us for not understanding Spanish. These northerners are not half as forgiving and tolerant as those in the south. The hotel was decorated throughout the halls and rooms with black and white murals of buildings and monuments. Each room was named and ours was the 'James Bond' room (I can't figure that out) and our mural was of a Victorian-towered building, rather San Francisco-ish.
Our pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago, a large network of ancient pilgrim routes stretching across northern Spain and Europe, consisted of three blocks in Bilbao - not what most would consider a pilgrimage but as much as we will ever do. However, I think our feet and legs are just about ready if we change our minds.
My GPS with the addition of Spain maps has proved invaluable throughout our journey. We were able to find our way through the mazes of lanes in the Andalucian towns and found restaurants and shops. But it led us on a wild ride in Bilbao. We headed out of our hotel south not wanting to go the same way as we'd be heading the next day. It seemed totally residential in that direction. Not able to find a cafe for dinner on our way, I put a 'go to' into the GPS for one .4 miles away – down the hill not far from the river. Bilbao is set in a basin surrounded by mountains and much of the city is hilly like San Francisco. So following the snaky course, we hiked down and down and finally a steep flight of stairs descended to the bottom. I felt like Alice but instead of a Wonderland, we were in hell. It was one of the most derelict areas I'd ever seen and it was teeming with vagrants who eyed us suspiciously. Hordes of hookers lined the narrow roads in their almost non-existent seductive clothing in spite of the chill in the air, clucking and wooing at Fernie as he passed. The bars were dimly lit hellholes, the stench was unbearable and I felt so out of place and obvious. I almost ran down the street to get away from the grizzly scene but it seemed we just got deeper and deeper into it. The sidewalks are only about two feet wide so we were brushing shoulders with the whores and druggies as we fled. Finally the streets opened up and we were out and back mingling with the working folk who were just getting off for the day.
We never did find anywhere for dinner so we picked up a baguette, chorizo, cheese and fruit and with a nice bottle of wine had a picnic in our James Bond room.
Only about 4 miles today - 6km
Thursday 21/10/10
It was only a little over a mile from our hotel to the Guggenheim, which was our main reason for visiting Bilbao. We enjoyed exploring the streets of the city and window-shopping on our walk to the gallery. The visit proved to be well worth the visit. Modern art was well represented but there were more American artists than any others. There was also a gallery of the Dutch masters which came alive with the audio guide. The building is the premier work of art and it's breathtaking – made of shiny silver titanium, it's all curves – hardly a straight edge to be seen. They let me take my camera in to the gallery so I thought I could snap some photos of the interior, but I was quickly stopped.
“Dos jubilados” I said as we entered.
“You must be over 65” the clerk responded. I'm feeling younger all the time. I handed over our passports and we got in for five euros each instead of 15 euros. It pays to be a jubilado.
When we read in our guidebook that there was a spectacular wire sculpture covered in flowers and greenery in front of the Guggenheim of a forty-two foot westie (yes, that's right a big Casey), I was deliriously impatient to see it. I can't believe our luck - or should I say lack of - the westie was covered in scaffolding while they embedded it with winter pansies. I could have sat down and wept.
(This is what it looked like when we visited)
(This is what it should have looked like)
Fernie wanted to try the Basque specialty dish, bacalao, which is salt cod – but according to Rick Steves it's delicioso especially if you get it 'a la bizkaina' in tomatoes, onions and roasted peppers. Sorry Rick, we don't agree and we paid a hefty price in a snazzy restaurant today – it was much too salty for us.
We've had enough Spanish food for a while so when we found an Italian joint, we remembered it and went back for dinner. It was nothing fancy but very nice. Fernie had his old favourite – Spaghetti Bolognese and I had a Lasagne Funghi – it was a fabulous meal and one quarter the price of the bacalao.
We slept badly in our James Bond room; a group of men caroused in the street below until 4am, three mosquitoes attacked us throughout the night and the pillow was lumpy.
9 miles - 15 km today
Friday 22/10/10 (we've been away two weeks already – the time has flown)
We hiked the half mile to the station, suitcases clattering behind us. But no train today; we were picking up our rental car from Europcar – a cute little shiny red Mini Cooper. Fernie who'd never driven overseas before (that's always been my job – but encroaching cataracts are changing that) volunteered to be the driver; I'm better at navigating than him anyway. These days you have to pay extra for a second driver. Almost all cars in Europe are manual gearshift and you have to pay triple for an automatic – I'd never do that. Fernie hadn't driven a gearshift for about 40 years and I figured with the hills in Bilbao I was in for a crazy ride but after a couple of bad starts in 3rd gear, he figured out where low gear was and it was all smooth after that. It's like riding a bike – you never forget how; it comes right back to you. We love the Mini Cooper on the curvy, narrow mountain roads.
It took us a while to find our way out of the city though – the one-way roads kept us going in circles and my GPS doesn't recognize one-way streets. Our destination today is San Sebastian, a seaside resort on the Bay of Biscay and it was only about 70 miles from Bilbao, still in Basque country. The funny thing is it took us four hours to drive that 70 miles and we didn't really do anything but drive. We did the toll freeway for a bit but thought it would be more fun to tackle the country roads. The thick choking smog didn't leave us for quite a while; it wasn't until be got on the eastern side of a large pulp mill that it started to dissipate somewhat.
We pulled into a rest area down by a river and noticed a Class B motorhome parked there. We talked about how we'd hate to drive a motorhome in Europe with their roads and wondered at their bravery in tackling them. It was owned by a retired couple from Holland who came bounding out of the MH when they saw us and they called out a hearty 'hello' to us. As is usual with the Dutch, they were multilingual and could easily switch to English, German or French from their native language.
The mountainous territory made for tortuous driving. We climbed and climbed and climbed on a single lane road, hairpin after hairpin up to the very top of the hills. It was a bit nerve-racking when we'd meet a car going in the opposite direction and our Mini C held on tenuously to the edge of the precipitous road – a few inches and we'd be off the side of the cliff. Every so often we'd glimpse the ocean far below but there was seldom a widening to pull over. It's wonderful to be back by the ocean. The air is different.
Seeing as we had a car and parking in the cities is so difficult, I'd booked a country hotel eight kilometres out of San Sebastian, situated high on a bluff with cinemascopic ocean views from our second floor balcony overlooking the Bay of Biscay. We both agreed this was the best hotel we'd had so far in Spain...better than the 5 star and better than the other 4 stars. I think mostly it was because it was so peaceful and of course the view and the sea air along with a really comfortable room. We drove down to San Sebastian and walked the seawall, and strolled the lanes for a couple of hours, and decided to just enjoy our hotel. Two weeks of almost non-stop touring is taking its toll – but I'm not complaining because I love it.
It was delightful and Fernie's favourite so far. Huge windows opened wide and the mild sea air wafted in. It was so peaceful; the only sounds were of animals – dogs barking and a series of roosters in the morning. One of them squeaked and I thought it was a pig but it was an adolescent rooster whose voice was cracking. Little fishing boats bobbed far below but we were too high up to hear the sounds of the sea.
We drove into Centro and with patience and much circling found parking on the edge of town. A wide seawall winds its way along the crescent shaped harbour and even off-season it's full of walkers, runners and bikers. There was one geocache in town, right on the seawall but we didn't find it – darn! When I checked, the last five searchers hadn't found it either so it was obviously missing. Drats! We trudged around for a few hours but decided we'd rather enjoy our country abode.
No meals out today other than cafe con leche and te this morning – we're tired of restaurants So we bought bread, cheese, chorizo, fruit and vino of course and had dinner 'in'. It was such a treat.
Only about 4 miles today – 6km; aren't we the lazy ones.
Saturday 23/10/10
The countryside is pastoral and the roads curvy but good. We stopped in a tiny hamlet where the only business was a bar/cafe across from the church and we had 'cafe and te'. The buildings are Tyrolean in style with flower boxes in every window, glorious blooming blossoms cascading down the walls. There was a bike race on our country lane and we had to maneuver around the straggling groups and past small bunches of their friends who were cheering them on. Biking is popular in Spain and cities are well laid out with bike lanes and routes. The city bikers seldom wear helmets – wonder how many of them get killed each year.
Our little Mini C took us through some lovely countryside and we ended up in Pamplona, known for the 'Running of the Bulls' and made famous by that man's man, Ernest Hemingway (I say sneeringly).
However, it's a charming city even though they practice such barbaric rituals. We've heard that a lot of the younger people (college students) are becoming aware of the cruelty to the bulls with the run and the bullfighting and are protesting the archaic traditions. There was a large parade and protest in Granada when we were there. It seemed that all the college students from the campus joined in. They paraded down the streets, dressed in wild getups and ended up in a noisy melee in the church square. However, wherever we've traveled, the bullfighting rings are the central attraction and there are lineups to get in.
Our hotel was on the edge of Pamplona because we needed one with parking and there was a bus stop right outside with buses that took us right into the centre of town. We walked the route of the bull run, thinking along the way of the panic those poor beasts feel as they're stampeded down the narrow lanes. I have no pity for the men who run and get injured – they have a choice.
We sat outside at a sidewalk cafe in the main central plaza and ordered 'pinchos' with our vino.
Pinchos are small plates likes tapas, often cooked in little clay pots. We had an amazing assortment of scrumptious delicacies.
My Spanish must be getting better because I notice that people aren't giggling at my pronunciation anymore – or perhaps they're just more polite.
Sunday 24/10/10 - Day 3 with the car; destination Zaragoza
Fernie loves the Mini C; he's reminding me of the sexy French guy in one of the commercials that has caught my attention, who drives through the French Riviera winding through the narrow lanes at breakneck speed but always in control. The mini handles like a sports car and now Fernie has conquered finding low gear, he's a race car driver. We stayed off the highway as much as possible enjoying the little villages every few kilometres. The smog is atrocious no matter how deep we get into the countryside. It is all pervasive and you can feel it in your throat. The glare from the sun through the smog makes it really difficult when driving into the sun. It's so depressing that the world seems coated in this muck. Is there any going back?
We returned the car in the afternoon at Zaragoza train station and taxied into the old part of the city. Our little hotel was well located a block from the El Pilar Basilica and its central plaza. What's the difference between a basilica and a cathedral? - must look it up when I get home. This basilica was the most beautiful one we've seen (IMHO) with its blue and yellow tiled domes and inside a splendid Roman inspired ceiling. It was open to the public even during evening mass and the sounds of the choir echoed plaintively throughout the church. The beauty of it all took charge of my emotions and for a moment I thought it could almost make me believe.............or at least want to. A priest sat behind the lattice screen of a confessional waiting for business. Fernie said I'd keep him busy for hours if I confessed my last fifty years of sins.
The bull ring – Plaza del Toro – was busy when we passed (as always). Men, mostly older guys, lined up at the entry gate. Do they wager on bull fights? Another thing I have to check.
We're getting into the Spanish lifestyle and almost always recognize siesta time. After our early evening siesta, we ventured out for a stroll and were surprised to see it was raining. Went back in for our little umbrella and walked down to the plaza. The basilica was ablaze with lights and looked wonderful with all the contrast of dark and light. Before long, the rain stopped. Neither one of us felt like going to a restaurant but we'd picked up provisions (the usual) that afternoon and had a late dinner at 'home'.
I'm beginning to get tired of this hotel life. I'm craving Maggie (the motorhome). But only one more hotel – for three whole days in Barcelona.
Ahhhh..... another sleep in. Our train back to Madrid didn't leave 'til early afternoon. Halfway through our journey, we' discussed how wonderful it is when we travel in Maggie (the motorhome) with a kitchen, our own bed and bathroom and most of all – Casey. Not that we'd like to motorhome in Europe – with the parking here, it would be a nightmare.
Fernie, always a newspaper addict, sits in the station with a Spanish periodical across his lap trying to decipher its content. It's a very odd sight. I guess he's in withdrawal.
The non-stop AVE train from Sevilla to Madrid is the absolute best of them all – it's amazingly fast and smooth and I really appreciate the power outlets on the AVE trains so I can use my laptop without running down the battery. We lucked into a seat with a huge table between dual seats and no seat mates. While I was transcribing my blog notes and watching the scenery flitting by, Fernie slept.
(it looks like all Fernie does is sleep)There is something to be said for a five star hotel. The difference between a 4 star and a 5 star is vast. I succeeded with a Priceline bid on a five star at a good price and got the Gran Melia Fenix, one of 'The Leading Hotels in the World” as they like to promote. So we enjoyed the marble and glass bathroom with the Jacuzzi tub – that healed a lot of sore muscles. The beds, the décor, the fact we had 3 English TV channels when we didn't get one in Andalucia, the ultra-fast internet connection which enabled me to painlessly publish a blog – all fantastic. But I'd hate to travel that way all the time. I'd miss the local proprietors who struggle to speak English to us but make us feel so welcome, being with the local folk instead of the 'international' crowd. What a turn off to see the restaurant attached to the hotel was a Hard Rock Cafe. Now why would we come all this way for a burger at the Hard Rock when little Spanish kitchens were creating all sorts of area cuisine? It was an easy Metro ride to go back to our favourite area of bar / cafes in the little lanes. We found a little place that had blankets for our laps at the outside tables because autumn was encroaching and the temperature was much lower than a week ago.
Not so much walking today – only about 5 miles – 8 km
Tuesday 19/10/10
How I hate those early morning alarms – 6:15 feels like the middle of the night. But we have to get a train from Chamartin Station, in Northern Madrid, to Salamanca to the west.
One of the major changes we've made with our travel habits is that we used to lug our suitcases onto the subway / metro / tube up and down the stairs and never dream of calling a taxi. We wouldn't dream of doing that now – I'd probably keel over. Age does rear its ugly head. So it was taxi / breakfast / train and as usual, I used the time aboard to transcribe my scribbled blog notes.
Finally there was wild uncultivated land. We climbed up into the low mountains passing many little villages and the deciduous trees disappearing to be replaced by pine trees as we ascended. Cattle here and there – a few horses but mostly just wild and picturesque scenery. In some parts, our train was on the edge of a precipice on a high plateau at the very top of the hills. Crops have mostly been harvested and the landscape is brown and barren.
We stopped in Avila at 3,700 feet elevation and it was 3 degrees C. A massive Roman wall encircled the old city. The new is not so pretty in Spain; row after row of modern apartments, stark and uninteresting like barracks make one wonder if they'd be around a thousand years hence for people to wonder about the society of the 21st century.
We left Sevilla at 28 degrees C and arrived in Salamanca to 3 degrees C. Bright sunshine but brrrrrrr. We were booked at a hostal in the centre of the old town just around the corner from the Plaza Mayor. We requested a front balcony room, which would be regretted later. Our room overlooked a small green plaza full of groomed cypresses and tall palm trees with benches scattered throughout.
We could watch the passing parade from the comfort of our room. The plaza with its niches was a draw for young lovers who passionately smooched quite openly. The cold temperature didn't in any way deter them.
Nor did the cold impede anyone else from getting out to walk. The huge Plaza |Mayor – almost a duplicate of the one in Madrid, was teeming with strollers; the cafes had tables and chairs out in the sunshine and they were filled with folk drinking espressos, vino & cerveza, while basking in the sunshine. Of course, they had their warm coats and scarves on. By 3pm that afternoon though, the temperature must have risen substantially because we sat at a table for lunch in the sunshine and took our coats off.
Salamanca is a lovely university town and all the ancient buildings house one faculty or another. The streets teem with students rushing about. The university, which spreads all over the old city is the oldest in Spain, dating from the 12th century.
It seems that nobody speaks English here. That's to be expected as its off the tourist track. So we were tested on our limited Spanish but made out alright. There's no Moorish influence in Salamanca – all the architecture looks purely Roman.
The Plaza Mayor is ringed with restaurants and bars and around 7pm, everybody came out to promenade around and around. Old couples arm in arm and many of the women also link arms to walk together. In the centre of the square, a casual soccer game suddenly started, children rode their bikes and teens their skateboards and the older folk were extremely tolerant of the din. It's a very family-oriented culture and each person speaks louder than the last to be heard. It is so hard to describe the mix of sounds but it's a cacophony. After a couple of rounds, we'd honed in on our cafe of choice for our evening meal.
I'd like to know the rate of lung cancer in Spain in comparison to ours. So many smokers and you can smoke almost anywhere. Business men in restaurants even light up big stogie cigars after lunch and young women strut down the street with lit cigarettes in their hands. I saw mothers watching their children at the play park with cigarettes waggling off their lips as they talked. It seems so retro …... in a bad way.
It's Tuesday and you'd expect everyone to be home early but ….. no. We were awoken at 2:30am by the first revelers singing as they passed under our balcony window and it continued until 4am. We'd doze off for a few minutes only to be woken again by the next wave. These can't be the most studious of the students.
7 miles - 11km
Wednesday 20/10/10
The hostal receptionist couldn't get our Visa to go through - it kept ringing busy and we had a train to catch and our taxi was waiting, so she haltingly said we had to pay cash, depleting our small bit of remaining cash. Gotta find an ATM.
The train from Salamanca to Bilbao was one of the older ones, definitely not high speed and high tech like the AVE trains, but it was very comfortable and sparsely populated. The ticket agent on the train spoke to us in Spanish and noticed our vague, blank expressions – we struggled to say 'no hablas Espanol'. He sternly but in good English admonished 'You must learn to speak Spanish”. We nodded in agreement – can't argue that – we don't speak enough Spanish :) He then smilingly proceeded to show us how to change the seats in front of us to make a four-seater so we could put up our feet.
The land is flat and brown, the crops harvested already and the leaves of the few deciduous trees along the way are turning – they must have already had their first frost. The terrain changed to hills and eventually mountains as we approached Bilbao; it obviously has a higher precipitation because everything was lovely and green and very much like British Columbia.
Bilbao is a fairly bleak and grimy industrial city overall but they're trying to revive it. There's a lot of new construction and tall shiny highrises are now gracing the downtown skyline. But it's got a long way to go. It's the only Spanish city we've seen so far that has any sort of ethnic mix and it has a large African population but it is a seaport.
Our hotel, the Zabalburu, has no elevator and it has six floors. It's a fairly modern building so it is odd that they expect people to lug suitcases up six floors. Thank goodness we were only on the second floor. The guy at the registration desk admonished us for not understanding Spanish. These northerners are not half as forgiving and tolerant as those in the south. The hotel was decorated throughout the halls and rooms with black and white murals of buildings and monuments. Each room was named and ours was the 'James Bond' room (I can't figure that out) and our mural was of a Victorian-towered building, rather San Francisco-ish.
Our pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago, a large network of ancient pilgrim routes stretching across northern Spain and Europe, consisted of three blocks in Bilbao - not what most would consider a pilgrimage but as much as we will ever do. However, I think our feet and legs are just about ready if we change our minds.
My GPS with the addition of Spain maps has proved invaluable throughout our journey. We were able to find our way through the mazes of lanes in the Andalucian towns and found restaurants and shops. But it led us on a wild ride in Bilbao. We headed out of our hotel south not wanting to go the same way as we'd be heading the next day. It seemed totally residential in that direction. Not able to find a cafe for dinner on our way, I put a 'go to' into the GPS for one .4 miles away – down the hill not far from the river. Bilbao is set in a basin surrounded by mountains and much of the city is hilly like San Francisco. So following the snaky course, we hiked down and down and finally a steep flight of stairs descended to the bottom. I felt like Alice but instead of a Wonderland, we were in hell. It was one of the most derelict areas I'd ever seen and it was teeming with vagrants who eyed us suspiciously. Hordes of hookers lined the narrow roads in their almost non-existent seductive clothing in spite of the chill in the air, clucking and wooing at Fernie as he passed. The bars were dimly lit hellholes, the stench was unbearable and I felt so out of place and obvious. I almost ran down the street to get away from the grizzly scene but it seemed we just got deeper and deeper into it. The sidewalks are only about two feet wide so we were brushing shoulders with the whores and druggies as we fled. Finally the streets opened up and we were out and back mingling with the working folk who were just getting off for the day.
We never did find anywhere for dinner so we picked up a baguette, chorizo, cheese and fruit and with a nice bottle of wine had a picnic in our James Bond room.
Only about 4 miles today - 6km
Thursday 21/10/10
It was only a little over a mile from our hotel to the Guggenheim, which was our main reason for visiting Bilbao. We enjoyed exploring the streets of the city and window-shopping on our walk to the gallery. The visit proved to be well worth the visit. Modern art was well represented but there were more American artists than any others. There was also a gallery of the Dutch masters which came alive with the audio guide. The building is the premier work of art and it's breathtaking – made of shiny silver titanium, it's all curves – hardly a straight edge to be seen. They let me take my camera in to the gallery so I thought I could snap some photos of the interior, but I was quickly stopped.
“Dos jubilados” I said as we entered.
“You must be over 65” the clerk responded. I'm feeling younger all the time. I handed over our passports and we got in for five euros each instead of 15 euros. It pays to be a jubilado.
When we read in our guidebook that there was a spectacular wire sculpture covered in flowers and greenery in front of the Guggenheim of a forty-two foot westie (yes, that's right a big Casey), I was deliriously impatient to see it. I can't believe our luck - or should I say lack of - the westie was covered in scaffolding while they embedded it with winter pansies. I could have sat down and wept.
(This is what it looked like when we visited)
(This is what it should have looked like)Fernie wanted to try the Basque specialty dish, bacalao, which is salt cod – but according to Rick Steves it's delicioso especially if you get it 'a la bizkaina' in tomatoes, onions and roasted peppers. Sorry Rick, we don't agree and we paid a hefty price in a snazzy restaurant today – it was much too salty for us.
We've had enough Spanish food for a while so when we found an Italian joint, we remembered it and went back for dinner. It was nothing fancy but very nice. Fernie had his old favourite – Spaghetti Bolognese and I had a Lasagne Funghi – it was a fabulous meal and one quarter the price of the bacalao.
We slept badly in our James Bond room; a group of men caroused in the street below until 4am, three mosquitoes attacked us throughout the night and the pillow was lumpy.
9 miles - 15 km today
Friday 22/10/10 (we've been away two weeks already – the time has flown)
We hiked the half mile to the station, suitcases clattering behind us. But no train today; we were picking up our rental car from Europcar – a cute little shiny red Mini Cooper. Fernie who'd never driven overseas before (that's always been my job – but encroaching cataracts are changing that) volunteered to be the driver; I'm better at navigating than him anyway. These days you have to pay extra for a second driver. Almost all cars in Europe are manual gearshift and you have to pay triple for an automatic – I'd never do that. Fernie hadn't driven a gearshift for about 40 years and I figured with the hills in Bilbao I was in for a crazy ride but after a couple of bad starts in 3rd gear, he figured out where low gear was and it was all smooth after that. It's like riding a bike – you never forget how; it comes right back to you. We love the Mini Cooper on the curvy, narrow mountain roads.
It took us a while to find our way out of the city though – the one-way roads kept us going in circles and my GPS doesn't recognize one-way streets. Our destination today is San Sebastian, a seaside resort on the Bay of Biscay and it was only about 70 miles from Bilbao, still in Basque country. The funny thing is it took us four hours to drive that 70 miles and we didn't really do anything but drive. We did the toll freeway for a bit but thought it would be more fun to tackle the country roads. The thick choking smog didn't leave us for quite a while; it wasn't until be got on the eastern side of a large pulp mill that it started to dissipate somewhat.
We pulled into a rest area down by a river and noticed a Class B motorhome parked there. We talked about how we'd hate to drive a motorhome in Europe with their roads and wondered at their bravery in tackling them. It was owned by a retired couple from Holland who came bounding out of the MH when they saw us and they called out a hearty 'hello' to us. As is usual with the Dutch, they were multilingual and could easily switch to English, German or French from their native language.
The mountainous territory made for tortuous driving. We climbed and climbed and climbed on a single lane road, hairpin after hairpin up to the very top of the hills. It was a bit nerve-racking when we'd meet a car going in the opposite direction and our Mini C held on tenuously to the edge of the precipitous road – a few inches and we'd be off the side of the cliff. Every so often we'd glimpse the ocean far below but there was seldom a widening to pull over. It's wonderful to be back by the ocean. The air is different.
Seeing as we had a car and parking in the cities is so difficult, I'd booked a country hotel eight kilometres out of San Sebastian, situated high on a bluff with cinemascopic ocean views from our second floor balcony overlooking the Bay of Biscay. We both agreed this was the best hotel we'd had so far in Spain...better than the 5 star and better than the other 4 stars. I think mostly it was because it was so peaceful and of course the view and the sea air along with a really comfortable room. We drove down to San Sebastian and walked the seawall, and strolled the lanes for a couple of hours, and decided to just enjoy our hotel. Two weeks of almost non-stop touring is taking its toll – but I'm not complaining because I love it.
It was delightful and Fernie's favourite so far. Huge windows opened wide and the mild sea air wafted in. It was so peaceful; the only sounds were of animals – dogs barking and a series of roosters in the morning. One of them squeaked and I thought it was a pig but it was an adolescent rooster whose voice was cracking. Little fishing boats bobbed far below but we were too high up to hear the sounds of the sea.
We drove into Centro and with patience and much circling found parking on the edge of town. A wide seawall winds its way along the crescent shaped harbour and even off-season it's full of walkers, runners and bikers. There was one geocache in town, right on the seawall but we didn't find it – darn! When I checked, the last five searchers hadn't found it either so it was obviously missing. Drats! We trudged around for a few hours but decided we'd rather enjoy our country abode.
No meals out today other than cafe con leche and te this morning – we're tired of restaurants So we bought bread, cheese, chorizo, fruit and vino of course and had dinner 'in'. It was such a treat.
Only about 4 miles today – 6km; aren't we the lazy ones.
Saturday 23/10/10
The countryside is pastoral and the roads curvy but good. We stopped in a tiny hamlet where the only business was a bar/cafe across from the church and we had 'cafe and te'. The buildings are Tyrolean in style with flower boxes in every window, glorious blooming blossoms cascading down the walls. There was a bike race on our country lane and we had to maneuver around the straggling groups and past small bunches of their friends who were cheering them on. Biking is popular in Spain and cities are well laid out with bike lanes and routes. The city bikers seldom wear helmets – wonder how many of them get killed each year.
Our little Mini C took us through some lovely countryside and we ended up in Pamplona, known for the 'Running of the Bulls' and made famous by that man's man, Ernest Hemingway (I say sneeringly).
However, it's a charming city even though they practice such barbaric rituals. We've heard that a lot of the younger people (college students) are becoming aware of the cruelty to the bulls with the run and the bullfighting and are protesting the archaic traditions. There was a large parade and protest in Granada when we were there. It seemed that all the college students from the campus joined in. They paraded down the streets, dressed in wild getups and ended up in a noisy melee in the church square. However, wherever we've traveled, the bullfighting rings are the central attraction and there are lineups to get in.
Our hotel was on the edge of Pamplona because we needed one with parking and there was a bus stop right outside with buses that took us right into the centre of town. We walked the route of the bull run, thinking along the way of the panic those poor beasts feel as they're stampeded down the narrow lanes. I have no pity for the men who run and get injured – they have a choice.
We sat outside at a sidewalk cafe in the main central plaza and ordered 'pinchos' with our vino.
Pinchos are small plates likes tapas, often cooked in little clay pots. We had an amazing assortment of scrumptious delicacies.
My Spanish must be getting better because I notice that people aren't giggling at my pronunciation anymore – or perhaps they're just more polite.
Sunday 24/10/10 - Day 3 with the car; destination Zaragoza
Fernie loves the Mini C; he's reminding me of the sexy French guy in one of the commercials that has caught my attention, who drives through the French Riviera winding through the narrow lanes at breakneck speed but always in control. The mini handles like a sports car and now Fernie has conquered finding low gear, he's a race car driver. We stayed off the highway as much as possible enjoying the little villages every few kilometres. The smog is atrocious no matter how deep we get into the countryside. It is all pervasive and you can feel it in your throat. The glare from the sun through the smog makes it really difficult when driving into the sun. It's so depressing that the world seems coated in this muck. Is there any going back?
We returned the car in the afternoon at Zaragoza train station and taxied into the old part of the city. Our little hotel was well located a block from the El Pilar Basilica and its central plaza. What's the difference between a basilica and a cathedral? - must look it up when I get home. This basilica was the most beautiful one we've seen (IMHO) with its blue and yellow tiled domes and inside a splendid Roman inspired ceiling. It was open to the public even during evening mass and the sounds of the choir echoed plaintively throughout the church. The beauty of it all took charge of my emotions and for a moment I thought it could almost make me believe.............or at least want to. A priest sat behind the lattice screen of a confessional waiting for business. Fernie said I'd keep him busy for hours if I confessed my last fifty years of sins.
The bull ring – Plaza del Toro – was busy when we passed (as always). Men, mostly older guys, lined up at the entry gate. Do they wager on bull fights? Another thing I have to check.
We're getting into the Spanish lifestyle and almost always recognize siesta time. After our early evening siesta, we ventured out for a stroll and were surprised to see it was raining. Went back in for our little umbrella and walked down to the plaza. The basilica was ablaze with lights and looked wonderful with all the contrast of dark and light. Before long, the rain stopped. Neither one of us felt like going to a restaurant but we'd picked up provisions (the usual) that afternoon and had a late dinner at 'home'.
I'm beginning to get tired of this hotel life. I'm craving Maggie (the motorhome). But only one more hotel – for three whole days in Barcelona.
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