Bilbao (Spain)

...that we were going to Bilbao for a few days.

“It’s a port in North-Eastern Spain, in the Basque region”, I replied, stretching my own research into the subject to its limit.

“So why are you going there?” she continued.

“Because I’ve never been there”, I returned, hoping that that was the depth of the delving – and it was.

There are several good reasons to go to Bilbao, especially off-season, ...
...well until we got to Bilbao it was, anyway!

The flight should last about 1hr:40mins, but thanks to new security arrangements at Stansted, all flights were late taking off last Wednesday – welcome to the new “normal”.

The descent into Bilbao took me a little by surprise, knowing that it was a seaport – it was completely hemmed in by steeply wooded hills, some no doubt qualifying as mountains, with chalets straight from ... more

“Where’s that then?” asked our hairdresser last week, when I mentioned that we were going to Bilbao for a few days.

“It’s a port in North-Eastern Spain, in the Basque region”, I replied, stretching my own research into the subject to its limit.

“So why are you going there?” she continued.

“Because I’ve never been there”, I returned, hoping that that was the depth of the delving – and it was.

There are several good reasons to go to Bilbao, especially off-season, but the chief one is that you now can!

You can get there by car ferry directly from Portsmouth. It’s another of those 24-hour affairs (mmm, sounds like my kind of affair!) requiring good sea legs in winter, as the lion’s share of the journey involves being a long way out to sea in the Bay of Biscay.

For those of a weaker up-chucking disposition, or having no need of a car when they get there, there’s the plane, courtesy of GO, soon to be “Tangoed” into Easy Jet’s livery. Our flights cost £56 return from Stansted. This is not my most local of “London” airports, it has to be said, and on the day we set off, the M25 conspired to stop us getting there in the form of three “artics” choosing the junction with the M1 to jack-knife into each other, blocking all bar one lane.

Had we been heading directly for the airport, I’d have been worried, but we were only heading for an overnight stay at the Stansted Hilton* ready for an early check-in on the following day.

*Not half as grand as it sounds, but one of the best “chain” hotels I’ve been to for a while - well until we got to Bilbao it was, anyway!

The flight should last about 1hr:40mins, but thanks to new security arrangements at Stansted, all flights were late taking off last Wednesday – welcome to the new “normal”.

The descent into Bilbao took me a little by surprise, knowing that it was a seaport – it was completely hemmed in by steeply wooded hills, some no doubt qualifying as mountains, with chalets straight from The Tyrol or Switzerland. Some were even snow-capped.

Once landed, you begin to wonder where they could possibly be hiding the Basque region’s major city. The answer is, through a couple of tunnels and a few ridges away. This airport is a wonder to behold, with its bold sweeping aerofoil curves and seemingly unsupported glazed walls. By contrast, Stansted looks like a work-creation scheme for welders and a way of using up a job lot of stainless steel nuts and bolts left over from the Chunnel.

The taxi-driver was well “up” to Madrileño standard, with an impressive disregard for motorway speed limits, needing obviously to get close to the car in front for aerodynamic and fuel economy reasons (or is it that he needed to be so close to see the brake lights?). To be honest, the whole city drives like it’s taking part in the qualifying laps for the Bilbao Grand Prix, well in advance of any governmental go-ahead to hold it in the streets!

“HOTEL!” said our monosyllabic Schumacher in a gruff voice painstakingly hewn from 40 years of smoking, and pointing to our destination.

“El Hotel Jardines de Albía” – we’d made it intact, all except for our suitcase which was sporting only one wheel since the baggage handlers had ignored our “drop from a great height carefully” instructions. With its handling characteristics sadly compromised, we ducked out of any further practice laps, and scratched from the sack race.

This really was a nice hotel. Only two years old but nice. Generally speaking, I agree with something George Orwell nearly said – “Four stars, goo-oood, two years, ba-aaaa-d!”

SO WHAT’S SO GOOD ABOUT BILBAO?

Here are a few pointers as to why Bilbao, or Bilbo, as it’s known in Basque (Euskadi) is worthy of a visit.

It used to be an industrial seaport with shipyards – now it’s not.

It used to be a bit of a dump – now it’s not.

It used to be a good place to eat seafood - it still is.

It used not to have a Guggenheim Museum – now it fails miserably not to have one!

At this time of year, the weather is positively spring-like by UK standards.

The people that go to the “costas” for a laugh and to party till dawn don’t go there.

You get to practice your Spanish – the Basques don’t mind, they realize that there’s no hope of you ever learning any Euskadi – they don’t even seem to know where it came from themselves! Anyway, many of the inhabitants are actually Spanish. I did glean that anything ending in “AK” was a plural though. E.g. Servicios = Komunak. Wow! Impressive, eh? You could be forgiven for thinking that Basque is a loud language. After all, you only ever see it sprayed on walls in capital letters followed by exclamation marks!

All official signs are bi-lingual, but beware, some non-official signs are not. We nearly missed the San Sebastian bus, because no one had bothered to put the Spanish name on the front. By process of elimination, and with two minutes to spare, we found that Donostia was the same place! Well, Donostia, San Sebastian – should have been obvious, shouldn’t it? One of the best moves the newly formed parliamentary democracy made 25 years ago, was to make all regional languages official. So, for example, in Catalunya, Catalan and Spanish apply, in Gallicia, it’s Gallego and Spanish and here in the Basque region, it’s Basque and Spanish. In Madrid it’s Spanish and …errr….Spanish.

THE GUGGENHEIM MUSEUM

For the uninitiated, don’t be fooled by the “museum” bit, it’s an art gallery, in the same way that the Tate Modern is. As well as the kind of exhibit, these two share something else, a dramatic site. Tate Modern as we may all know by now is built in the old generator hall of London’s defunct Bankside power station. The Guggenheim (or “El Goug” as it’s affectionately known) is, by contract, a new building erected on the banks of the River Nervión in the center of Bilbao. At first sight, it’s difficult to take it all in, being the size of a respectable ocean-going liner, and with as many curves.

I think I can now put my finger on what it brings to mind.

Imagine if you will, a 12”-to-the-foot plastic kit of Sydney Opera House. Give it to a three-year-old without any instructions, and just see what results. Voilà el Goug!

I don’t mean to do the building or its creator any disservice, as it’s VERY impressive from all angles, but maybe that’s just the problem – it gives me too many directions to look and unless you stand back a quarter of a mile you can’t take it all in.

You can’t take a camera in with you (well, you can, but they seal it up and give it back to you complete with cocoon). This was a great disappointment, not because I wanted to plagiarize any of the exhibits, but some of the best views of Bilbao are to be had from the inside, and the inside is even better at being curvy than the outside. At one point, I found myself grabbing hold of a hand rail overlooking a five-story deep atrium, because the lack of a straight line in the place was making me doubt my own sense of balance.

One exhibit did make me smile though, being made of two large black rectangles on the wall. The fact that several people were standing silently looking at them raised a smile both from me, and the staff. Shades of the stage play “Art”?

Incidentally, is Spain immune from EC employment laws? If not, how come all the gallery wardens are attractive girls? Maybe they get round it by paying the ugly ones the same but keep them out of sight on “support” functions!

I won’t rabbit on too much about the exhibits – you either like this stuff or you don’t. El Goug has more than its fair share of “Carpet Underlay Off-Cuts In A Pile On The Floor” masquerading as works of art. The “Three Basketballs Floating In A Tank Of Distilled Water” is a prime example. I find myself drawn to look at it, and then get to wonder, whether the joke’s on me. Beyond liking what I see, am I supposed to FEEL anything else?

On a more serious note, it is the long-term hope that Picasso’s “Guernica” will “come home” to the Basque region to be hung here. Guernica (Gernika) was blitzkrieged to rubble during the Spanish Civil War by Franco’s allies, Hitler and Mussolini as it gave them dive-bombing practice, and although Germany has formally stated its regret, apologists for El Generalissimo claim that he had nothing to do with it – yeah, right!

As well as the dramatic setting, this gallery is one of the least crowded I’ve ever been to, both in terms of space for visitors to sit an ponder without tut-tutting from behind, and the room afforded to each exhibit.

WHAT ELSE?

a) El Nosh

Well, dat’s got kulcha outta da way. Now for the serious business of eating, shopping and getting out and about.

As I said before, Bilbao is a superb place to eat big fish, cod, hake and monkfish (bacalao, merluza y rape) being particular local delicacies. I can’t help feeling that the Basque’s are in some way related to the Re…. errr Native Americans with their almost 100% use for all things “buffalo”. Here, they each just about every bit of the cod, except for it’s “piece” and keep on going until there’s nothing left, or “al fin” as they say in Spain.

It’s nothing to find a starter menu boasting cod cheeks or hake throats - still we needn’t laugh – which part of a chicken is a nugget?

As for places to eat, you will find no problem here. For our first lunch, we went to Café Iruña, a typical traditional Spanish eatery with tiles, marble, mahogany and bevelled-edge mirrors. It also has waiters who look like they’re proud of what they do. None of that “I’m only doing this because I can’t get a proper job”.

At lunchtimes, which really only start to come on stream from 1 p.m., “el menú del día” reigns, although you COULD insist on seeing the proper menu – you’d be daft, but you could.

For 10 € including VAT (IVA) each, we had three courses and wine or cider. Coffee and a tip were the only extras. Ruth, my wife ordered a small paella and then “Gallo”, which according to me, and the dictionary I’ve just checked, was chicken (well cockerel actually). What she got was sole or plaice.

“It is my considered opinion sir, that this fish believes itself to be a winged biped”.

Luckily for me, I was right about the Lomo de Cerdo, which was indeed pork loin – phew, so we swapped after I’d had my Asparagus soup. Anyway, eating a baked white fish was no doubt better for my (on hold) diet! My cider turned out to be a whole 75 cl. bottle of local 6% ABV “sidra”, rapidly followed by a nice nap at the hotel. Turning on the TV later, I found myself watching Chicken Run dubbed into Spanish, complete with a “Chain Jorrox” sound-alike. Strange times, dear reader, especially under the influence of sidra. In the words of Rowley Birkin QC, “claro que sí, estaba muy muy borracho”.

Our evening meals also leant heavily on set menus, although we did feel the need to specify a particular wine rather than leave our trust in the house red or white. On our last night, despite only being our third night, it was our chance to push “la barca” out, but even then, a three course dinner including wine only came to 26€ a head. The only problem was that I found it to be a bit “nouvelle” for my liking. You know the kind of thing, the chef’s initials drizzled with a couli of summer berries on the plate. The monkfish and langoustine kebab was fine though as was the homemade pineapple ice cream!

b) El Shopping, or Ruth goes “de compras” whilst I stand outside.

Don’t expect a shopper’s guide here. Spanish shopping centres mean two things to me, or three if you include standing outside. Leather goods and clothing. Oh, yes, and did I mention standing outside? One immediately obvious place to shop in Bilbao, is El Corte Inglés**, a large national chain of department stores and on a par with Selfridges, I’d guess. I wouldn’t know - I stood outside.

**The English Cut (Style) – why anyone should think that there’s anything admirable about that, I can’t think. Maybe there used to be.

E.C.I stands at one end of the Gran Vía, the main boulevard. Many more of the boutique-style shops will be found in the Old Town, Casco Viejo, in a pedestrian area called Siete Calles, Seven Streets. If sales of leather luggage are anything to go by, it’s a wonder no one has thought of calling a shop “Bilbo Baggings” yet. Oh well, there’s another retail opportunity lost, bemoaned El Señor de los Anillos (anillos are rings – you work the rest out), who is amazingly popular here.

It’s also good to know that hatred for “Golden Arches” is alive and well in Basque territory. McMierda =McExplotación=McBasura read the grafitti. (McS**t=McExploitation=McRubbish) – so we won’t go there then!

c) Getting Around

No problems here. Bilbao seems to have won the lottery in the form of regional grants to uplift its transportation system. In addition to very frequent buses (Bilbobus – I liked that for some reason), there is a brand-spanking new underground metro designed by Norman Foster. The entrances, which are frequently in the form of a glazed hood appearing out of the pavement, have become known affectionately as Fosteritas. A single ride costs 1€, but a day pass costs a mere 3€. Before you start making comparisons with the London Underground’s £5 for a Travelcard, bear in mind that Bilbao’s not that big a place. The metro line heads north to the river estuary where it splits and runs along each bank for a few miles. Oh yes, and joy of joys, mobile phones work down there (Ola, estoy en el tren)

In addition, the city now has a tram network – well, it will be a network just as soon as it gets its extension past the Guggenheim. The trams themselves are incredibly sleek, looking more like a high-speed train than something to beetle around city streets clanging a bell as it goes. They have only been running since December so the Basque separatists have yet to discover their potential source of slogan surfaces!

When travelling further afield, your options are then limited by the direction of travel. If heading east, say to the French border or to San Sebastian (Donostia), there’s the coach (full of students who think it’s their God-given right to recline their seats during the day and then complain when the person in front does it too!) or the metre-gauge regional network of electric trains (Euskotren). Ironically, the coach was dearer than the train but took one hour less to get to S.S. (7€ single compared to 5.50€, and 1 hr:40 compared to 2hrs:40) neither of which is expensive for a 100 km trip. On our day trip to San Sebastian, we “coached it” going and took the train back. The return trip was by far the most scenic although we were warned that the trains were very basic in the upholstery department, i.e. there wasn’t any! In fact they were alarmingly like Docklands Light Railway trains which gave a surreal feel to journeying through beautiful terrain akin to the English Lake District.

Main line trains run by RENFE, the government lines, take you to Santander to the west and inland, all stations to Madrid, no doubt, although with only two whole days to play with, I didn’t investigate.

d) What We Missed

The transporter bridge “à la Middlesborough” spans the harbour well downstream from the city center. This is essentially a kind of ferry that never leaves dry land. A gantry set high enough for shipping to pass, carries a wheeled trolley, from which hangs a cradle with a section of road-deck. This “ferries” vehicles from one side to another.

The funicular railway, which runs up a very steep and high hill opposite the Guggenheim on the other bank of the river, is reputed to give stupendous views across the city.

Dozens of restaurants – well how many meal times are there in three days?

WOULD I GO AGAIN?

Emphatically yes. Perhaps next time, I’d combine a few days there with a motoring holiday of northern (Green) Spain, especially since I can get to Portsmouth quicker than I can to Stansted!

Bilbao doesn’t have the obvious draw that other major cities in Spain do, like a Moorish palace or similar. What it does have is a unique feel of not quite being Spanish, and there’s always that intrigue of the Basque “thing” even if you stand no chance of learning the language! It’s in a stunning setting with a view of a steep hill or maybe even a snow-capped mountain down practically every long straight street.

It’s also not very far!
 

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