Friday in Bilbao

Yesterday being our first full day in Bilbao, we were out early to organise our bus passes – only to find that those responsible for issuing them were not.  Still, we had a look round the market just as it was opening.  A preponderance of meat and fish, and only one stall that we saw was offering fruit and vegetables.  Onward to the Arriaga tourist office, to find that it opened over an hour later at 09:30.  A gentle stroll along the quay to the Zubizuri Bridge, heckled by ducks on the river – which is full of enormous trout, by the way.  Back up to the main shopping drag (imaginatively named the Gran Via) to locate the local Corte Inglés department store, and its separate bookshop.  Then back down to the Arriaga to get our bus passes.  10€ per man for two days’ unlimited bus, tram, metro and funicular travel cannot be bad. 

The Guggenheim sportingly did not question my senior citizen status, and we enjoyed the visit very much.  The most impressive exhibition, to my eyes, was Richard Serra's The Matter of Time, a vast steel sculpture of waves, a maze, spirals and curves, taking up a gallery the size of an aircraft hangar (sponsored, unsurprisingly, by Arcelor-Mittal).  But the most impressive thing is the building itself – the atrium is simply amazing: there isn’t a straight line in sight, and the way it uses the light is superb.  Of the titanium, glass and limestone outside, I’m less convinced, though it is an amazing landmark.  Jeff Koons’s floral puppy is a delight at this time of year: a mass of bedding plants standing some 10m tall.

From there we took the tram back to the Zubizuri bridge, and walked up to the funicular for the ride up to the Atrantxa summit.  It was a little less sweaty up there, and although there was a lot of haze, the views were pretty good.  This is more than can be said for lunch, which was indigestible and served with poor grace.  Feeling hot and digestively challenged, we headed back to the flat for a siesta, and slept despite the heat and noises off.

 

Later in the evening we opted for dinner on the roof terrace, only to find that the turntable of the microwave cooker in the flat does not work.  Result: two pieces of salmon cooked, the other barely thawed.  Not helpful coming after the lousy lunch, with unfortunate consequences this morning for yr. obed. servt.  Still, the terrace proved a pleasant place to sit in the evening, with a bit of breeze and nice views of the setting sun.

Relatively lazy day today: we did a lot of walking and sightseeing yesterday, so were altogether a little less ambitious.  We took a couple of rides on service buses, which is always a good way to do a bit of people watching and to see the ordinary parts of town.  Bilbao being very hilly, we got many long views of the city.  One ride was on the circular route that passes our door, and another went up the hill to the south west of the city.  On arriving at the terminus, the charming blonde driver switched off, and came back to speak to us.  On my saying in Portuguese that I didn’t speak Spanish, she dropped into English and explained that we had to run our tickets through the machine again for the return journey in case an inspector got on the bus.  Not that it would have made a lot of difference, in that we have rover tickets, but nice of her to prompt us.  We chatted for a while until her cigarette break was cut short by a bleep from the cab telling her to get her bus in gear.  She waved us a cheerful farewell when we got off at the Corte Inglés to get our evening provisions. 

Talking of which, El Corte Inglés has done quite well out of us in the two full days we’ve been here.  Given my rotten Spanish, it’s all too easy just to buy in supermarkets and department stores.  We’re neither of us wild about tapas/pintxos, having seen what’s on offer (predominantly bread), so we opted for the department store cafeteria for lunch.  Another mistake.  Escalopes sourced from the cobbler’s stand next door, served with insufficently drained pasta, hence soggy chapelure, and chips, also soggy.  The pasta was adorned with a dollop of tomato sauce and a spoonful of bolognese ditto.  Nothing objectionable about the parmesan, but that could be explained by its lack of flavour…

Altogether more impressive was the vast stained glass window in the main railway station, depicting the industry, agriculture and leisure of the region.  The station was very quiet – it only boasts about a dozen long distance connexions a day, the journey times reflecting the huge size of the country and the fact that, unlike France, it hasn’t got much of a high-speed rail network.

And so, having bought a map to help us plan tomorrow’s itinerary, to bed for another sweaty siesta.  Simple dinner with a bottle of hastily selected sweetish white Rioja, and tea on the roof as the sun went down.  Quite looking forward to getting home now: but tomorrow’s drive and the long sail home could be entertaining meanwhile.