Bilbao

The side trip to visit Bilbao takes some logistics and time.

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As the wind blows the rolling tumbleweed, the trains roll my bumble north and then east from Portugal to the land of Spain. English speakers are rare and those that do speak brokenly thick with a spanish accent.

The land turned from hot and dry in southern Portugal to cool rich green and moist in hilly northern Portugal and northwestern Spain where Pontevedra lies. A few rain drops touched my head today between Porto and Pontevedra.

The train to Vigo, Spain, from Porto ran about 15 minutes late. Moving with focus I secured a place in line at the Vigo train station to make reservations for the train leaving in 30 minutes. In Spanish the attendant announced that for those people not needing reservations for the 12:30 train (my train) to kindly step aside. That put me first and she gave me my reservation with a smile and the best English in Spain thus far. The Spanish commuter train came nicely equipped with a vending machine, wheel chair access, and bike racks. The ride from Vigo to Pontevedra took 30 minutes. The train ticket attendant here spoke scattered words of English, but we managed to secure my reservation for the train to Segovia this evening. Sadly, policy prevented my getting the reservation for the early tomorrow morning train to Bilbao.

The four hours before my next train cry out to explore the city. I made the 1.4km walk with luggage on my back to the Lerez river. The meander took me through an old section of town with two story stone buildings likely built in the 19th century. My walk back to the train station passed through the more modern section with many many multistory condominium buildings and street shops.

This train station offered a new twist to boarding - a ticket check and luggage scan was involved adding barely a speed bump to access the platform (vias). The Renfe train to Segovia began traveling at typical speeds of 40-70mph, but after passing Orense it sped up to 130mph with the speed posted on the wall of the carriage. The train spent loads of time in the cell service darkness of tunnels.

A taxi in Segovia took me to the campground which turned out to be ... closed. Quite the surprise after visiting so many across Portugal. So it was off to a last minute choice for a hotel - Hotel Candido, a luxury hotel for 95€. Too bad I won't be spending more time here! They did offer to pack me a 'picnic' breakfast since I must leave to catch the train to Bilbao before breakfast is served.

(I hope the Guggenheim Museum is worth all these logistics!)

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The rolling hills and lush verdant land with its small farms of northwest Spain flattens out heading southeast to Segovia onto broad plains covered in large fields of crops. Wind farms poke skyward often everywhere. The early morning Segovia air smelled of a southwestern US desert. No patch of land appears untouched by human endeavor as I continue the journey northward toward Bilbao. The train raced at 150mph for the first half and then creeped through the mountains on the second half of the trip.

Walking to the Parque del Arenal I found a bar serving coffee with nice tables in the park. The lady serving ask me if I was doing the Camino de Santiago. I shared I had not understanding of what she was referencing. It wasn't until later in the day when someone else asked me the same question that I explored what that meant. It's a walk across northern Spain. Apparently the pack back luggage was the errant clue.

I'm feeling a little run down with a possible chest cold coming on, so sitting in the park next to the Nervion river in the relaxing shade felt good. Desiring to lay down, a wait of five hours was needed before I could check into the Hostel Quartier Bilbao.

I made a mini circle of the city around the Bilbao Abando train station and along a short portion of the Nervion river to make the time productive. The luggage makes it difficult to be ambitious like finding a museum. I enjoyed a delicious lunch and beer at a Greek restaurant because it had great reviews and was reasonably priced. I walked through a neighborhood with middle eastern immigrants. The neighborhood food stores displayed fresh vegetables which I found appealing. Occasionally I come across a place doing a smashing business with loads of people.

Living in the same place day-after-day and year-after-year, we grow accustomed to our homes particular nuances. Opening the door on a new place every one or two days those nuances of each place bring surprise. By example, tonight the shower wand found itself upside down spraying scolding water vertically into the air and around the bathroom! I didn't see that one coming!

This morning up at 5:45AM to catch the train, I found myself looking in the large bathroom mirror of the fancy hotel at myself. My age shows itself. The broad strong chest and shoulders grow thin. The flesh loose about the neck. The hair nearly gone from the top of my head. I stand alone undesired, the sexual being of my youth no more.

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The Casco Viejo section of Bilbao parties from the evening until the wee hours of the morning! The dense crowds mingled and explored all the narrow nooks and crannies of this old section of town. Sampling all the restaurants and food would constitute a major project and likely fill an encyclopedia. The place I stayed rested in the thick of the activity. Closing the windows helped, but the shouts, songs, and conversations in so many languages echoed about the room. A last loud hurrah by a group of young woman about 4:30AM that woke me temporarily then plummeted to near desert silence for the remainder of what little night remained.

My initial thoughts were to sleep in to hopefully ease the deepening chest congestion. Instead I slipped downstairs for a quick breakfast and set off for the Guggenheim museum. The Bilbao city trash collectors and street cleaners prepared the city for a new day. Only a sheen of water rested upon the cobblestone streets where just hours ago soles pounded them. In a park, a group of gentlemen appeared to be preparing for an activity with small caged birds. On the river Nervion, two boats, a cross between row boats and skulling boats, being rowed by a couple dozen individuals each with a coxswain barking the pace passed by quickly as I neared the Guggenheim. Early morning joggers and cyclists moved along the shores of the river.

I drank a cup of coffee and ate a slice of lemon cake at a very popular breakfast place called Cokoon Cafe. People were queued up for a table. The breakfasts served did look scrumptious!

After checking my daypack at the museum entrance, I explored the three floors of modern art of the Guggenheim and the internal architecture. My sister, Theone, prefers not to see pictures before she visits someplace. In that spirit, I only took one photo inside - you'll just have to come see for yourself.

The area of town I've explored is not terribly large and easy enough to walk. Despite that I elected to ride the green route back to the neighborhood the hostel resides in. It took me a couple runs at the ticket machine and watching two woman to figure out how to buy and validate the ticket. The Metro had several young families with strollers and babies. In fact, I saw a large number of children and pregnant women this day.

I made a 'real' Greek salad for dinner. The tomatoes in Portugal and Spain have all been sweet with that distinctive fresh garden flavor. They bring a smile to my lips each time I eat one.

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Concerns dominated my thoughts that there wouldn't be any remaining seats on the train from Bilbao to Barcelona. Recall that using the Eurail pass reservations can only be made the day of travel. The Renfe long distant ticket office opens at 6:30AM this morning. I arrived at 6:30AM. The attendants didn't open until about 6:40AM. There were no other customers. Now with the ticket safely in my hand, one last day to explore Bilbao remained.

Person after person passed me with bouquets of flowers in hand. My curiosity deepened almost to the point of stopping someone and asking. Stepping from the narrow streets of Casco Viejo neighborhood to one end of the Plaza Nueva all become clear - a flower market! The sellers smiled showing first this bouquet and then that pointing out the special qualities of each. One customer would buy and the next quickly chose in case that unique bouquet their eye beheld went to someone else. The place bustled and customers left so happy to have fresh flowers in hand.

Here I noticed the side of a building covered in a massive poster announcing Bilbao as the start of the 2023 Tour de France. Two skulling teams practiced on the river. Bells tolled calling worshipers to churches though only one older couple appeared to heed.

I looked for a place to have lunch. Most places served only tapas and it wasn't obvious if a queue existed or how to get service. The large luggage on my back made me reticent to dive in as spaces were tight. That was how folks were eating. They'd walk up to the bar, order a drink and select a tapas. Then they'd go stand somewhere with friends or kids in tow and eat fast. Sunday after the noon hour and every adult drank wine or beer. I found a bar that had an open outdoor table available and an attentive waitress. She invited me inside in English to use a barstool and counter. I'd already determined what to eat so ordering was done immediately. A craving for eggs and this dish did the trick. Kids on scooters went back and forth in the tight spaces, older gentlemen drank wine, a couple of families with very young kids ate quickly. It was a busy place with very limited space as most people stood.

Goodbye to Bilbao. I write this as the train takes me to Barcelona - Sants station with arrival after 10PM.