On our last morning in Barcelona, we roll our bags through the city streets and savor some final 'Barça moments' on our way to catch the bus to Bilbao.
Soon we're passing through Aragón, with its 'solar and wind farms' and the famous wine-growing region of La Rioja, home to many of the fine bottles we've enjoyed in Spain.
The rolling hills of grape-laden vines are intriguing to the imagination, but we make no stops for wine tasting. And I'd rather do that in the evening anyway, at a sidewalk cafe over a fine table laden with delectables.
As we near Spain's northwestern coast, a cloud cover hangs over the mountain range standing distant to the north.
Finally we leave the dry lands and fertile desert valleys of central Spain and pass through a scenic cleft into the rain-blessed Basque country. The landscape is suddenly greener, the hills tree-covered, the air misty. One understands that there might well be basic differences of perspective between the peoples who live on different sides of these mountains.
From the bus station, we wheel our luggage onto the closest Metro train and debark somewhere across town. Then it's onward downhill through a light drizzle to our hostel on the banks of the Ría de Nervión. After settling into our room, we head out again, to a semi open-air family-style place for chicken, fries, and a large pitcher of beer.
Besides the rain and the sudden appearance of street signs and political slogans in Euzkadi, Bilbao already has a very different feeling; it's a different kind of place than the rest of Spain. It feels instantly more Atlantic and far less Mediterranean. Not surprising, since we're now near the shores of the stormy Bay of Biscay, and far from the balmy Med. It appears we're in for yet another very different kind of adventure on our TransAtlantic sojourn.
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First things first. As with every place we've visited, there's the matter of taking a long walk to get the 'lay of the land.' Some of our first impressions are of the large panels of edgy graffiti endemic to this section of town.
Our hostel is in an older industrial part of the riverfront that appears to be redeveloping as something of an artist colony. Jane Jacobs (The Death and Life of Great American Cities, 1961) pointed out the value of older industrial areas as incubators for small businesses and arts areas. Artists need cheap space to renovate as studios and living quarters, and in the process they often take the lead in rebuilding the 'iffy' sections of cities. That's usually where we find ourselves billeted, in interesting areas where the cheap rooms are.
(A few friends have asked how we could travel in Europe these days without going bankrupt. Cheap hostels and public transportation, that's how. We try to live like the average European and not stay in gilded digs, far from the realities of daily life. So far, it's worked well for us. The downside of rambling is not knowing in advance about those unknown wonderful and affordable little lodging places that each city has. The great ones in the guidebooks are already taken!)
Our hostel is maybe a mile from the center of town, on the other side of the river. A walk to the center takes us over one of several pedestrian bridges, into an parkland area of lush greenery along the river.
Several beautiful older apartment buildings border the park and separate it from the moderate bustle of downtown streets, where there are also pedestrian-ways and squares filled with flowers. On a downtown corner we pass a bust of John Adams (!), who apparently spoke highly of the Basques at some point in his long career.
The pain of joblessness is evident here as in most of Spain, and there's an encampment, or manifestation, along the riverside, complete with organic garden, beside a bridge into the narrow streets of the Casco Viejo, the oldest section of town.
There are posters in Euzkadi (which we can't read) and Castellano, stating, "It's not a crisis. It's a swindle!" and "It's not a lack of money. It's an excess of thieves!" Does any of this sound familiar, from a US perspective?
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From there, it's a long, beautiful walk along the other side of the riverfront through tree-lined walkways, with fine views over the water into the city. We pass sculptures (including one awaiting assembly), bikeways, and a sweeping bridge by Santiago Calatrava, Spain's premier bridge 'Star-chitect' and large-scale sculptor.
So far we've seen his dramatic work in Buenos Aires, Sevilla, Lisbon, Barcelona, and Redding, California(!), and we've never failed to be impressed with the ingenuity of design and the sheer presence it gives to a city.
And then there's the Guggenheim. Ever since it opened in 1997, there's been plenty of hype about the Museo Guggenheim Bilbao by Frank Gehry. Architects are notorious for giving each other awards – sometimes even for famous failures like Chicago's Pruitt-Igoe housing project, immortalized in its destruction by the 1982 movie "Koyaanisqatzi"– with full orchestration by Philip Glass. I have to admit I was skeptical about the Guggenheim Bilbao. I was wrong.
The Guggenheim Bilbao is a very impressive piece of urban sculpture nestled into a bend of the river between two of Bilbao's eye-catching bridges. It doesn't tower, jarringly and out of context, over the skyline; rather, it nestles into the riverscape.
We catch a glimpse of the city-side entry down quiet Calle Iparraguirre, flanked by Jeff Koons' flower-covered "Puppy" sculpture. A second main entry embraces the riverfront, an important part of Bilbao's history. So which is the 'Main Entry?' It appears they both are as they share the same lobby – a thoughtful stroke of design in its own right.
The titanium-tiled exterior walls (said to evoke herring scales) seem to work well in the gray atmosphere of this old port city, and carry into the interior, past large glass panes. Inside, the exposed supporting steel structure creates a sculptural lacework with an added complexity when viewed from different floor levels. It's been said that the building overshadows the artwork within. On our visit, this was largely true (unfortunately, no pictures are permitted inside the building). Yet it's easily worth visiting Bilbao just to experience the architecture of the Guggenheim. And not too surprisingly, its dramatic exterior has become a major 'photo op' for travelers.
The current exhibits (Summer of 2011) include a permanent installation of large pieces by Richard Serra (Does he make any small ones?!), European art from the chaotic period between the World Wars, and "The Luminous Interval" from the D. Daskalopoulos Collection, featuring some of the edgier artists of the first quarter of the 21st century. These are strong (and large) 'statements,' about the human condition. They challenge our perceptions of body, personal space, comfort, and society. But are they 'art?' And what is 'art,' anyway? Innovators are rarely embraced by the establishment. Even the now-famous Impressionists, Expressionists, Cubists, Modernists, etc. were derided in their time, but eventually accepted and lauded. So it is that some of today's artists will also be memorable, while others will be forgotten.
The exhibit included a piece by Martin Kippenberger, but I missed it. We saw a posthumous Kippenberger show at the Museo Thyssen in Málaga and I mostly remember images of a middle-aged, overweight, dissipated guy in his underwear. And, yes it was challenging.
The French philosopher, Montaigne, said, "Each progressive soul is confronted at the crossroads to the future by a thousand men appointed to guard the past." That's not always a bad thing, especially for large buildings that may risk people's lives. Yet how essential is that when regarding 'art?' Is the debate worthwhile? Are we pole-vaulting over mouse manure here?
On a personal basis there are practical considerations. Is it a huge piece that requires an addition to the house? Is it a convoluted three-dimensional piece that requires frequent cleaning? I like elephants, but I don't want one living in the house with me. In the end, will it pass the 'wall test?' Would I hang it on my wall?
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In contrast, and almost next door to the Guggenheim, stands the quietly impressive Museo de Bellas Artes – impressive for its art, if not its under-stated architecture. Here you'll find the classics (Murillo, Zurbarán, El Greco, Goya, van Dyck), the more contemporary (from Gauguin to Francis Bacon), and the great Basque sculptors (Oteiza and Chillida). So if you don't find what you're looking for at the Guggenheim, you'll probably find it in the next museum just a few steps up the river.
Meanwhile, there are big plans afoot in the region. The Botín Foundation has plans for a major arts facility in nearby Santander and has already hired Vicente Todolí, the former director of London's Tate Modern, to head its programming.
Íñigo Saenz de Miera, director of the Botín Foundation referred to “the perverse consequence of the success of the Guggenheim. The problem in Spain has been that everything has gone into having a great building, and often only then has there been some thinking about the content.”
The Santander project is conceived as part of a 'modern arts circuit' for northern Spain that would include venues in Bilbao, San Sebastián, Santiago and Avilés – another very good reason to visit the Basque country.
Also, the July 11 issue of El Correo (the local newspaper) reports that Bilbao is now a port city for MSC Cruceros line's "Opera" cruising liner. It's a modest-sized ship of 2000 passengers that serves mostly northern European tourists, and will hopefully visit many of these new art venues. They plan nine passages per season to Bilbao's Getxo (pronounced "getcho") port facilities. So 'getcho' buns on the ship and get to Bilbao! (But later, there's a report that the MSC "Opera" broke down in the Baltic and had to be towed to port. The passengers were off-loaded and given chits for a future passage.)
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A few extra tidbits:
In Morocco we saw few pets – mostly just some scrawny cats left to fend for themselves. Most Moroccans seemed to have more important things to do with their money. And in Portugal, we rarely saw pets. But in parts of Spain (and previously in France) we find numerous 'sidewalk logs' – of the dog variety. Best watch one's step while out walking in certain European cities. (Unlike the scatological character played by Eliot Gould in Jules Pfeiffer's movie, "Little Murders," a parody on 1960s NYC life, we'll spare you photographs. You're welcome.)
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Carolyn was scanning the obituaries (No, I don't know why.) and found that most Bilbainos seem to live to their 80s or 90s. Every day we see people out running, walking, riding bikes, and simply enjoying life in this charming small city. Overall, people seem to live fully and well in Bilbao.
This has been a busy and adventurous Summer for us. We have explored several countries, traveled thousands of kilometers, and visited seven of Spain's major cities. Still, some friends may ask, "You didn't get to Córdova?" or "What about Segovia, and Toledo, and Valencia?" or "Surely you didn't miss San Sebastián and Pamplona! How could you!?"
Those are all places we'd love to visit, but our pesos are limited. And after so much time on the road, a kind of rootlessness takes its toll. The time has come to make serious headway back to New Mexico for a couple of weeks with family before heading back south of the border to quiet Kino Bay.
But before that, we'll catch a cheap flight (on RyanAir) to London for a few days. Then we'll hitch a ride back across The Pond on the Queen Mary 2. So our ridiculous adventure will continue for a bit longer. Please bear with us.
HI Carolyn,
Evi sent me the link to your blogs as I am planning on going to Barcelona and Spain for two months (Dec. and Jan.). Thanks for your introduction to Barcelona and Bilbao You've really made me anxious to get on the road and see these wonderful places. They've been on my short list for many years, and with Kira and Ally there now, it moved to my very short list.
Hope all is well in Mexico.
Love,
Daisy
Posted by: Daisy Kates | September 25, 2011 at 06:53 AM