From the new airport we taxi into the city and arrive at Hostal Mendez in the Casco Viejo espying along the way many life sized, boldly painted, fiberglass cows in the tradition of Kansas City (where they make more sense as it’s a cow town and I’m unclear as to the reference as Bilbao is traditionally an iron and heavy manufacturing town.)

We cosmicly are booked into the same room we occupied in ‘98’ when last we were here. The bed is smaller than we remember but it’s still as firm and the room has a modern flare in an old building in the 700 year old ‘old town.’

After settling in and fighting off the jet lag it’s off to consume our first tapas and quaff a few grogs in a few of the myriad tapas bars in the old quarter.

Day two finds us up and out and after making like the Chinese and chowing down, it’s to the tourist information to discover what’s up while we are here. Then it’s to the bank to convert our dollars to pockets full of pesetas and then take the thoroughly modern metro to the other end of ‘El Ensanche,’ the district built at the end of the 19th century.

We stroll through the ‘Parque de Dona Casilda de Iturrizar,’ a lovely public garden with pools, paths and a vast wisteria ensconced pergola and at it’s end find ourselves at the Museau de Bellas Artes. Which to our consternation is closed for renovation. We had been looking forward to viewing this mue as it reputedly contains one of the best collections of art, after Madrid’s El Prado, in Spain. It was not to be however, perhaps another time as one never knows where life’s journeys will take one and perhaps it will be back to Bilbao we go in our future.

After fortifying myself with a large brandy to help me forget my achy feet, we find ourselves at the reason most tourists come to Bilbao. Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum. That conversion of a few squiggles on a napkin into halusnagenic titanium. (see photo on my Bilbao ‘95’ page)

In front of the museum we discover a group of Scottish Drummers and Pipers hanging about and chitting the chat. Soon they form themselves into ranks and begin to march hither and yon while playing those drums and bagpipes and it’s not until now, as I write, that I wonder what they’ve got under those kilts.

Inside it’s still the building itself that is the height of the show. One of the featured was video and electronic media artist Nam June Paik, whose multi screen t.v. pieces were, and here I’ll use the dreaded word, interesting. We were amazed by one piece where there was a conical tent like affair which one lies under, with the throng, or views from afar, computer generated pinpoint beams of light as they traverse the vaporous, velomous, gauzy veil above.

Wow Man! Look at the Colors! Couldja pass the bong???

The sandstone, glass, titanium and plaster of the twisting, soaring and convoluted interior of the Bilbao Guggenheim are so amazing and so lovely but eventually we must leave and it’s down the street and across the much acclaimed Puente de Zubi-Zuri foot bridge and up the back streets to the funicular de Artxanda. In we get and up we go, 700 meters (over 2100 feet) , to the top of the hill and while strolling through an ancient park, while munching cappuccino ice cream bars, we are treated to fantastic panoramic views of the entire city and on the other side of the hill to the coast and sea beyond.

It’s now down we go and into the heart of the Casco Viejo and to bed for our siesta in an effort to become localized and to give in to the exhaustion of flying.

Despues la siesta we find ourselves coursing along with the evenings paseo, or stroll. While sitting over unos riojas at a small cafe on the Plaza Nueva, we watch young and old and in-between as grand parents and parents watch toddlers and all each other while over in one corner of the plaza youth juggle from hacky sacks to bowling pins and pass that pipe of hash.

After a dinner composed of a few tapas we once again board the metro and speed off to the Plaza Della Arenas to hear a free concert by Sally Nyolo and her band, all from Cameroon for a festival of folk music. Large crowd, pulsing African drums, native rhythms, guitars, memories of Graceland and Paul Simon. More drifting up this street and then down that and too soon off to Hostal Mendez to plan and to bed.

Up and out to breakfast and then to Purchase a beret, biona txapela. Tourist quality or good quality? Good quality of course, one that will last forever! The man obliges at Sombreros Gorostiaga at calle Victor #9 in the Casca viejo. It’s an Elosegui brand, making fine berets since 1858. The salesman, Emilio, even shows me how they are worn in Bilbao, San Sebastian and in France. As I leave I tell him, ‘ahora me vida es completo’ - now my life is complete.

Next it’s the Basque museum, the Museo Agrqueologico, Etnografico e Historio Vasco, which turns out to be much more interesting than we had imagined. Housed in a 16th century convent it contains comprehensive displays on Basque shepherds, fishermen and farmers. One of the highlights is ‘El Mikeldi’, located in the cloister, which is a pre-christian iron age stone animal that dates from 2,000 B.C. Also located here is a meticulously constructed topographical structure of the Pais Vasco, Basque Country. Made of laminated wood it shows all the mountains, rivers towns and cities along with all the highways and byways. Very impressive and it easily fills a room of about 20’ by 35’. Very different from looking at a map to be sure.

After asking numerous people where the asensor (elevator) is to the top of the hill and failing to locate it, we climb the 313 steps to the Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Begona, Bilbao’s most cherished religious sanctuary.

We are exhausted by the time we arrive at this edifice that took just over 100 years to construct from it’s inception in 1519. When we do finally arrive there is a wedding being performed for our enjoyment.

I am grateful and while Rosemary Paints, I take this opportunity to collapse in the rear pew and regain my composure.

We are rather amazed to hear Procol Harem’s ‘A Lighter Shade of Pale’ being performed on the church organ during communion, this being a wedding with a mass included. The groom kisses the bride and the couple exit to the rear of the church where a drum and fife accompany a man in native dress of white with a red txapela and sash as he does a bit of a jug for the newly weds.

A brandy for me and a Martini Rosa for la bonita Rosamaria to fortify ourselves for the descent. On the way R discovers the aforementioned elevator, we of course take it and discover that the lower entrance is hidden deep in the bowels of the metro. Not one of those that we had asked earlier had been kind enough to explain this to us in their rather vague directions and it was also not clear that this is the case in our guide book or in the city map from the T.I. So it goes. Siesta time. What a civilized custom, one which we are too happy to indulge in. After which we retire to Xukela, which we decide is the best tapas bar so far at Calle del Perro #2 in the Casca Viejo and it’s just around the corner from our hostal. Beautifully made and presented pintxos (Basque for tapas) awaited us there and consume them we did amid the lively throng of a Saturday night.

We had been thinking on and off about attending a comedy at the Teatro Arriaga, "La Cena de los Idiotas", the Idiot’s Dinner, and so we did, taking in the late show @ 11:15 of the P.M. The theater was built between 1886 and 1890 and it is a lavish Belle Époque, neo baroque unit modeled after the Paris Opera House. It has been renovated and was reopened in 1986. A beautiful room. Too bad for us that our Spanish is not sufficient to follow the rapid dialogue that had the rest of the audience howling with laughter. We did however very much enjoy the theater in all it’s splendor.

We took a day trip to Mundaka on the coast northeast of Bilbao on a narrow gauge railroad. Sounds romantic, que no? Well it’s basically a modern trolley, not an antique style train as we had imagined.

Leaving the Estacion de Atxuri behind we are soon surrounded by the green hills north of Bilbao before heading west through Guernica and along the Ria de Guernica and the Urdaibai Natural Reserve. A tidal flat and watershed that goes deep inland.

After about an hour on this milk run that stops at every village along the route, we arrive at Mundaka and disembark to wind our way down the hill to the center of town and the coast. We then head west along a narrow footpath enclosed by ancient stone walls and find ourselves confronted by an ancient hermitage on the Santa Catalina Peninsula. A small island is just off the coast.

Winding our way back up the bluff we take shelter from the rain under the awning of a plaza side bar and quaff a brandy and munch a couple of tapas to ward off the damp. Another tapas bar completes lunch and during this interim the rain has stopped and we continue our exploration.

A temporary local, second from the left.

Mundaka reputedly has Europe’s longest wave at the left breaking swell that forms just off the mouth of the Ria de Guernica and just like at home in Cardiff by the Sea, every great surf spot has it’s crappy days. This day in Mundaka it is one of those and there are just two intrepid souls attempting to ride the blown out crap waves.

It is, however, incredibly beautiful. Rosemary removes her sandals and rolls up her pants to climb down some steps cut into the rocky cliff face and wade in the Atlantic. The tide is out and large expanses of sand have been uncovered up the ria. The sun momentarily breaks through the puffy clouds and casts it’s glow upon the verdant hillsides and river valley below.