- Darryl Darwin -: April 2015

Euskadi

April 2015

The Easter Holiday in Catalunya is comprised of Happy Thursday, The Other Good Friday, Close Enough Saturday, A-typical Easter Sunday and Glad I could Monday. I say Catalunya, because each Community; which Catalunya is, celebrate holidays their way. In fact, so do the cities and villages.

The plan was to leave for Euskadi on Thursday morningish. Never heard of Euskadi? How

about País Vasco? Still stumped? Try the Basque Country. The Basque call their country Euskadi. The Spanish call it País Vasco. The English speaking world calls it Spain, but that's as wrong as wrong gets.

Euskadi is an Autonomous Community in Spain, just as Catalunya is. And like Catalunya, it's not sure it wants to be. For years the Basque fought for independence from Spain. At the end of that struggle, came more autonomy, which of course, the government in Madrid has whittled away at ever since. The reasons for both Communities wanting to be free of Madrid are many. You'll have to do your own homework. I've got a story to tell.

Once again we loaded up Marta's little red wagon and headed out on another road trip. Our destination for the day was Donostia, or as it's known in Spanish, San Sabastian. Our drive took us out of Catalunya and after some time we passed by Pamplona. A city made famous by Ernest Hemingway's novel, The Sun Also Rises. In the novel, he describes the Festival of San Fermín. Better know as the running of the bulls. Pomplona will be another trip for another day. We were headed to the coast.

The coast, but what coast? Why, the Atlantic, of course. Nope. I was now getting a lesson in not only the topography, but also oceanic terminology. The Green Coast of Spain is in the portion of the Atlantic known as the Cantabrian Sea (Mar Cantabrico), in the southern section of the Bay of Biscay (Golfo de Vizcaya). I had no idea it was so involved when I ignorantly said, we were going to the Atlantic. Call it what you will, it's big, blue and beautiful.

Biarritz

Again the GPS got us close, but we still needed the final directions from a local. Google needs to spend a bit more time in Europe. We off loaded our gear in the hotel and headed for the French side of Euskadi. The Basque, like so many peoples of the Earth had long ago created a homeland and culture. Then along comes some guy with a measuring stick and an army behind him. He then sets about making a country, regardless of the indigenous boundaries.

Our first stop was Biarritz. This seaside port was a little fishing

The plastic graveyard

village until Queen Somebody built her summer home there. Then every Duke, Earl and Whatabe with a purse full of cash, just had to have a house there too. The result is a palatial village. A magnificent example of over the top French Architecture. Unfortunately for Biarritz though, the ocean currents are such, that the sea uses the beach as a plastic graveyard.

St. Jean-de-Luz

The next stop was St. Jean-de-Luz. This little seaside village is a true gem. The architecture is an eclectic blend of country French and Basque. With a sizable inner harbor, it is a working port with a fishing boats still calling it home. Twilight was bringing on a chill and a reminder that our little bite to eat before leaving the hotel, was wearing thin. We settled on a little cafe for a small sample of local fare and a glass of wine. Evening was now approaching, so they started rolling up the sidewalks. The French, unlike the Spanish call the day quits around 6:00.

On to San Sabastian. Night had fallen, so getting lost becomes so much easier. To our good fortune, we only had to turn around once in our quest to find the city center and eventually parking. We ended up just a block away from the cities Cathedral. Now we had an unmistakable landmark for finding our way back to the car.

We walked down to the promenade that goes along the beach. To our surprise though, we weren't finding any people out and about. We knew they had to be someplace, after all, we were back on the Spanish side, so the night life should be gearing up. We wandered around guided by Marta's vague recollection of the city from her visit years ago. Her instincts led us to the old city and the area where nighttime San Sabastian happens.

Narrow streets, old buildings, bars, cafes and restaurants in ample supply. Even with the old city ambiance it wasn't teaming like Barcelona. Just as well, we were hungry and not really interested in people watching. An activity of endless entertainment in Barcelona.

A very
Impressive door

We came up to the plaza in front of yet another huge church who's sole purpose was to impress. It certainly did that. It also created a little plaza for the hungry masses to be fed. Not by the church of course. By the eateries that ringed the plaza.

Pintxos

The basque are known worldwide for their cuisine. Because of the sea being at the front door and amazingly fertile and productive farm land at the back, San Sabastian has long been know as the capital of Basque gastronomy.

Since the lunch hour was over we would be sampling a particular part of that cuisine. The Pintxo is the Basque twist on the Tapa. A small serving of something delicious spiked to a piece of bread with a pintxo (big toothpick). We found a table outside which I guarded judiciously while Marta went in the cafe to get us something delicious. Without a tray, two glasses of wine and heaping plates of Pintxos, takes two trips. A journey worth the effort.

Although the Basque Country is considered a gastronomic wonderland, it would be a very limited part of our trip. Not being "Foodies" in the now twisted sense, it has always been our road trip custom to eat picnic style and forgo the expense of restaurants in favor of gasoline for the car. On a limited budget you can either make a short drive and eat out, or make a long drive and eat from your grocery bag.

As we headed back to the car we walked in the light rain down the main avenue through town. Here we were treated to the phenomena of déjà vu ice cream shops. That's when you pass an ice cream shop and not a minute latter you pass it again and again and yet again. We got out of Groundhog Day Ice Cream Alley and headed back to the car.

When we parked the car, there was a cathedral the size of an aircraft-carrier. Where did it go? Were we still in suffering the affects of Groundhog Day? Where is that church? It was right here!! If you take a big stone building and put lights on it at night, you can see it for blocks. If you turn all the lights off at midnight, you create a black hole. You can stare at a black hole without ever seeing it until you are right up next to it. We were tired before going black hole hunting. Now we were exhausted. Fifteen minutes and one turnaround later and we were back at the hotel falling into our beds. Happy Thursday had lived up to its name, with the promise that The Other Good Friday would too.

Our drive took us along the Costa Vasca to the seaside town of Deba. This too had been

The Deba Beach

one of the places Marta had been to years ago, so she knew of its beautiful beach and promenade. Apparently everyone in Spain had the same idea, because the town was packed. After about the fourth loop on the parking hunt, I thought we could just set a car on fire and wait for the fire department to tow it away. I was rooting around for a lighter when Marta spotted a parking place next to the stinky trash cans. I thought of setting them on fire, to get rid of the stink. About then she noticed I had a lighter in my hand and took it away. I think she can read minds.

The beach was big and beautiful. It was a good place for Marta to sit and draw while I watched kids jump off the promenade wall into the sand below. People watching may be fun, but watching little kids make a death defying leap of 5 feet (1.5m) is pretty entertaining. Especially after loosing your lighter.

The pier at Ondarros

Marta likes to make small pen and paper drawings when time allows. In that regard, time had not been kind to her coming into this trip. Having a few minutes to sit in peace at the shore and draw the landscape was a real treat for her. Unfortunately time is still being stingy with her drawing time. If you ever have the opportunity to see her drawings, then you'll agree that Father Time is being a jerk.

Along the coast road

Our next stop along the coast was Ondarroa. It's a harbor town with a fishing fleet, so we attempted to find a restaurant where where I could try some of the local catch, fresh from the sea. The lunch hour was over and the one fresh fish restaurant was closed for the day. My first of two failed attempts at having the catch of the day. We settled for a walk on the pier that took us out away from shore, for a different view of the coastline. The road between Ondarrosa and Lekeitio hugs the mountain sides as it goes along the cliffs that make up this section of the coast. There are a number of roads like this one in the world and they are all beautiful in their own-right. This road is certainly one of those.

The Ria de Gernika Estuary

Our destination for the day.was Mundaka, a little village that sits near the estuary of the Ria de Gernika. As this river meets the sea it creates the Playa de Ladia. A large area of ever changing sandbars that are greatly affected by the tides and seasons. It's also the playground for windsurfers and kite boarders. When the river is full and meets the incoming tide, you have stationary waves and a strong predictable wind. The mouth of the Columbia River in Oregon produces the same effect.

We arrived to find our room for the night was not only at the

Mundaka Harbor

harbor, with a view to the sea within the coastal cliffs that form a horseshoe cove, but it was directly over the outside terrace. We filled our eyes with the view while the terrace filled with football fans. It was to be a fiesta kind of night. Especially when whoever they were cheering for won. I gave them a Yippee! and went to bed. The Other Good Friday, had been just that.

The little red dot on top
of the rock

The morning drive was to the Monastery of Gaztelugatxe. That is a Basque word, written in their native language of Euskara. A language that thrives on the use of z's, x's and for the English tongue, unpronounceable combinations of letters We weren't going there to learn Euskara though. We were going there because out on a towering rock in the sea, it had been decided long ago, that it would be the perfect place for a monastery. To see firsthand the determination of a people who hiked down a seaside cliff and then built a few hundred steps up a rock, so they then could build a little church on top of it, is worth the trip alone.

From the monastery we turned inland and began seeing more of the interior of the Green Coast. It's called that because the trees are purple. Gotcha! There is an almost constant rain along that coast, but not a hard rain. Rather the type of rain that takes all day to get you soaked. More of a drizzle, but it could be a sprinkle at times, followed by a mist that could change to ground clouds at a moments notice. As a result of this ever present moisture everything is green. There is even a mold that grows on moss. This climate and topography could be compared to the Northwestern coast of the United States.

Is anyone watching?

I see you

Our next stop was the Oma Painted Forest. This was without a doubt something entirely different. The artist, Agustin Ibarrola went into the woods, paint brush in hand and created three dimensional pictures using the trees as his canvas. Not single trees, but groups of trees that requires the viewer to stand in exactly the right spot to see the totality of the painting.

We then followed the Ria de Gernika up and away from the sea toward its confluence with the Rio Ibaizabal, that we would somewhat follow toward Bilbo (Bilbao, in Spanish). Our route would take us past the infamous town of Gurnika-Lumo. This city has the dubious honor of being the test case for aerial bombing of civilian targets that had no military significance; with the sole purpose of inflicting psychological harm. The city was bombed by the German Luftwaffe at the behest of Franco during the Spanish Civil War. This practice became the tactical mainstay throughout the Second World War by every air force involved.

We were going to Bilbo , but our room for the night was in Getxo, a city set more out toward the coast. Of all my road trips with Marta, this was her first real hotel mess up. There was a minor mess up in San Sebastian, but that one was just a change of venue. This one was a venue in need of a change. Mostly they needed to change the towels they had stolen from a hotel many years ago. The room was clean enough. The shower was hot and plentiful, so the room met my standard of acceptability. I keep my standards simple. They fit my simpleton ways better that way.

Marta on the other hand almost wore out the "I'm sorry" phrase. At least it had a window; to

The Hanging Bridge

the ventilation shaft, but it was a window. We stowed our gear and set about walking around. The first stop was the Vizcaya Bridge. A marvel of late 19th century engineering. A number of these bridges were built on this design around the same time, but only a few remain in service today. We then attempted to walk to the old fishermen's village for a fresh fish dinner, but the drizzle became a rain and stopped us in our tracks. We stood there in the rain while we debated the pros and cons of a fresh fish dinner at the expense of a soaking while we walked there or to and from the metro. It was our first rain-out, but a full retreat was in order. On the way back we found the Metro station, but more importantly, we found a little place that offered sheltered outside seating and seafood tapas. We had a room for the night and something fishy to eat. Close Enough.

Sunday was to be a day in the city and along the road to our final destination of Vitoria-Gasteiz, the capital of Euskadi. First We had to get breakfast because there was no way Marta was having a picnic breakfast in that room. She had her heart set on getting out of that room at first light. Since the window didn't let any light in, she set her alarm. An alarm on a road trip? This was serious! We flew out of there, packed the car and headed back to the Vizcaya Bridge.

Demons! I Command You!
Be Gone!!

We wanted to ride across the hanging platform to the other side for the fun of it. We found a little cafe as we disembarked and decided that would do. As we sat there eating breakfast I noticed that the elevator that took you to the top of the superstructure was operating. If you go to the very top of the bridge, you can walk across it. Since we had to go back to the Gatxo side to catch the closest metro into Bilbao, it seemed like the thing to do.

That is if you don't get weirded out by heights or walking on very old steel bridges. Marta told me that combining those two things would definitely weird her out. She asked me if I would mind not walking across. I lied and said I wouldn't. I forgot she could read minds. She called me out and began to exercise her demons. By the end of breakfast she was ready for her crossing.

A view from the top

We took the elevator up, up and up. Then came the first few steps. They lead to a post that allowed her to gather herself and conclude that it was going to be OK. We had a delightful stroll on top of that little world. Next stop, the metro station. We had located it the night before as we debated fresh fish, so we knew right where to go. We got our tickets and off we went to the Guggenheim Museum.

Bilbao was once a thriving industrial city. Those days are over and it has been reinventing

The Guggenheim Museum
on the riverfront

itself ever since. Europeans, unlike Americans, tend to stay put. This is particularly true in Spain where the culture of a tight-knit family is very important. In the States, if you can, you simply move away from blight, or to a better opportunity and leave your family behind. In Spain in order to move, you need to pack up moms, dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. So you don't move. You make do and make the best of the situation. In this case, Bilbao had to become a city that the people could live and work in.

The Lobby

This idea has been tried in many of Americas Rust Belt Cities with limited success due to the American ability to say, "Screw it, I'm outta here". Bilbao was not a one trick pony city, but with the loss of its industrial base to the Global Economy (China) it had a big economic hole to fill. It has filled that by presenting itself as an international destination city. The cornerstone to the transformation has been the Guggenheim Museum.

Puppy and Me

There are four of these magnificent museums scattered around the world and Bilbao is one of two in Europe. Set on the revitalized Nervión River front, this architectural wonder is not just a draw for "Arties". We didn't have the extra day in our schedule that exploring the museum requires, so we contented ourselves with a view of the lobby and of the area surrounding the museum. We spent some time deciphering a street art painting near by and of course, a study of the flower sculpture, known as Puppy.

The newly renovated and artfully designed metro station was its own treat as we hopped on the train that would deliver us to the car. Now we were headed to our final destination, but we needed to eat and our picnic

The forgotten village

Picnic Paradise

basket was teaming with the goodies we didn't eat at breakfast. We stopped at a little lake, well off the main road, near the forgotten village of Goroeta. It would have been difficult to find a more splendid place for an afternoon picnic. We loitered quite a while there taking in more of our beautiful rain free day. Once again the twilight reminded us that we still had some road ahead of us and the inevitable hotel hunt.

This hunt proved to be one of the best. The hotel uses the name of the neighboring town on its address, because that town is more famous. Unfortunately, the street name and number for the hotel are also in the neighboring town. The GPS put us on the right street exactly in front of that address, only there was no hotel. We didn't know about the hotels little game and it didn't occur to us to compare Zip Codes. Had we done so we would have seen that they didn't match. Not that that would have helped because I'm not sure my phone GPS even shows Zip Codes when you are in the town you said you wanted to be in. Note to self: Check Zip Codes if you can.

Around and around we went. After a while I got out to see if the car had a tail that we were chasing. Marta asked a local for help. That just sent us chasing that tail in a different direction. Fortunately we had the hotel print- out, so when I got out to rip that damn tail off, I got the paperwork out from the back. She called and got directions. At least we were close, which of course meant only one turnaround.

Marta explained the problem of listing the wrong town on the address as it relates to the GPS that everyone now relies on. The man at the front desk dutifully smiled and stared off into space. Luckily she was too tired from the hunt to kill him, so she went to park the car instead. He said something to me in Spanish, Euskara, or Martian; I'm never quite sure and walked away. It turned out that he wanted me to follow him with the luggage and he would show me where the room was. Had he picked up a bag or two, I would have defiantly followed him. As it turned out though, he got to the room and no one was behind him. He and Marta got back to the lobby at the same time and sorted out why I was just standing there. She explained to the man that I didn't understand Martian and that I was a bit touched. He smiled and showed us the room.

Our day had been a ride on a hanging bridge. A walk in the sky. A Guggenheim experience. A walk through the painted forest. A lakeside picnic in Basque Country and a man who speaks Martian. An A-typical Easter Sunday.

Looking back from Laguardia

Monday would primarily be spent in the car. We had a long drive back to Barcelona, but there was one enjoyable diversion in the plan. We would be driving back through the heart of Spain's wine country. The plan was to stop along the way and fill the car with delicious Spanish wine until the bumper dragged. Well, that was the plan until we discovered that like Catalunya, Monday in this part of Euskadi was a holiday too. Apparently the owners of the bodegas along the Wine Road chose to stay home and drink wine rather than sell it. The loss of our wine was not only palpable, it was not to be palatable. Not even a stupid pun would could set this right.

How about a stop at a lovely Medieval hill top village. That might ease the pain. Our stop at

Laguardia

Laguardia, proved to be just the thing. Its become one of those villages along the road that you simply must stop at. Here the Bodegas and Caves were open, but with tourist pricing, we had to pass on filling the car. The other drink the Basque's of this area enjoy is cider. For some reason they get a particular enjoyment out of pouring it out of a bottle extended to the fullest extent of your arm. I've decided that it does little for the cider, but a great deal for the bartender's sense of showmanship. The day was bright and sunny, the cider was refreshing, and the views to and from Laguardia were beautiful. All things had been set right and we set our sights on Barcelona once again.

Time to get off the road and have a picnic lunch. We took an exit to someplace and went down a small road to no-place. Or so we

thought. No sooner had we parked outside of a rather imposing gate, then cars started coming and going from the place behind the gate. The imposing gate had no sign, so had they been black SUV's the place could have passed for a CIA Black Ops hideout. Since these were all family cars with family type people, I decided it was an asylum and this must be loony Monday. I thought about asking the speaker box what they did in there. Marta read that bit of brain cell madness and suggested that I see if they take walk-ins.

Now that we had some extra time due to bad luck bodega day, we opted to stop in

Basilica del Pilar

Zaragoza. The Basílica del Pilar is there and we had time for a look. Not knowing exactly what a basílica was, I saw no reason to avoid it. It's a very big church built in a very particular way. It also must have a lot of alcoves for the saints. This one has a little statue of the Virgin Mary, who actually showed up in Zaragoza, standing on a pillar in 40 AD. At different times of the year, this false idol gets little dresses, like Barbie, . If you stand in line, you can go kiss it and for only 10€, have your picture taken with it.

Being a mind reader, Marta sensed my Pagan nature coming out. I think she's afraid of lightning, so we left. We went and walked around the very modern waterworks that adorn the huge plaza outside of the basílica. It was a nice break from the car and a very nice little snapshot of Zaragoza.

It was dark when we pulled up to my flat in the Born. Due to a slight difference of opinion regarding showers, beds and camping, the last bit of our drive had become a bit testy. It was a few days later that I was able to sort out what that discussion yielded. Although a bit off the time line, it seems relevant to the story. I concluded that there are three types of trips.

The first is "Travel". Travel to me is a closed ended trip; think vacation, that may involve various forms of transportation. Everything is planned in advance and accommodations are set. The accommodations are to include, a clean room, comfortable bed, hot shower and a window. Also, a predictable food supply. This can be extended to camping, as long as the the criteria are met.

The second is "Adventure". This means there is a basic outline of where you are going and how you might get there. Nothing is set unless you absolutely must be someplace at a given time. You are open to come what may and accepting of it.

Lastly is "Expedition". This one combines aspects from the first two and you could die.

The second part of this epiphany is that you can only take these trips with a willing participant, or be prepared to go alone. This would be true for life in general too. If no one shares your desire, then go it alone or don't. If you don't t, you forfeit your right to say "I wish I had". If you wait too long though, time will turn that into "I wish I could have". Like I said; Father Time can be a jerk.

Where were my thoughts on this Monday night in Spain? Not in philosophy class, I can tell you. I bid Marta farewell, entered my flat in Barcelona and poured a glass of Cataluyan wine. While I sat there sipping and reflecting on my trip to Euskadi, a single thought kept me company. "I'm glad I could".

Darryl

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