1700 km of Northern Spain – part I

A late afternoon flight from Graz to Bilbao, with a short stopover at Frankfurt, was not a problem at all. I love flying, but especially the airports, full of passengers awaiting their flights. I have gone to the entire procedure (check-in, control, boarding pass...) for numerous times already, yet I still get pleasantly excited every time I go through this routine again. Entering the airport and seeing the huge screens with flights on them, I always double check if I’ve forgotten something. I listen to the sound of my suitcase rolling as I walk to the check-in counter, where a nice and smiling lady sends my luggage to the conveyer belt and on to the plane. I get by the control successfully and even without taking off my shoes – this time. I give a nice smile to the security officer, take my stuff and enjoy the airport. With my iPod in my ears I watch the passengers and make up stories with these passersby in the starring roles. It’s interesting to analyze this crowd of people. Some are relaxed, others are constantly using their phones to text or talk so loudly everybody hears them. But there are some more restless people, not used to flying or even afraid of it. Me, I can hardly wait to get to my seat and smile as the plane looses contact with the ground and then enjoy a nice nap. I love this feeling!

In the late evening hours I arrive to the airport, just a few kilometres from Bilbao. It was the Semana Santa holiday, thus Spain was virtually flooded with tourists and the city was full of them. It was impossible to book a room at a budget price. I was able to find a room online in a small town of Mungia (just a few kilometres from Bilbao), where a taxi took me for 16€, so I could turn in for the night.I’ve awoken to a beautiful morning, washed my face and headed out to the renowned Bilbao, with my camera in my hand, to the city rich with museums, galleries and theatres. Sure, first I had to find a bus stop and get a ticket, which was quite interesting. Most people speak only Spanish and English is quite foreign to them. I tried Italian, but no use. But then again, why should they bother learning foreign languages, if 1/3 of the world speaks Spanish? Even without speaking English, however, the people are still very kind and try to help. With their kindness the force you to follow them. when they see you don’t understand them, they start speaking slower and louder. the only thing to do is to listen to them and keep a smile on your face. with a help of a local I was able to get a bus ticket and in mere 20 minutes I was walking down the streets of Bilbao. It seemed very quiet and peaceful, even thought the clock struck 9:00,which was too early for Spaniards. Sunlight showed me the way through nice and clean streets with the feel of green, so I listened to my intuition and went down one of them that, incidentally, lead me to the might building of Guggenheim. The museum of liberal arts put me in frenzy with its construction. It’s a building that placed the city of Bilbao on the map as one of the renowned cities, back in 1997. Numerous tourists come to the city with the sole intent to visit this very building. The outer layer is the most exciting one! It’s made out of shining titanium plates. They change colours in accordance to the weather. I walked around the building and the camera just wouldn’t stop snapping pictures, trying to capture the round curves of the masterpiece, glittering under the rays of light changing colour. A long line in front of the entrance was a clear evidence the museum attract huge masses of visitors.

From here on, pass the river Ria de Bilbao, down the broad promenade, strolling along easily towards the old part of the town. The city is very attractive and can boast with a great combination of modern architecture and green areas. Many planted trees and carefully cut grass give the city a soft and fresh touch, which helps you feel good. The restless city cleaning crews are keeping the streets nice and clean. After only a few minutes I’ve arrived to the bridge Pet. del Arenal, leading me to the old heart of the town. Crossing the river I got lost among the walls of old buildings with a mass of tourists mixed with the locals. The clock slowly neared high noon and the streets were getting crowded. The town woke up!

The Plaza Santiago square invites me to make myself comfortable on one of the benches just at the cathedral. I soak in the dynamics around me and listen in to the sound of a guitar. Every corner of a small square if filled with melodies from strings coming under the fingers of a tall and skinny gentlemen. A true balm for the ears and a place to take a load off. While he’s playing, masses of tourists pass him and every now and again somebody throws a coin in his bag so he smiles kindly and keeps on playing. 

Half in dreams I don’t even notice a lady sitting next to me, until she starts talking. The gentle tone of Spanish takes over and I really wish I could understand her. A nice friendly talk concludes with a friendly smile and I go on. “Eeny meeny miny mo – that’s the street I wanna go!” and I go down it. Wondering endlessly becomes playful and numerous boutiques convince me I really need the things I see there. I fight the temptation and spend more time with my faithful companion Pentax. Sunrays are happily jumping of the balcony railing and are getting in my shot – they want my attention as I’m taking picture. A bit to the left, more to the right, and a quick walk forward to the back and the old part of the city is cowered.

Cross the broad López de Haro I continue towards the city park Parque de Dna . The wide street takes you on a shopping spree. There’s chains of shops from left and right, giving you a feeling it will never end. While zig-zaging not to get lost among the store shelves the day turns into the late afternoon. I’m tired upon arriving to the city park and pay more attention to the green around me. I lay down in the middle of the grass and listen to the lively children running pass me. While letting my tired legs rest my ears catch the sound of a drum from afar. It’s making it’s way across the city and they’re calling for the beginning of the parade - the Semane Sante has started!

The holy week (Semana Santa) is a religious holiday just before the Easter and is depicting the last days of Jesus’ life. It includes his arrival to Juerusalem, the last supper with the disciples, the crucifixion on Friday, the Saturday when Mary was lonely and Jesus was placed into the grave and the Easter Sunday of the resurrection – at least according to the roman-catholic dogma. The holy week is among the favourite holidays in Spain – especially in Andalusia. During this week there are parades through the city, which bring a real roman-catholic spirit to the visitor. Repenters, men and boys in long dresses and pointy hats resemble members of the KKK, walk with heavy crosses in a long procession through the city streets, drawing various feeling from the spectators. The most dedicated walk barefoot.