It is easily ninety-five degrees F in Bilbao today. In the shade, anyway. Mental note: jeans + heat = bad. It was worth the sweat to make the half-mile walk from our hotel down the Río de Bilbao to the glimmering Guggenheim to see some Picasso, some Roy Lichtenstein, and the I´d-rather-be-a-huge-metal-fish-than-a-museum´s current exhibit on all things ¨post-15th century¨ in Russian art. It was worth the 12 euros to see Canadian architect Frank Gehry´s masterpiece, evidently inspired by a childhood memory of his mother bringing a live carp home from the market and keeping it in the bathtub until it was time to prepare the meal... It´s always funny to me how people spend more time in the gift shop than in the actual exhibits, though.
Yesterday was pretty relaxed. I cranked out progress reports for eighteen students, which took me more than three _mentally exhausting_ hours, and after a typical 3PM lunch of grilled prawns in garlic and a veal fillet with fries, I took the funicular up the side of one of Bilbao´s moutainous hills to catch the hazy panorama of the city which sits on the jade-green river with the same name. Last night at around 10PM I wandered the streets of ¨Siete Calles¨(seven streets), which is the historical part of Bilbao, and I had my first cold beer with tapas of the trip.
The tapas here, served on small pieces of sliced baguette, are works of art: one was a small green pepper filled with something, another was an anchovy on tuna salad, a third was manchegan cheese on proscuitto, one was a croquette (is that a word in English?), etc... I know my descriptions do the tapas a disservice. You had to be there, I guess.
There´s no shortage of Basque pride here in the ¨euskal harria¨, or ¨Basque stone¨ (¨piedra vasca¨ in Spanish). This nickname, from a 1967 novel by Bernardo Estornés Lasa, is reflective of the hardness(?) of a region that has been forever fighting and struggling against Spain´s politicians as it seeks to hang onto its own identity. I think. As I walked the streets last night in the old part of town, the bars all had the Basque flag hanging proudly in all its reg, green and white glory.
I am trying to set up a visit to the bodegas of the Marqués de Cáceres vineyards in La Rioja, about two hours away by train. I´d like to go on Tuesday, but I need to find a ride out of Rioja´s capital of Logroño once I get there in order to get to the vineyards, which are another 20 km west of the city. Small details...we´ll see what happens.
