my queen vitoria

On Saturday two weekends (come on slow poke… right?) I traveled to Vitoria, a really cool town about an hour away from Bilbao. It’s the capital of the Basque country. The city is interestingly separated into two parts: the newer, wealthier section and the older more historic part. The older part is primarily a younger demographic and the area is quite politically charged with tons of posters lining the streets and graffiti screaming at passers by … a passionate bunch, these pais vascoans (basque people).

When I arrive I see the Artium on my right. It’s Vitoria’s answer to Biblao’s Guggenheim museum (which I visited on Friday… that place is ridiculous!). The Artium’s architecture is very modern which seems to be the general motif throughout Spain, at least in the northern more metropolitan areas. I wander through the old portion of town passing hole-in-the-wall bars with tons of Spaniards coming and going and standing and conversing. I later learned that these afternoons on Saturday and Sunday in Spain are extremely unique. People share stories over pequino beers (a couple ounces) while standing and mingling in the street… a really cool time catch up about the week with friends. Yet, can’t imagine u.s. law enforcement agreeing with such activities.

Passing the old part, I enter the realm of the new. Known for it’s numerous green spaces, Vitoria has the greatest number of gardens/parks/green stuff per capita in all of Spain. Needless to say I encounter some exotic foliage and pass many open spaces. Also, I find one of the most quiet and quaint parts of town. A long, tree lined footpath makes a perfect spot for a casual walk along side other relaxed Spaniards. Mansions line the walk as do beautifully tall and trimmed trees. I find a bench (there’s gotta be more benches in Spain than in any other part of the world. those things are everywhere). I relax. I doze. I people watch. I read. I find my next destination within the city in my northern Spain travel book (thanks Dad), which proves to be a busy little café in the middle of a large plaza.

With café con leche in hand, I relax some more. I peel a naranja (orange), and again I witness little kids kicking soccer balls, hitting the occasional passerby (ha and I’m reminded… actually today I was walking in Getxo and got nailed in the head with a soccer ball! The little guys laughed out loud as the ball that bounced off my head apparently set up a goal. That’s right, I kept that thing in play… and got an assist. Oh man... couldn’t help but just started laughing really hard to myself) and I see one of the bluest sky’s as the sun begins to set.

Oh also, I cant forget about my moment of cultural duress. I’m in a restaurant/bar and I have my backpack on, unfortunately. ‘hey everyone I’m a American tourist’… great. Anyway, after asking the waitress for a table I hear, ‘hour and a half wait’… wonderful. So I approach the bar. Yet it’s pretty full so I stand directly behind someone. Now I’m sticking pretty far out into the room. I look around and for some reason the temperature suddenly increases by about ten. Soon the glances commence and the whispering begins and the discrete but obvious laughs arrive. I feel like Mculley Culkin in Home Alone after he checks Buzz into the milk and it spills everywhere. ‘look what you did you little jerk.’ All the attention and the looks and the sneers are directed at him. In that moment the whole world seems against him. Likewise, I feel all the faces, all the chuckles and the looks. Ever experienced a fight or flight moment? Well I have an extreme desire to run on out of there… as if I’ll have to sleep… in the attic… in the same bed as the cousin who wets his bed. Somehow the situation quickly turns very uncomfortable. However, I fight the urge and stand my ground. I wrestle and stuff that guy down. A few deep breaths and finally an acknowledgement from the bartender calm me. I have a bocadillo (a sandy) and a kas naranja and my moment of cultural duress subsides. It felt like some kind of training and in a way, a slight victory.

So all in all it was another great trip to another grand Spanish city.

a holiday in spain

I was in Barcelona for the weekend holiday of Carnavales. It’s similar to our Halloween in the states… a bunch of grown adults playing dress up… essentially. Here’s a tale or two from my journey.

This morning I’m sitting in an amazing little café. It’s warm and filled with people and the cranberries (no joke) are playing over the radio. Ha… the whole place sooths me. I love finding places like this one. And it’s right next to one of the famous cathedrals. Yesterday was a day of exploration.

It begins with a flight and a hostel hunt. From there I search for some food. Exploring the streets, I observe many attractive restaurants. Much of them look as I had envisioned a typical Spanish eatery. I finally choose a spacious café near the famous street of La Rambla. I’m excited to use my Spanish… especially since I’ve been seeing so many Americans. The city is very international and plenty of English is spoken. No hay problema… ‘hola sinora!’ a laugh and a ‘senora? Nooo.’ apparently an inappropriate term for such an age and in such an instance. I guess women in their thirties prefer a different term. Wups. I chuckle nervously in response. Yet again another ‘lo siento.’ But I press on. ‘Que es esto?’ ‘queso y hamon’ ‘ooh… muy bien!’ and I begin an ordering extravegansa. I’ll take this and what is that and don’t forget the café con leche! plus I even ask if I can pay with a credit card… all in Espanol… boo ya. Yet, all the while I’ve forgotten food will inevitably cost me. Racking up a fairly hefty bill, I realize learning does come at a cost… but going hungry has a price tag as well. Another smallish lego may just have been strategically situated.

The market’s up next. On La Ramba, exists one of larger markets I’ve encountered. A cornacopia of fresh fruit, legs of lamb (hanging from the rafters), and fish intently, and unflinchingly eying me… definitely winning the contest. Don’t even attempt, the flapper’ll win every time, guaranteed. Also, the delicacy I mentioned before… the piglet, yeah… I witness the pre-cooked version. Ever been to one of those ‘body works’ exhibits. Picture frying one of them up for dinner… ah yeah. Onto even more.

I approach the Picasso museum, not from some preplanned appointment but a kind of meandering through narrow streets. I pass zipping mo-pedestrians and a cathedral that though impressive on the outside does little justice for what I latter observed on the inside. Some preliminary background of my knowledge of Picasso: well… the guernica… um… so now that you have a clear understanding of my ignorance, let’s move on.

I’m enthralled for no less that quarto horas. I may have discovered my new idol. From his early age (i'm reminded of Asher Lev) his enormous talent emerged. A prodigy and a genius really. While I was out running around punting kick-balls and other people and pulling girls hair and yelling and sliding in the grass and staining myself and swinging and aaaahhhhhhh!... this youngster known only as Picasso is whipping up a few masterpieces…  He was a realist, an impressionist, a cubist, a ceramist, an engraver, a sculpture, a ladies man… yep, and for obvious reasons. Plus he had such a great appreciation for others artwork. A grand collector, Picasso packed his home with his colleagues artwork. If you’re in Barcelona, see this museum. You will be tired but you will be awestruck and intrigued and inspired and curious. This guy was a master.

The next experience was a gift. I stroll by the aforementioned cathedral (Santa Maria) on my way back to the hostel. A door’s cracked open, a hint of light creeps into darkness. It’s now nighttime, and in a symbolic fashion I’m beckoned towards the light. I tiptoe inside. My eyes adjust. My chin thrusts upwards. One hundred foot ceilings reveal even greater lengths through Spanish history. This antique structure demands my silence... my reverence. One of the pews provides me a seat for a prayer… not the typical tourist activity but the most peaceful moment of the day. Lit candles surround me, their glow permeating the nooks where the saints reside. After a couple of enchanting and elongated laps, and a few deep breaths, i step slowly to the door. Now just think about this... these amazing places of worship are created for the King, the Savior, my friend… for the one far more beautiful than these simple, yet intricately placed stones and mortar…  and how much more unbelievable is the recipient of such a stunning tribute

Later in the evening:

Now I must ask a question. What’s it like to be serenaded by an elderly Spanish gentleman? A rhetorical question. let me enlighten you. I’m sitting amongst newly acquired friends. Enjoying each other’s company we chat, sipping on some beers. hola!… up pops a partially coherent elder. With a polite cheer, ‘salude’, he raises his can. In unison we respond with an enthusiastically American outburst ‘salude!!’ With raised glasses tapping and clinking, the vocal show begins. I’m quite shocked but very impressed at the ensuing tones. He proceeds to belt lyrics of an unknown sort for in excess of two minutes. Now, mind you, all our glasses are still raised. I steal glances from the others around. I make eye contact with the Voice. I disregard the cramp forming in my arm. Absolutely incredible… with multiple octaves and pitches this guy delivers an anthem, stopping at nothing. Yet, this soundtrack regrettably comes to a close with a final note worthy of Carnegie Hall. I erupt… more glasses raise, now they smash. Claps and fist pumps (these primarily from me). After a simple nod, the man slowly retreats. Wow. What a day

I’m back now in my little apartmento in Getxo… and I did finally go shopping today. I came back with three bags filled with TONs of food. I’ve bee having trouble a) taking care of myself (I was sick last week) and b) feeding myself. Ha, but I’m getting better. After many oranges, my sniffles have diminished. The cabinets are now stocked and my belly’s full.   

the spanish coastline

Here's a little look into my past... this takes place last friday: 

the coastline is my objective. The sky looks fairly ominous as I adventure from my humble abode on Gobelaurre in las Aranas. Yet, again I welcome whatever’s ahead of me. My travels take me through unknown streets and past nuevo parts of Gexto. The whole time the ocean’s apparent gravitational pull beckons me near. Ah, there she is… I look down from an elevated park as theological ponderings emerge. God has been so evident throughout this Spanish experience so far. He continues to reveal Himself to me… He’s on my mind as I press onward. Up a hill, towards a cliff, through the woods toward’s my Father’s majesty I go… I find little pathways meandering beside the cliff, and secluded turns directing me towards spectacular vistas. Yet, all the while the clouds linger above me. the view is somewhat diminished but no less appreciated.

As I continue, I see a dog off in the distance. Some background: there are these water fountains that appear randomly on the side of roads/side walks, both animals and humans drink from them. So, this dog trots over. He wags his tail, his butt moving with anticipation as he steals glances toward his owner as if to say: 'daddy daddy, aqua, aqua, aqua… pooor favoor!!!' El hombre strolls over… water flows, el perro laps it up. He lets out a little yelp of satisfaction… it’s the small pleasures in life, right? I miss my dogs.

I’m walking on an incredibly long path towards a town called sopalana. It’s a small neighborhood perched on the hill.

So… a suggestion: when traveling to Spain bring along two recreational devices… a mountain bike and golf clubs… along the path many bike trails emerge. I watch a gentleman easily navigating the trail along the cliff. The look of confidence on his face gives an impression of experience. However, I realize this aptitude did not in fact exist. As he tumbles to the ground, with yells of Spanish exclamations… I think to myself, ‘oh goodness, is he vale (ok)?’ Well yes, with true Spanish resiliency he stands to his feet and without a nod to my American curiosity brushes himself off… ‘vamonos.’ Onward.

Also, the golf course on my derecha, with it’s yards, excuse me, its’ meters of tightly mown green grass, entices me. Yet my attention soon returns to the ocean’s call… actually, quite literally a call … On the edge of the cliff, a large nautical mechanism stands tall before me. It belches out a series of long ‘buuurrrrhhh’s. It yells to the multiple sailboats off shore. Well at the time this seemed somewhat interesting... 

I wander some more, and the setting sun and the increasing chill in the air recommend I meander back to the homestead. Soon I see Fabrice off in the distance; that’s a surprise. Us lonesome travelers reunite and rest the hooves at a little café down the road. We proceed to talk in Espanol for the next half an hour. It’s a very simple conversation, but very practical. At this point I possess a treasure chest… of sorts… of words and phrases. I mix and match to form various sentences. Yet, have no fear, my arsenal grows.

Also... that same night brings a new experience in an old venue. I meet Fabrice’s intercambio (language partner) and her friend. We go to ‘fever,’ a discotec. I dance. I meet another Spaniard. She asks me for fuego (a light). Loud music and a language barrier combine for quite the challenge. Finally, I entiendo and she asks me where I’m from. We talk, or rather yell at each other for quite sometime, exchanging the basics. I speak mostly in Spanish, she often responds in English. We both practice. She introduces her friends; I say many ‘encantada’s… The interaction is very encouraging. I’m beginning to meet some locals and possibly have an opportunity for further friendships.

On a more personal note, I’ve been attempting to pray to God some in Spanish... i don't known, there's something about it... incredible... one of the most rewarding experiences yet. 

and my barcelona excursion is still being inscribed... gracias por tu pathiencia 

and one more thing... in a way this process of blogging really makes me feel more connected to all of you... thanks for reading

...continued

Wandering, I notice a man in a store… ‘hola’ I say as I always do… (oh, don’t you worry, I’ve

mastered the greeting) ‘oh hola, que tal!!!’ He responds. interesting, an unusually kind response. He’s a Pakistani storeowner. He invites me in for tea… why not. The thought of being roofied only occurred to me as he prepared an unknown concoction behind a curtain and out of sight. Ha… I survive (he turned out to be a very nice guy. Just kind of lonely I think). I soon press onward.

My exploration brings me to a cross roads… I need to ask someone where this next hotel is located. Plus I’m eager to use the three Spanish phrases I have been repeating in my head for such a time as this. I ask a Spanish gentleman. ‘Perdon senior’… ‘Si’? He corrects me on my Spanish, and says ‘do you speak English’… ‘ha’…a chuckle… ‘well yes’ (unfortunately for me these days) ‘but allow me to practice?’ a smile ‘si, go ahead’ I nailed the next two sentences and he responded in Spanish, kindly translating as he went. My confidence level greatly increased following this interaction. My Spanish teacher explains the language as a bunch of interconnected legos… I felt as if this sequence placed a foundational two or three knobbed lego at the base of my eventual castle. Just give me time…

I scale stairs, pass streets, nod to old ladies out strolling, pass bus stops, ponder my direction, change directions, pass the same bus stop… then I arrive at a hospital… hum, I guess that’s close to a hotel but, for various reason’s I’d rather not end up there. As I’m about to flaunt my three phrases to another unsuspecting passer by, I progress literally four steps. And, what do you know, here’s the hotel. Perfecto! An amazing panoramic view of the city and coastline welcomes me as well as a 90 year old trooper out for a stole at the speedy pace of .1 kph… cane in hand… a determined senor.

            Half of the mission is now complete. The other lies ahead of me. My eyes lead my feet for the remainder of the afternoon. To the ocean, to the pier, to the harbor, to a futbal field, to the bridge, and to a bar called bar derby back in las arenas (my neighborhood in getxo). ‘Quiero uno café con lache, pro favor. Garcias’. I’m convinced I will forever be a coffee drinking after this experience. Muy delicioso… plus enough caffeine to properly enlighten the brain. 

I sit outside with a few others mingling. The place soon explodes. Spaniards everywhere. Spain provides such an example of community. Whole families congregate and enjoy each other’s company. None of that baby-sitting junk. It’s a friends and family affair. The parents chat. The little dudes ride tricycles around like nascar’s… screaming and running into things/people. Los Perros excitedly bark from all the hubbub, while snatching the occasionally dropped crumb. All were living. I sip my café and read some Hemingway. I say a few ‘hola’s to the 2 toddlers racing back and forth from their parents to my table. I catch a few words from nearby tables. Two hours pass. The lifestyle’s contagious. Ladies and Gentlmen… I am in Spain

Barcelona...

¡Hola! ok, I promise i´ll finish the rest of my last post when i get back to bilbao. but for now a little update. i´m in Barcelona! the city´s amazing... i´m here for the carnavales holiday. i´ve been strolling the streets, exploring the picasso musium, cathedrals and the nightlife! I´ve been writing some and will be sure to ellaborate shortly. Adios from Barcelona!