Today’s alliterative pun is brought to you by Basque Country.
The Basque Country extends from Northern Spain and into Southern France. The Basque people have Celtic roots. Scientists proved this through DNA testing, and by observing the Basques play bagpipes, an ancient Celtic tradition predating the inventions of rhythm and melody.
The Basque language may be one of the oldest in all of Europe. It is shared by both Spanish and French Basques. However, virtually all Basque people also speak either Spanish or French, depending on where they live.
Miranda de Ebro is part of Basque Country, as is Bilbao; but so is our third stop, Bayonne, France.
Bilbao
Do you remember that famous line from the movie, Field of Dreams? No, I do not mean Kevin Costner’s response to the question, “Is this Heaven?” (“No, it’s Iowa”). I mean, “If you build it, they will come.” That brand of optimism worked very well for the people of Bilbao.
The River Nervión runs to the sea through Bilbao. A once thriving port there substantially supported the city, but by the 1980’s the port (and, therefore, the town) was doing quite poorly. In 1991, the Basque government, in an effort to reverse Bilbao’s fortunes, reached a deal with the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation. The government agreed to build a museum (at a cost of $100 million) and to pay the Foundation tens of millions of dollars to acquire art and run the museum. The Foundation hired architect Frank Gehry.
People went nuts over Gehry’s creation.
When the museum opened in 1997, it was called a 20th century masterpiece. Architectural critics gushed with praise, one calling it “a fantastic dream ship of undulating form in a cloak of titanium.”
Like the Field of Dreams, the Guggenheim Bilbao became a popular tourist attraction. In its first three years, almost 4 million tourists visited the museum, helping to generate about €500 million in economic activity.
Denise and I contributed to Bilbao’s “economic activity” by spending $150 to stay at a hotel (Vincci Consulado de Bilbao) just a few minutes walk from the museum. Although I generally try to spend less on lodging, this hotel’s location made the per diem a bargain. We could walk everywhere we wanted to go. Our first stop was, of course, the museum.
The Guggenheim calls itself a modern art museum. This generated, in me, low expectations. Modern art usually leaves me underwhelmed.
I felt a little more optimistic after asking the very young man at the reception desk if they offered a senior discount. He asked for an ID. Seeing that I was over 65, the child clerk announced that my ticket would be half price. He turned to Denise and asked her age. She admitted being years younger than 65, but the extremely young cashier said, “close enough,” and gave us a second half-price ticket. I was over the moon.
Denise’s feelings were more nuanced.
Our examination of the modern art left me no more impressed than I had expected. Take, for example, this Mark Rothko:
I will admit that the large painting is a little more impressive in person, but it still evoked only slightly more emotion than a Home Depot paint swatch.
The museum also had an automotive exhibit. Not being a car guy, I thought this would be about as exciting as that Rothko. I was wrong.
The beautiful lines of a truly inspired automobile are as sublime as any other masterpiece. The museum had dozens of examples. Take, for example, this 1953 Bentley “R Type Continental,” one of only 208 made:
Other cars were less elegant, but historically significant. This Delahaye (below) is one of only two. It debuted at the 1939 New York World’s Fair. United States Customs seized the vehicle after Nazi Germany invaded France.
Many of these great old cars are worth millions of dollars. That may seem like a lot, but consider this: So is the Rothko.
We left the museum and meandered toward Old Town. We saw the river lined with tents filled with people eating and drinking.
We saw musicians playing on land:
And on the water:
We began to think that perhaps we had arrived during some sort of festival. We were right.
We had arrived during “Aste Nagusia,” which is Basque for “Great Week.” This is a nine day celebration of Basque culture. There is traditional Basque music and dancing, as well as Basque sports, such as wood chopping and stone carrying competitions. There is the model of a hungry giant. Children enter the giant’s mouth and slide, naturally, out his butt.
Bilbao offers its version of Pamplona Running of the Bulls. The bulls, however, are calves with padded horns. Nobody gets hurt.
The festival icon, Marijaia, seems to wander aimlessly. Marijaia walks around with her arms raised, supposedly a gesture of celebration and dance. Personally, I think it might have something to do with the guy under her skirt.
On the last day Marijaia is “lovingly burned,” which is how Boris Johnson refers to the end of Joan of Arc.
We didn’t have a reservation and therefore were very lucky to get a table at Restaurante Pentxo. We paid thirty euros each for a fixed menu, which is substantially higher than one usually pays in Spain. However, the price included all the beer and wine we wanted to drink, and we got our money’s worth. It was a phenomenal example of Basque cuisine.
Our last look at Bilbao came from atop what might generously be called a mountain. A cog railway takes people to a hilltop park overlooking the city. Here’s a picture:
You know what? I was going to discuss Bilbao and Bayonne in one story. But I’ve gotten tired of writing, and maybe you are tired of reading. Let me leave you, therefore, with an introduction to John Mulaney: