Spain
Jun 7th, 2010
Basque-ing
The triumphant return of gelato flavors of the day: for me it was a bit of a departure from my cafe safe-zone. I tried a queso, which I would compare favorably to cheesecake only more tangy, and a rice pudding, which was very good. Irene had cocunt and whiskey which she reports as bieng “tasty”.
Our time in Bilbao was brief but sufficient. We rolled into town in the afternoon and, after a brief respite at our hotel, set out for a stroll around the old town. We stopped into a bar for pintxos and a caña (small beer) and then more strolling. We came across an unexpected bagpipe band which had the whole street singing. We had dinner at a local bar and then to bed.
The next morning found us early at the Guggenheim, Gehry’s architectual masterpiece, in what was clearly Seattle weather sent here to cool us off and remind us of what we’ve missing back home. The current exhibits were a Rosseau collection, which demonstrated that he is known despite his lack of skill as a draftsman, and Rauschenberg who is known for reasons that entirely escape me.
We did both, however, enjoy the works of Anish Kapur. Creator of the Magic Bean in Chicago (or as it is officially known, Cloud Gate). One installation that was a lot of fun was a big air cannon that would shoot buckets of red wax against the corner. Every so often a man would enter the room, load up the cannon and, with a loud bang, fire. He would then exit the room where he would joke with the guards about his aim.
We bused it from Bilbao to San Sebastian in the afternoon. Not much to say about San Seb. It’s a pretty little city on the Bay of Biscane and we spent a pretty lazy day there hanging out by the beach and generally just resting. Oh yeah, we did have some ice cream (see above).
Today we hopped the commuter train to French Basque country in the guise of St-Jean-de-Luz. I tried to make the switch to French seamlessly but outed with a few “si”s and “dos”s and “gracias”s. The woman behind the ticket counter laughed at me.
All day I would revert to Spanish. After two and a half weeks of “gracias” I’m running on autopilot. When we get back to Spain I’ll probably say “merci”. Oy.
When we arrived St-Jean was a quiet, sleepy little town but by late in the afternoon it was alive with tourists.
Tuesday is market day, and for my money French markets are the best in Europe by a wide margin. We were seduced right away by a stinky cheese vendor and picked up a wedge of soft Brie-like goat cheese. And once we had that we had to pick up some meat (chorizo), bread (some kind of corn bread with sunflower seeds), fruit (strawberries) and dessert (gâteau de basque with a cream center). Picnic by the beach? Yes!
There’s not a whole lot to see of St-Jean so we spent a good deal of time hanging out in cafés drinking wine (or in Irene’s case, Kir and wine). During our second café stop we were driven inside when the sky that had been threatening all day finally opened up.
Due to a slight mix up about the bus schedule, no need to apportion blame, we were darting from awning to overhang on a soppy dash to the bus station. Fortunately we could take a bus to Hendaye and from there catch a train back to San Sebastian. Where it was also drizzling.
We catch a late night train to Salamanca tonight were we will get in way too early for anything to actually be open. Not sure what we are going to do when we get there. No baggage check in the train station, only in the bus station which is nowhere near by. Should be fun. I’ll let you know what happens.
Posted in France, Journal Entry, Spain | No Comments
Jun 5th, 2010
Jun 4th, 2010
Jun 3rd, 2010
Viva la Barcelona
The thing about having crap accomodations is that, instead of returning to the hotel room to relax, you make more stops for beer. That is, if you’re us. What happened—you may ask—to all that red, red rioja you were intending to consume on your Spanish vacation, Irene? It’s not served cold. Beer is served cold. Sangria is served cold (and with ice!) Wine is served as it should be: at room temp. The temp for us visiting Seattleites is Hot. Actually, Bacelona is refreshingly cooler than the south of Spain proved to be. Still we are seeking the shade and religiously applying our sunsceen daily. But cold beer helps, too.
We have an Art Pass. Like gluttons at an all-you-can-eat buffet, we are out to get our money’s worth. This afternoon’s cerveca was tapped at the Joan Miró museum, at which (even before the beer) I gained a modicum of respect for him and his work.
Yesterday was spent in the company of Gaudi (Sagrada Familia and the Park Güell) and Picasso (Picasso Museum). I’d like to think everyone appreciates the work of these artists. Visiting Barcelona feels a little like a pilgrimage, for Gaudi’s sake! But visiting these places reminded me how true artistry can come off as obvious and easy-looking while it is based on a profound mastery of one’s craft. Miró, it seemed, never excelled at representational art before turning his visual language into play. I don’t know if this has anything to do with how I’m just not into him. But this is what I think—of those who respond to practical questions about their work, their health, their relationships, “…you just don’t understand! I’m an ARTIST!”—they’re full of shite. You got to know your craft. Artists are craftsmen. And craft means discipline. That said…It’s their whimsey that moves. And, after our lineup with the Art Pass, I’m inspired to play.
But right now, I’m inspired to sit. Still composing this little ditty of a blog entry, I’m sitting with Ken now in the evening waiting for the Font Màgica to do its Thing. We walked (till our legs nearly mutinied) to land at the only indoor eatery within blocks and blocks and blocks to offer a bright and inviting, nonsmoking space in which the waitstaff looks at us funny when we even attempt Spanish. In the cool of the evening in this air condiditioned place, we order Rioja, and it comes ice cold. After the show at the Magic Fountain, we’ll take the metro back to our hyper cool neighborhood (The Born) to our hovel of a hostel, check in with the world via wifi, and pass out in our unairconditioned room while the locals start their evening meals. Viva la Barcelona! We love you. Sincerely, me.
Jun 2nd, 2010
