Bilb-wow (Ok, that was too easy)

This weekend, Dana and I made like native Spaniards and took a whirlwind weekend trip to the Basque Country city of Bilbao.

Leaving once again on a 7 am flight (I'm getting good at the 4:30 am wake-up), we arrived in Bilbao less than an hour later, a little cold (ah, the northern coast) and very confused (the airport mysteriously lacks an arrivals hall).

We made it downtown quickly, and I was shocked by what we found. I'd heard that Bilbao, prior to the building of the Guggenheim, was gritty and industrial — the Pittsburgh of Spain (or as I choose to think of it, the Providence). What we found was a beautifully charming city, filled with old buildings, cafes and wide avenues (and a shockingly efficient public

transportation system).

After taking a needed nap in our pensión, we set off in search of el Mercado de la Ribera, the largest covered market in Europe. Though the fruits and vegetables area (my favorite) was a little sparse, there were full floors devoted each to meats and fish. (Dad — this was your kind of market)

We spent most of the day just exploring the casco viejo — the old city — and its seven original streets. We also checked out the Museu de Bellas Artes (Fine Arts Museum).

Going from one anarchist state to another, I was expected Spanish to be the secondary language. But unlike Catalan, which I can pretend to understand, Basque (or Euskal, to natives) is in a league of its own. (Seriously, it has no known origin)

Though I heard few people actually speaking it, all signs favored the local dialect (with Spanish and English beneath it, thankfully).

As an example, thank you is translated as eskerrik asko. ok....

We spent the evening embracing the local culture: pintxos.

Like the rest of Spain, the Basque Country takes their food seriously (to the point of obsession). Up north though, they have their own spin on tapas — pintxos — which consist of anything and everything stabbed with a toothpick and stuck to a piece of bread. The typical weekend activity is to hop from one bar to another, have a glass of wine and a pintxo or two at each one. Highlights from our tour of the old city's Plaza Nueva included ensalada de mariscos (seafood salad), alcachofa (artichoke), pimiento con bacalo (red pepper stuffed with cod), various fresh grilled vegetables and cheeses, some sort of meat crepe, and a few things I couldn't quite identify. It's in these settings that I am extremely happy to be (more or less) a fearless eater. (I didn't take this photo, but it gives a pretty good demonstration of the deliciousness that is a pintxos bar.)

On Sunday, we took in the Big Kahuna, Bilbao's claim to fame, The Guggenheim. I've seen tons of pictures, but I don't think I was prepared for just how crazy of a building Frank Gehry's masterpiece is.

My favorite part may have been the 70-foot puppy made entirely of flowers, who greeted you as you entered.

I was shocked that the museum contained Impressionist masters — I was expecting only the truly bizarre. Then we got to the first floor, where we found video art and an enormous room filled with steel mazes. So I cannot profess to have understood even close to everything, but it was by far the coolest building I have ever been inside.

After spending a good chunk of the day at the museum, we found ourselves wandering and discovered that the entire city of Bilbao shuts down on Sundays. We had checked out of our hostel, it was cold, and we weren't leaving till 10:30 pm. What to do? Go to the movies! We saw Lo Que Funciona (Whatever Works), a Woody Allen movie about a New Yorker played by Larry David dubbed in Spanish. I was more impressed with the Spanish audiences' ability to grasp the humor than my ability to translate the language.

We managed to entertain ourselves until 10:30 pm, when we boarded our overnight bus back to Barcelona. It wasn't as restless as I was expecting, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't getting very sleepy right about now.