Monday, August 15, 2005

A little over a week into our trip, I was nearly used to sleeping on the ground with only a thin roll mat and sleeping bag, my balled up sweatshirt for a pillow. Terrified of having my passport and money stolen, I wore a money belt safety pinned to the inside of my jeans or skirts during the day, and slept with it pinned to the inside of my sleeping bag at night. Although this was slightly uncomfortable and made for some tricky maneuvers to pay for anything, the alternative was not something I wanted to think about. I’d already had that experience the first year I spent in England, and didn’t need a repeat in another European country. Paranoid? Yes. But did I return to England with passport and money intact? Yes.

Hondarribia, Spain

We woke early on our final day in Hondarribia. One thing about sleeping in a tent – once the sun is up and shining on it, it’s way too hot to sleep. So James and I were getting in a lot of early mornings. Relaxation called to us that day. We packed up our gigundo backpacks, rolled up the sleeping mats, and took down the tent. After checking out of the campsite we made our way into town to spend our day on the seafront.

Basking in the Sunshine

James fished from the rocks jutting out into the water. He had a small cork paddle with fishing line wrapped around it that he’d taken on a trip with his best friend years ago. I sat on the rocks reading and wandered on the sand collecting green sea glass. Although “sea glass” sounds romantic, it’s really nothing more than old, broken beer bottles that have been tumbled around in the ocean with the sand. No more than someone’s old garbage.

Sea Glass

We went to the shop on the corner for our lunch of fruit, bread and chorizo. We even found a small bottle of wine to enjoy while basking in the Spanish sunshine. As we ate our food along the seafront, we watched the feral cats. They lounged on the grass, in trees, on the rocks, under the rocks. There was a black and white cat with two kittens hiding under the rocks. We felt sorry for her and cut up small pieces of our chorizo for the little family.

Family of Feral Cats

Later that day, James and I gathered up our things and caught the bus to Irun. We were taking the overnight train to Barcelona via Pamplona and Zaragoza. Our seats were two of six in a car, and they pulled down and out to extend into small, relatively comfortable sleepers. It was absolutely freezing. I had pulled on my numerous layers to little effect. I sat shivering next to James, wishing I’d brought a blanket. Noticing my discomfort, one of our companions leaned over and said that Spanish trains were always freezing. He told us he was an actor at a theme park in Zaragoza and was returning for his fourth season. He left in the night while we slept.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Bus Ticket

Once again in Irun (“Irun? Irun? Why would you want to go to Irun?”), James and I found ourselves communicating rather poorly to the woman behind the glass partition that we each wanted a bus ticket to Bilbao. With only one seat remaining on the early bus, our only option was the 11:00. With a few hours stretching between now and then, we set about finding a place to pass the time.

Cafe in Irun

We settled on a long, narrow café with lots of counter space and a few small tables toward the back. Happy to be rid of my gigantic backpack for the day, I relished being able to sit at a table without trying to stuff all of my possessions under it. (I think backpacking means you learn very quickly to enjoy the simple pleasures.) Several cups of coffee later we buzzed back to the bus station and rode along the coast to Bilbao.

The Guggenheim

For many, the city of Bilbao is synonymous with The Guggenheim. Certainly for me and James, two art people who take most opportunities to visit all the museums and galleries we can. The main objective of our day trip to Bilbao was to visit The Guggenheim, to marvel in its architecture, to revel in its exhibitions, to soak it all in.


Certainly, the architecture was impressive. The museum was surrounded by water, giving the illusion that it was floating. “Puppy,” a towering dog covered in flowering plants by Jeff Koons, stood at the entrance. The interior, however, I found to be a bit disappointing. It was dark and cavernous, and there wasn’t as much art as I was expecting. On the ground floor was a Richard Serra installation, and wandering among his giant monoliths was an amazing experience. Higher up in the galleries was an exhibition of artifacts from the Aztec empire, which was interesting, but not exactly my “thing.” I suppose what I really wanted to see was European art and artifacts, not items from the part of the world I hailed from.

Carousel

Bilbao reminded me of San Diego, with its wide boulevards and hills in the distance, its public parks and Spanish fountains. Being a Sunday, all seemed quiet. Wandering through the Doña Casilda Iturrizar park, we noticed a lot of construction going on at the outskirts, and it seemed out of place next to a child’s playground with a colorful, ornate carousel. Inside the park, however, were peace and tranquility, no sounds but children laughing, birds calling, and the rush of water from fountains.

Nuns Enjoying Ice Cream in the Park

James and I caught a late bus back to Irun, arriving just in time to see the last bus to Hondarribia leaving the bus stop. With no taxies in sight, our only option was to walk the rest of the way to our campsite along the darkened roads and highways.