I was under the impression that Bilbao was ugly. I feel like I read somewhere that the only reason to come to Bilbao was for the Guggenheim.
I think it’s beautiful! It’s a modern, seemingly well designed city- remarkably flat, walkable, bike paths everywhere, and some of the most interesting pretty bridges I’ve ever seen! There’s a metro, a bus system, and an above-ground tram called Euskotren. Monica and I spent the first day just walking around, enjoying the architecture.
Just about the only thing they did NOT have was a giant screen to watch the final match of the world cup. We asked a group of 4 old ladies on a bench. “No idea,” they said after much internal discussion, like they were on The View, “maybe you should ask a man!” The man we asked had no idea, and the group of young men dressed in red (Spain’s color) said that there were a couple of bars we should go to.
We go to one bar where we find some seats. People start strolling in, but instead of wearing red, they’re completely outfitted in green (the basque team color) or orange (Dutch colors.)
We were in a bar of Basque separatists. For real.
Every time a Spaniard got hurt (which was often,) the people in the bar cheered. They cheered “Puta Espana!! Espana es puta!” This delighted Monica and me to no end. We figured it was win-win… if Spain loses, we celebrate with the Basque separatists, and if Spain wins, we get the hell out of there as soon as possible and celebrate with the Spaniards.
When Spain finally scored its winning and only goal in 2nd overtime, there was a deep sigh from the bar and we got out of there.
We followed the crowd to the main plaza in Bilbao, and all of the 17-year olds in town had converged upon the fountain, taking off their shirts, cheering and screaming. Police in full riot gear surrounded the plaza, waiting. And that was that. We found no party… we just ate some tapas and went home. Kind of a let-down.
No comments:
Post a Comment