Bilbao: Vastly Underrated

When I was planning our trip to northern Spain, allotting one evening to Bilbao seemed more than adequate to accomplish the only thing I was told made Bilbao worthwhile (the Guggenheim).  But that one evening passed too quickly, and when midnight found us at Claudio's in the old town working our way through a plate of local jamon and chistorras, I regretted our rash decision to book tickets on a bus out of town at 9 the next morning.

My new-found love affair with Bilbao took root in the fertile ground of low expectations.  With everyone from the New York Times to our Spanish friends in Pamplona telling us Bilbao is nothing special (save, of course, for Frank Gehry's massive monument to modern art), we were free to discover the city for ourselves. 

Jeff Koons' giant puppy welcomes the city to the museum

Of course, the museum is all that and a bag of chips.  Its shape both inside and out is fluid and mysterious; it spills over into public spaces filled with public art, along the riverfront in one direction and into the city on the other.  The cavernous and curving galleries are best suited for modern art of the giant installation variety, some of which we really liked and some of which was beyond us.  Of our eight precious hours in Bilbao, we spent three on the museum - but the other five were equally memorable. 

First, Gehry's masterpiece is not the only interesting architecture in town.  I was delighted with the look and feel of Bilbao long before we reached the museum.  Even the airport is a sweet and well-thought out retro modern space, all curving white concrete, steel, and glass.  (Its nickname is, fittingly, La Paloma - The Dove.)  

Inside La Paloma

The city's compact center is a series of classical parks and plazas surrounded by genteel apartment blocks with French windows and wrought-iron balconies.  But this traditional look, pretty on its own, is punctuated with eye-catching modern buildings - like the glass cubist facade of the health department and the self-confident oversized iron block of the Eskalduna convention center.  

The Guggenheim was the start of a massive waterfront redevelopment project, in which inaccessible shipyards were replaced with a broad riverfront park dotted with terrace cafes and playgrounds. Perhaps it's too early to pass final judgment, but based on what we saw on a sunny Saturday afternoon, it seems to be an urban redevelopment success. And while many do not share this opinion, I like the juxtaposition of the very old with the very new (at least when the "new" is interesting).  Downtown Bilbao has managed this tricky balance well.

Second, a short detour to the Vizcaya bridge provides a glimpse of Bilbao's industrial heritage.  While the center city may now be more pleasant and accessible thanks to the relocation of the shipyards, the city's port and the steel industry remain vital to the region's economy.  Personally, I like industrial landscapes - they are the reality of what makes a place like Bilbao tick, and they can have their own rugged beauty.  (This is why I think Pittsburgh has so much potential to become the next Portland.  You heard it here first.)  

At the river

From the museum, it's a 20-minute subway ride to the Areeta station and a short stroll through a residential neighborhood down to the river.  The river here is wide and quiet, lined on both sides with white-railed promenades.  Off in the distance at the river's mouth, the massive cranes of the new "Superport" were backlit by the setting sun.  And towering above us was the open iron work design of the world's first "transporter" bridge. 

The Vizcaya bridge was built in 1893 to create a river crossing that wouldn't impede shipping traffic.  Hence the "transporter" part: a gondola suspended by twisted steel ropes glides silently back and forth, ferrying cars and pedestrians across the river while leaving ships free to pass under the bridge's always-elevated span.  (The bridge was inscribed on the World Heritage list in 2006.)

A ride across the river is a cheap but quick thrill - my inner-child was pleased.  I heard tell that one can also walk across the high bridge span, but I was spared rediscovering my fear of heights when we arrived at 9:05 pm, minutes after the elevators ferrying tourists to the top closed for the evening.  (The bridge's gondola, which does the actual "transporting", operates through the night.)

And then there's food.  On the other side of the river in Portugalete, a neighborhood of steep hills and narrow streets, we paused at a cluster of bars where the scene was just starting to pick up at 9:30.  As dusk fell, people spilled out from the taverns onto the cobblestones, resting their glasses on up-ended wine casks.  Far from the center, our two tapas and four drinks (we were with friends!) came to €7.  

Once back on the metro, it was a straight (though long) shot back to the Casco Viejo, just across the river from downtown.  We were told the old city was the place to find small bars with good tapas (pintxos in Basque country), but we honestly can't say. 

Instead we found ourselves at Claudio's (on Itxaropen Kalea), with rough-hewn tables, haunches of cured pig hanging from the ceiling, and a long menu that consisted of pig, pig, and cheese.  It's the sort of place where used napkins and minor refuse litter the floor, where the waitresses slice the jamon to order and one must turn a blind eye to the mingling of raw sausage and cured meats on the counter.  No English was spoken.  The place was full up with tables of happy customers at 11 pm.  Once we got a table of our own, we saw no reason to leave.

Instead we worked our way through plates of strong blue cheese and aged manchego, paper-thin slices of chorizo and jamon, and that plate of chistorras I am still having dreams about - little spicy pork sausages that were like crack to my bacon-loving soul.  

As for all of Bilbao's other pintxos bars, museums, modern architecture, and classy parks perfect for an afternoon's lounging - those we sadly did not have time to see.  If only I had known Bilbao was worth a whole weekend on it's own.  Which is why I'm spreading the word.