Sunday, October 11, 2015 - Bilbao

Good morning, world! This morning, lacking yesterday’s hunger and crowds, San Sebastián already looks better. We begin today’s massive adventure by walking down to the Termibus station to catch the PESA bus to Bilbao. Contrary to everything on the PESA’s website, we don’t really need a reservation for the wheelchair. Spain long ago joined the European Union, so unlike the United States, all public transportation must be handicap accessible.

The bus, a touring ark, has a ramp in back that lifts me and Bird up to bus seat level. A secret door opens and in I roll. Only one fly in the ointment: the bus driver finds the ramp’s operation incredibly confusing. Were this accommodation not so vital to our trip, the situation would be hilarious. I don’t think that the bus operators encounter many cripples in wheelchairs. Eventually, with the assistance of other PESA workers, the driver lifts me on the ramp into the back of the bus. The scary ramp pops me into the air, a few meters off the ground. I pray that Bird’s brakes hold. Now I’m up with all the other tourists and I didn’t even have to walk up any stairs. The employees strap Bird’s wheels onto the bus floor. Lacking the common sense God gave a rooster, I don’t fasten my seatbelt.

Our bus charges out of the station like a freed stallion, off to Bilbao, an hour’s journey. I would call this another physical therapy hour as the bus careens rapidly down hills and mountains, eternally flying downhill, turning right then left following the curves of the road, amidst intermittent hard braking. I do my best to remain seated. We fly past the countryside, where heavy industry sustained Franco for so long. Strikingly beautiful vistas form Spain’s Rust Belt, just like the Midwestern US where both Bear and I hail from.

After a very scary hour, entirely my own fault, we arrive in Bilbao. Having left the Rick Steves bible at home and thus lacking easy directions to the Bilbao tram, we wander around a bit, in and out of a RENFE station, taking one ascensor down and another up. (We took the bus because Bilbao lies an hour away from San Sebastián by bus but two-and-one-half hours by train.)

We eventually find the tram, which, as advertised, cruises along at ground level, completely accessible. We ride the tram up to the Guggenheim, today’s destination ─ in truth, the entire reason for the side excursion to San Sebastián. Again, lacking our bible, we don’t cancel our tram tickets before we board but fortunately no one arrests us for our faux pas. Assuaging our guilt, we cancel the tickets as we exit the tram.

Despite my usual obsessiveness, I didn’t buy advance museum tickets in Denver. But we get a bye with the wheelchair. The staff wheels us to the front of the line and I purchase tickets at only six euros for Keith, free for me (€13 each regular price). Go figure.

The outside of the Guggenheim amazes us. The building itself, designed by Frank Gehry, lies beside the Nervión River.

We enjoy the larger-than-life outdoor sculptures. A pond next to the building contains a fog sculpture and a fire fountain. As could be expected, fog rises from the fog sculpture, producing a ghostly presence far cooler than it sounds.

We see a huge Jeff Koons sculpture of brightly colored tulips.

Bear spots a large topiary bear, also by Koons. We read the placard next to the bear and discover that it’s really a puppy dog. “You know you can be just too damn educated,” growls the Bear. I agree, I would prefer to have believed it was a bear made in honor of my bear.

We see a big spider and a tree made out of ball bearings. “Silver balls,” says the Bear.

But the inside of the Guggenheim severely disappoints. The three story museum dedicates the entire top floor to huge exhibit of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s work. Long ago, back in the States, Bear and I had watched a movie about Basquiat, so we look forward to seeing his art. Basquiat began as a graffiti artist, befriended and collaborated with Andy Warhol, rose rapidly in the New York art scene, and died at 27 from a heroin overdose. But looking at his work, I note no talent whatsoever. One of Basquiat’s often repeated quotes is “Believe it or not, I really can draw.” The exhibit provides no evidence of this purported talent. Bear grumbles, “I don’t like art that people have to explain to me.” I couldn’t agree more. Nothing moves me; nothing touches me. We exit stage right to the ascensores.

We attempt to descend to the second floor but find it closed, the elevator refusing to stop there. We learn that the second floor had previously been dedicated to a Jeff Koons exhibit that just ended. Bear feels I would’ve liked that. Lots of colors.

So down we go to the first floor. This floor holds a huge room full of humongous steel mazes. I enjoy hearing the kids squeal as they walk through the exhibit, their cries of joy bouncing off of the walls. Bird easily negotiates the enormous artwork.

Walking over to a darkened room, we find nine blue LEDs stretching from the ceiling to the floor. At first I am drawn to this art because, after all, it has color; it’s blue. Approaching the installation, the tickertape-like LEDs actually dissolve into words. Naturally I have to try to read them, which gives me a headache and makes me feel a wee bit nauseous. At this point, we escape the Guggenheim.

We walk along a grassy knoll following the tram tracks back to the bus station, a nice, peaceful and beautiful journey. Fortunately I have the Bear, because I would probably go the wrong way on the tracks, wandering witless like an ant without a scent-trail, and die. This digression ignores the problem that I am not ambulatory.

As we stroll along, we search for somewhere to eat lunch. We settle on a restaurant, Taquillas Guggenheim. We eat some mediocre tapas or pintxos and, far more importantly, partake of some wine and Advil.

After the wine, we think about having sex on the street. We find Bilbao so quiet that the imp of perversity encourages us to stir the place up. Can you imagine, a cripple arrested for fornicating in public? Bear feels he needs time and more wine to devise some sort of contraption with levers and pulleys. “I think it would be more like block and tackle,” he says, “especially if you’re on top.” Eschewing the fantasy, we leave the restaurant and continue our walk to the bus station to await our return bus. I booked a fairly early bus back, 16:00.

This time we board a brand-new bus. This driver understands his lift and loads Bird and me without any difficulty. Unwilling to disturb his shiny new bus’s pristine look, he refuses to pick up the rubber strips lining the tie-down area, leaving the wheelchair unattached to the floor. I lack the intellect and language skills to argue. For the return trip, having been trained up right, I do buckle Bird’s seatbelt.

On the bus ride back, the bus caroms uphill which slows it a bit. I doze a briefly, rudely awakened by Bird’s movements. Although securely braked, we begin to fall into the middle aisle. I desperately call Keith, interrupting his nap. At every curve Keith must hold Bird down to keep her from flipping over into the aisle of the bus. What a bunch of morons (us included)! And I lack the Spanish language skills necessary to even explain their idiocy and fuss at them.

We employed great effort to get up here to visit the Guggenheim Museum. I found the museum pretty sucky and feel depressed about the waste of time and money; Keith isn’t. He feels that everything we do has value. He had a good day; he enjoyed the museum. “It’s not the best museum but I enjoyed the adventure.” I envy his easy, eternal joie de vivre. Thinking carefully, I agree with Bear. Had we not been chasing the Guggenheim, we never would have visited this lovely corner of the world.

Returning to our apartment, we find the fair still burbling below our balconies. No longer dazed by hunger, we enjoy the human tapestry dancing beneath our windows. Keith goes out and wanders through the fair while I nap. He likes the crazy musicians, the wandering minstrels. Happily, he buys some walnuts and apricots and dates, real Bear food.

Yesterday he washed almost all of our clothing and much of it is dry. For dinner he cooks nearly all of the food we bought yesterday in a chicken stir-fry with noodles. Bear’s culinary skills bless us once again!