I was on familiar territory as our group set off once again to walk down into Bilbao. We descended the first three lifts that I’d found then were on traditional steps to get most of the rest of the way down. Finally there was a fourth lift but really it did very little to help. We went down the steps beside it. Opposite was a bus stop where we could catch a bus that would return us to the camper van park.
Next we tried a different mode of transport. Bilbao has one tramline with one of it stops being just outside the Guggenheim. We boarded at the hospital station which is where we would disembark a return tram later in the day.
We had our first peek at the Guggenheim as our group left the tram and began wandering beside the river. Francine, who wanted to go into the Guggenheim anyway, was pleased to see that there was an exhibition on by Helen Frankenthaler, an abstract artist with whom she was familiar. We’ll return later to do our own thing.
As we were passing the large spider sculpture outside the museum (which, other than having eight legs, looks little like a spider), some generated mist from the “moat” began drifting adding some atmosphere to the scene.
Via another tram ride, we ended up in the old town for lunch where we had another helping of pinchos at a restaurant in the main square. After a necessary refresher, we all wandered up to an extensive food selection and we each chose three pinchos that appealed to us. I picked a squid croquetta, which was really a squid ink croquetta, a goats cheese concoction and finally a crab salad, which turned out to be my favourite (even though it was more than likely made from crab sticks).
To help our digestion after lunch, Francine and I walked back through the streets to the Guggenheim. We had a bit of a play with our cameras around the outside before Francine went in to get her fill of Helen Frankenthaler, as well as the other exhibits. I stayed outside doing what more I could with the Guggenheim architecture.
After I’d had my fill of pretending to be artistic, I walked over to a pleasant looking garden café with umbrellas for shade. I sat waiting for a few minutes but when a Dutch couple (I think) on the neighbouring table started having a video call for all to hear with a friend or relative, I left my table and wandered back to the Guggenheim to have a more relaxing coffee from the vending cart outside. I do hate modern communication technology and ethics, or lack thereof.
After an hour or so Francine came out of the Guggenheim and found me. We made our way back to the tram station to buy tickets to get us back to the hospital stop and a bus back to the campsite. Tickets are ordered and dispensed by a touch-screen-controlled machine which steadfastly refused to respond to our touches. After several failed attempts I spotted two security guards on the opposite platform and gesticulated to enlist their help. Things didn’t exactly go smoothly for our helper either but eventually she managed to procure us two tickets, which she then had to validate with today’s date. In due course a tram arrived and we boarded, as did the security guards and a ticket inspector, who duly inspected our hard-won tickets.
The bus was a simpler affair with a driver to issue tickets. Simpler, that is, other than remembering which number you wanted,was it 58 or 85? Both served this same bus stop.
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