R and R Spanish style
After all the excitement of completing the Camino Inglés we've taken a few days to rest up and enjoy being in Spain. So much so, that this is being written at home in the UK. That is for two reasons. Firstly, we were so much more tired than we expected to be after what was a short Camino. Secondly, I have to cough that I found writing the blog quite a chore this time around; both in terms of just writing what happened, and also to make it interesting. I was often writing long after Cate had gone to sleep. On one night I was in full nodding donkey mode as finished it. That probably explained why, in my opinion, it wasn't as good as previous efforts.
After a "restful" day back at home (looking after our lovely Grand-daughter, and Daughter), I'll now try and describe what happened after the day we arrived in Santiago.
The original plan was to fly at lunchtime from Santiago to Bilbao, then get the bus across to San Sebastian. One of the most beautiful cities I've ever visited; and somewhere I'd always wanted to take Cate to. But my good mates at Iberia emailed the day before we left for Spain to say that our flight had been cancelled, and we'd been bumped onto a later service that arrived into Bilbao just before 9pm. Friggin' brilliant! Luckily the host of our AirBnB arranged for us to "self check-in", as we wouldn't get there until gone 11pm. The details she sent us via WhatsApp were excellent, including a video of how to get in the apartment block door, operate the ancient lift and get in the apartment itself. Hats off to the wonderful Kira who also provided us with details of the exact bus to get from Bilbao Airport. If Carlsberg did AirBnB hosts, they'd be like Kira (and my friend Jen, of course!).
The Lift - like something from a Poirot murder mystery
Given that we didn't have to be at the airport until around 5pm, that meant we had a lot more time to kill in Santiago. We'd gone to bed the night before with the raining teeming down outside, and woke to the sound of water still tap dancing on the velux windows of our top floor room. Blast; well it may have been a bit stronger than that! We mooched in our room for as long as possible, but had to check out at Midday. It was still raining, but not as bad as earlier. So we braved the weather and headed for the cover a café fronting onto one of Santiago's many porticoes. Then the rain stopped so we just wandered around the city, and popped into the Cathedral. Nice to get some photo's with a half-decent camera this time, after last year's technology breakdown.
Before heading off to get the airport bus there was a last visit to Parque Alameda to take in the best view of the Cathedral. What a magical city! A place that has had us spellbound ever since our first visit in 1990. A place that we're bound to visit again.
The bus to the airport, 8 miles out of town, was just €3. What a bargain! Well it very nearly wasn't. Thanks to a piece of lowlife who somehow managed to undo the top of Cate's rucksack and have his hand on her purse. Luckily she noticed in the nick (excuse the pun!) of the time and pulled the bag away sharply. The little Hispanic scuttled up the bus, and was off as soon as it stopped. The sheer front of him. The bag that was stood upright between her legs, and he managed to disguise his actions by flopping his coat over it. I thought it was odd that he chose to stand in the aisle between Cate and I when there were seats free elsewhere. Anyway, a close shave, and a wake up call. Somewhat ironic given that I'd referenced Pilgrims having their guards down re crime in my previous blog piece!
That was about it for the day. Our flight got us to Bilbao on time. Our bag even chose to follow us. And our bus to San Sebastian got us there like clockwork at 11pm. Kira's instructions worked like a dream. We crashed out tired, but with high expectations for the following 2 days.
On day 1 in San Sebastian we walked a lot - over 7 miles around the Old Town, up and down Monte Urgull with great views of the city from the eastern side of Bahia de la Concha. The obligatory swim was had - so much warmer than the Atlantic on the west coast of Spain. In the evening we chilled on the beach with a beer enjoying the fantastic vibe as the locals unwound after a hard day. Then a stroll into the Old Town for Pintxos and Txakoli. Pintxos is the Basque equivalent of Tapas, usually a work of art on a small piece of crusty bread. Txakoli is a local, lightly sparkling, white wine. The food was great, and the wine even better. I had more glasses of Txakoli than I'd had glasses of wine in the past 12 months!
We tried unsuccessfully to walk back down from Monte Igueldo, but all the footpaths seemed to be closed. What a shame! So it was back down in the ancient wooden Funicular. Walking back around to Playa de la Concha I noticed a fair number of people wearing various rugby shirts. Why? It's Spain. Not a rugby country. As we sat on the beach after swimming I googled "rugby San Sebastian" and it became clear. For some strange reason the French Rugby Union league is decided by a playoff system. Not dissimilar to the one in England. The teams who finished 1st and 4th play each other whilst the 2nd and 3rd placed teams face off. The winners of those two matches then play in the final to get the "League (?)" trophy. Put simply, the two semi-final games were being held in San Sebastian on the Friday and Saturday at the Football Stadium, Anoeta. Apparently all 40,000 tickets had been sold for each game, hence the increasing numbers of French rugby fans we spotted.
We had a fine swim, and decided that we'd do likewise again later as the sun went down. And that is just what we did. Nature obliged, and put on a truly spectacular light show. All the French had shoved off to the rugby match, so watching the sun go down with a beer was more than idyllic. Before we knew it, it was nearing 11pm, and we hadn't eaten. So what do you do in the "Foodie Capital of Spain"? You guessed right. Get a take away pizza. Bloody heathens!
The next morning it was an early(ish) start to get the 09.30 coach across to Bilbao for a day and night there. Unfortunately, we got to Bilbao late as our coach was stopped by the Police just outside San Sebastian. A Policeman still wearing his Motorcycle helmet made a garbled announcement in Basque to the passengers. We were none the wiser. The driver seemed to be anxiously speaking to someone on his mobile; then the Police started to photograph the side of the coach - probably the wheels/tyres. People started to get off the coach and use the loos and shop at the garage where we had been pulled over to. I did likewise and emerged to see Cate putting our bags into the hold of a replacement coach. Last on! I reckon the original coach had bald tyres, so I fear for the driver and his job.
We arrived 40 minutes late (not bad in the circumstances) in Bilbao, and it was 30 degrees. Not only that, but the coach station was in a different part of town to where I expected it to be. On a positive note, it was next to the marvellous San Mamés stadium home of Athletic Club de Bilbao. On the downside it was a 35 minute walk from our hotel. Bally nuisance (or something similar). We lumbered past the Guggenheim and across the River Nervión to the imaginatively named "Abba Suites". We couldn't have arrived more moist if we'd swum across the river. As it happens we didn't swim, so there was no need for our receptionists Chiquitita and Fernando to call us an SOS....... (i'll get my coat!).
To be honest, both of us were not as enthused about Bilbao as we should have been. Still tired from the Camino; lame I know, nothing would live up to San Sebastian. Well the hotel had been booked, and our flights were the following day, so get on with it you lightweights! I'd been to Bilbao before, on an incredibly damp (sodden as opposed to moist) courier trip. It poured all day and evening; the game should never have been played, but was. A rather enjoyable farce, and an even more enjoyable post match press conference featuring an eloquent, but stroppy Valencia manager - Gary Neville! Although I braved the elements for a couple of hours, and also went in the Guggenheim, it would be fair to say that I hadn't seen the city in its best light.
In the evening we walked over to the Old Town for Pintxos, but no Txakoli! The Old Town was absolutely buzzing, but in a nice civilised way. As we walked into the Plaza Barria the sound of conversation was overwhelming. But the highlight was a group of musicians and singers who were playing what I'd assume to be traditional Basque folk songs. The crowd joined in, and we were treated to what I could only describe as genuinely heartfelt passion as they sang about their beloved homeland Euskal Herria. Magical and emotional - the Celtic fire burning brightly.
Which Camino next?
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