Northern Spain – Bilbao and Basque Country in The Rain

Whilst visiting the Cathedral the weather took a turn for the worst and once outside the doors and onto the street there was a steady drizzle that had forced all of the street traders to retreat inside and there was a grey steely feel to the streets, rather like half day closing day in Galashiels in the Scottish Borders.

Read my Galashiels story here…

Rain can be a real spoiler but we walked the streets of the Old Town and emerged from the labyrinth of twisting medieval streets close to the river and decided to walk inland a little way towards the Guggenheim Art Gallery, about half a mile or so away.

The rain was steady but not too inconvenient but as we advanced into the river valley ahead the innocuous grey clouds turned to steely grey and then threatening black and then the steady rain turned nasty and heavy.  We reached the Guggenheim and thought that would do for the afternoon, at least it would be dry inside but this was Monday and although I know European museums and galleries are often closed on a Monday I had forgotten and it was indeed closed.  Bugger!

I wasn’t especially disappointed I have to say, I am not a big fan of modern art and on the positive side we had saved €40 admission fees.  Every dark cloud has a silver lining of course.

So we took some pictures and I bought an umbrella ( €5) and talk the walk back the way that we had come along the river.  It is a very fine building but it most likely looks a whole lot better in dazzling sunlight.

As we walked away from the funnel of rain in the river valley it eased slightly, Only slightly.  I dispensed with the umbrella (what a waste of money that was) and we made our way back to the market hall for shelter and lunch.

More Pinxtos and a glass of wine.

Outside we had to concede that the weather was unlikely to improve today so we walked the Old Town again looking for restaurants for later and then wet and miserable returned to the hotel room with the magnificent view over the extractor fans and drank some wine.  Later we went for evening meal, Kim chose well, I chose badly, I am so unlucky like that, I think in future I will wait for Kim to order first and then just have the same.

If yesterday morning had been bad today was even worse as we watched the rain lashing down, bouncing like bullets on the pavements from the breakfast room window.  Today we were moving on but had planned to spend the morning in the city and then take the reasonably priced bus to the airport but the rain was so hard that we abandoned the entire morning plan and instead of the reasonably priced bus took an expensive taxi ride instead back to the airport to collect a hire car.

I had enjoyed Bilbao but I don’t think that I had seen it it at its best.

The car hire was with a company called Gold Car and customer reviews are often rather unfavourable so mindful of that I paid the rip-off full insurance option so that I wouldn’t be caught out for additional charges upon return.  The car allocated had had its best motoring years firmly behind it but we accepted it anyway and drove off.  Sadly, we were glad to be leaving Bilbao.

The route took us around the suburbs of the city and through large matchstick like high rise housing estates.  The road dipped and weaved between the buildings and their individual accommodations each with a tiny balcony, some with flower pots, some without, some dripping with colourful washing and some with empty washing lines but all with satellite dishes and television aerials.  It really wasn’t very attractive at all and we were pleased when the motorway split in two and we started to head south and away from the city and to where the weather forecast promised better weather.

As we drove south the weather did begin to improve.  It remained overcast but there was no rain and there was a moody ethereal mist over the emerald green pastures and fields which added to the rural ambience.  Once off the main road the driving experience required complete and undivided attention as we drove along twisting narrow roads, under mountains and into deep gorges, through forests of fresh broad leaved trees as we alternately dropped and then climbed along a twisting river valley.

The tall mountains all wore lace bonnets made of swirling clouds as we followed the small roads through a succession of rustic villages where local people were working hard on the farms and weren’t expecting tourists.  Twice we had to stop for cattle being driven along the roads as they took priority over cars on their way to and from the milking sheds and everywhere dairy cows with bulging udders were grazing on lush grass on the precarious slopes of the hills and mountains.

And then it happened.  Just about thirty miles out of Bilbao a ping and a dashboard warning light.  Low tyre pressure!  I found my notebook put it over the warning so that I couldn’t see it and carried on.  Like a racehorse wearing blinkers.  I always find that this works a treat.  Out of sight, out of mind.  We were heading for the town of Haro, the centre of the Rioja wine industry.