It is October 2018. My new husband, John, is fully aware of my escape-artist tactics of putting everyday life on hold to experience the excitement that comes with discovering the new. He is at a place in his life when time is his friend. And he knows he wants to spend it with me, travelling and seeing the world. We are so excited about starting our lives together!

Barcelona is our launching point to head north, to the Basque country. This trip is another last-minute travel plan. At the airport, we hop in our rental car and leave the city, heading towards our destination, San Sebastián. After plugging a couple of town names into the available devices and gauging distances along with our ability to weave the switch-back, mountainous roads that climb ever so steadily upwards, taking into account our weary-eyed, jet-lagged bodies, we zero in on Zaragoza, the capital of northeastern Spain’s Aragon region, as a stopping point. It’s an easy 160-mile drive directly east of Barcelona, all on toll roads, putting us closer to our destination.

In the car, I read up on Zaragoza, learning that tonight is the opening night of one of their biggest festivals of the year, Fiestas del Pilar, held in honor of the Virgin of Pilar, one of two patron saints of Spain, the other being St. James. It’s Zaragoza’s holiest of holy festivals. Score one for us for an unexpected, unique experience

Given the last-minute planning, our claims—of easy-going personalities and saint-like tranquility, which we both used to lasso each other into our webs of dreams—are about to be put to the true test. Did I mention to him that I hate standing in lines? I think to myself. It’s a patience thing.

The calm Ebro River leads us into the town center, known as “El Tubo.” The evening’s revelries are well under way as we traverse the crowded city streets in search of parking. Off in the distance along the river shore I see the beautiful El Pilar Basilica rising above the river, with its playful, multiple, pointed towers piercing the sky, a shrine to the Virgin Mary. It’s the monument from which the festival name, Del Pilar, originates.

After an hour of searching and with my patience still holding, we luck out and squeeze into a tiny newly vacated parking space. A massive parade roars through the city en route to the basilica. The focal point of the parade, the shrine to Mary float, is covered in flowers and other offerings. The floats are quite a spectacle with giant, bobbing papier mâché heads and flamenco and other native dancers, all moving rhythmically to the festive music, with the lights of the city as a backdrop. Bars are packed, food stalls line the streets, and we stroll aimlessly, soaking in the festivities. We manage to finally lay our exhausted selves to rest just before sunrise.

After a lazy morning we head on to the Basque country. Autonomous and rich in heritage, the area is located in the western Pyrenees, straddling the border between Spain and France on the coast of the Bay of Biscay. The Basque language, Euskera, has been around since long before the first Romans arrived. No one knows its origins, and ideas about its origins can be quite controversial depending on whom you ask. Ultimately, Euskera is a mix of many languages congealed into one and is the oldest spoken language in Europe.

As we descend into San Sebastián, or Donostia as it is known in Euskera, the lush hillsides and posh, well-constructed apartment homes speak of the affluent seasonal dwellers that come from all over Spain. The terrain turns rocky as we approach the bay, and I notice the city is capped at each end with two structures perched atop adjacent peaks. I’ll hike up there before we leave, I think to myself. The sea is a deep turquoise blue. We head to the centrally located Concha Beach area, where we’ve booked a room.

After checking in, we head out on foot to explore. Immediately, the scents from the scores of pintxos bars attack our senses like heat-seeking missiles. Having heard of this specialty before we arrive, we already know there is no better place to eat these tapas than in San Sebastián. The Basques’ unique culinary traditions set them apart, and San Sebastián is one of the cities in the world with the most Michelin-starred restaurants per capita. Everyday joints offer up beautifully prepared small plates of food meant to be eaten as snacks throughout the day. We tackle our first day by dedicating it to eating, winging traditions and protocol, selecting at each bar the most beautiful pintxos, all arranged along the length of the bar and each bearing loads of fresh seafood, meats, and seasonal vegetables craftily constructed to be devoured in just a few bites.

At each bar, a small glass of beer, cider, or wine accompanies our snacking feast, which enables us to skip around, not lingering long in any one place. We never sit down. Elbows are rubbed in the close quarters of the pubs, and, if I turn my head just enough, I could take a bite from my neighbor’s plate. A sea of expertly prepared plates perches right under the noses of everyone. Our pub crawl, or pintxopote as it is known in Euskera, has officially started.

We know that the Old Town of San Sebastián is the place to be for truly experiencing and understanding the unique gastronomical culture of the region, so on our second day we decide to join a food and wine tour, through a company called Devour Tours.

We head out to our meeting post. There are nine of us and our guide, a former Russian chef who has lived in San Sebastián with her husband for the past 15 years. Her name is Ania, and her bobbed, bouncy red curls, wide eyes, and smile immediately bring us all closer, like a circle of curious children waiting to hear a secret. An Aussie, four Filipinos, two Irish girls, and us. Little do we know the positive chemistry that is brewing.

Ania leads us to a small, unassuming pintxos bar that specializes in mussels. She explains that the more napkins on the floor, the more locals who frequent it. Napkins on the floor are a solid indicator of the quality of the restaurant’s signature dishes. She points out the metal gutter running at the bottom of bar.

“Go ahead. Throw the shells in there and the napkins on the floor. You are supposed to.” She smiles.

“And, watch this,” she says, as she demonstrates her technique of slyly moving towards the bar, which at the time seems unreachable. Her subtle elbow expansions bring her closer to the desired real estate; we file in closely behind her. She has us in stitches.

We move on and are taught the difference between white-footed and black-footed pigs. Not that I am curious, but it is hard not to notice the ham hocks hanging in almost every restaurant storefront.

“Jamon (ham) is huge here. Oh, and did I mention, being acorn-fed is very important?”

The shopkeeper carves directly off the hanging pig in front of us. “Like butter,” she says, as the shopkeeper hands us our samples.

Ania then introduces us to the locally produced white cider, called txchakoli. The bartender lowers my glass in one hand while keeping the bottle raised above his head in the other and pours, hitting the inside rim of the glass. This traditional way of serving the bubbly, acidic white cider also helps to aerate it. We sample small plates of salted cod (called bacalou), braised pork, and smoked eel at our next stop. We end our tour with an epically delicious slice of cheesecake, which I devour within minutes. Ania then leads us nearby to a lone, heavy, wooden, non-descript door, points and says, “a gentleman’s club.” The girls and I let out a giggle.

“This is a cooking club. Men only. It’s a deep, long tradition of the Basque culture. Each member presents his cuisine, serving meals every month.” She pauses for drama. “For the rest of their lives,” she continues.

Ania tells us that this longevity of friendship is a way of Basque life. From grade school on, people stay friends and socialize for the rest of their lives.

“Caudria is what they call it. It doesn’t change. Ever,” she says with a smile.

Our collective, transient, big-city selves find this amusing.

With heads buzzing and conversations pouring as freely as the wine, our tour winds down. By now, we’ve developed a rapport and know we must continue, so the nine of us decide to carry the party onwards.

We dub Andrew the resident “Foodie,” and he, along with his three Filipino compatriots—his wife, Karina, and his best friends Annex and Jay, two surgeons who smoke more than a chimney on a biting cold day—take on the duty of finding our next stop. The conversation is easy, the wine flows, and, during the group’s outside cigarette breaks, one-on-one time leads to every personal conversational topic under the sun. I learn of the Irish girls’ single status in a land short of available men. And as for our Aussie friend, Jon, he is finally doing his “gap year” after raising three kids while enduring a couple of marriages; his cliché journey to find himself had started a month ago in France.

We find ourselves outside a neighborhood dive across from the restaurant where Andrew has previously made reservations. He gives up his table for four to continue the party with us. After we have several refreshing, traditional, post-meal gin and tonics, the owner corrals us inside in order to shut the doors to limit outside noise. We close the place down. I have no inkling that this will be the first of many nights doing this.

Before parting for the night, we talk about our plans for the upcoming days. We offer up our car, and immediately Aussie Jon takes to planning an adventure for the next day. Having no clue what it will be, except that it will involve wine, we eagerly accept his offer. We call it a night, but not before Andrew announces, “We’ll call ourselves the Devour Tours Cuadria, forever known as DTC.”

The next morning, we manage to get our hungover selves up and to our meeting point to embark on a scenic drive inland, southwest of San Sebastián. We are heading to Haro, the wine capital of the La Rioja region. The town consists of a single road, and we’re immediately drawn into the first winery we see. My eyes grow wide as I see a serpentine, glass-sheathed building, modern, yet still at a scale that’s inviting. It’s nestled just so around the 200-plus-year-old buildings of this family-owned winery, López de Heredia. I had to know the origin of this striking modernist building integrated among the aged brick facades and cobblestone roads.

We cozy up at an outdoor table with our wine as I read and learn about the glass and steel structure in front of me. Designed by the Iraqi architect Zaha Hadid, it was commissioned for the 125th anniversary of the winery and was first used at the 2002 Alimentaria (Food and Wine) Fair in Barcelona. It also serves as an enclosure for a mobile stand which the family had used in past. The family, in order to commemorate its 125th year as a dynasty in the wine-making arena, splurged on this architectural luxury to permanently enclose the stand, which is now converted to a lobby, shop, and entertainment space. Selected by the family for her innovative, modernist, organic designs, this world-renowned architect lives up to her famous reputation with this structure. What a discovery!

We are fortunate to arrive here during harvesting season. The narrow, steeply graded road is busy with tractors pulling trailers full of grapes from every direction. Tractor after tractor pulls up with hauls of the most deeply purple, plump grapes I have ever seen.

A man tosses Jon a bunch. We zero in like birds, popping them in our mouths. The taste is sweet.

“Good harvest?” Jon asks.

“No, too much rain. The grapes are too pretty,” says a man overseeing the delivery.

We walk down the road, stopping in for tastings, and afterwards sharing short snippets of conversations with the people that we meet. The weather is sunny and mild, a perfect day with a new friend and many conversations with strangers sharing their stories.

We make our way back to San Sebastián with plans to meet up with the others, this time at a well-known restaurant that was on Andrew’s radar called Casa Urola. Food, wine, post-meal drinks, and post-drink drinks. We carry on again until the early morning.

Our morning is now knocking on noon’s door. We pack up and jump in the car, leaving San Sebastián behind. We head west, our scenic drive taking us along the coast of the Bay of Biscay and then south, to the city of Bilbao. My sole purpose for going there is to see the spectacular Guggenheim Museum designed by Frank Ghery. Formerly the industrial hub of the Greater Basque Region, Bilboa had its heyday as a booming ship building titan along with being a major player in the steel industry. After suffering an economic collapse in the 90s when those industries declined, Bilbao has made leaps and bounds towards recovery by investing heavily in its cultural uniqueness.

A fantastic array of bridges spans the Nervion River, which runs through the city. The most notable—a sensual cable-suspended footbridge called the Zubizuri, Euskera for “white bridge”—is also known as the Calatrava bridge after Santiago Calatrava, the architect who built it. The cables and structure arch like a giant sail. The platform is glass, and, sadly, just recently has been capped with a rubber cover to prevent people slipping. The stunning architecture of both buildings and bridges highlight the stark contrast of the clean, new, innovative city on one side of the river to the browned, aged, wise-with-age facades of the Old Town on the other side. A seemingly unspoken truce has been struck in a once-divided standoff.

The Guggenheim Museum is breathtaking, one of the most beautiful structures I’ve ever seen. Permanent and temporary exhibitions are all around the outside of the museum, and it takes time to enjoy the grounds and outside exhibitions before entering. A phrase has been coined since its completion in 1997 to explain the phenomenon of its effect on visitors, the “Bilbao” or “Guggenheim Effect.” Since its opening, it has brought over 20 million visitors to the city, not bad for a city with no previous tourist tradition. This re-invention of the city now marks it as the cultural and IT epicenter of northern Spain.

We finish our walk around the city and agree to relax for at least the next day until our flight from Bilbao takes us back to Barcelona. On our first time travelling abroad as a couple, we’ve discovered that we still have a lot to learn about each other, but one thing we do know is that we love people. We love culture. And we both love getting out of our comfort zones to experience the unknown.

The energy of Barcelona awaits us. I can’t wait to show John the Antoni Gaudi architecture strewn about the city. We also have plans to meet up with our old friends the Devour Tours Cuadria in the Barrio Gotic, a square centered around the massive Gothic cathedral. We will pick up with our San Sabastián group where we left off.

— Email comments to Julie@bayoucitypress.com or leave public comments below. Visit Andi’s See Andi Run blog.
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