Euskara: the Mysterious, and Unheard Language

Waking up early after our nearly devastatingly large meal at Cal Pep, we boarded a plane to nearby Spanish province of Euskadi, known in Spanish as the Pais Vasco and in English as the Basque Country. Well known due to the doings of an extremist Basque-independence terrorist group, ETA, the Basque Country has a bad rap throughout Spain as wackos who gun down hapless Madrid subway riders. On top of this, only a day before our trip, ETA had renounced a ceasefire that had lasted over a year, and pledged a continuation of violence.

We landed in Bilbao, the major city of the province at around 2pm, and looked for where to catch the bus to San Sebastian, the coastal town about 100km away. Upon leafing through Bilbao tourism materials, we noticed that practically every museum (Guggenheim included) was closed on Mondays. So rather than skipping town immediately to return for a full day Monday, as we had planned, we delayed our departure and set out on the town.

The Guggenheim didn't disappoint, and with its fish scale exterior and drug-inspired geometry it impressed us greatly. Many say the art inside doesn't match the building, but the current exhibition of the artist Anselm Kiefer was quite interesting to see. Unmatched was the walk-through exhibit of ellipses, comprised of spherical and toroidal walls. Maybe you have to see it to know what I mean.

San Sebastian, where we spent both of our two nights, was basically a Spanish vacation town and has been for its history. Nestled perfectly on the mouth of a bay with dramatic mountains draping all sides, the picture-perfect location was a natural summer destination. We walked up one of the mountains and took the funicular train up the other, both yielding great views of the city. We also walked much of the cities 3km of coast and through the old town to get a feel for the town.

The old town of San Sebastian is said to have the highest concentration of bar space anywhere in Europe, and it does seem like each storefront is another. We spent our first night wandering in and out of bars, sampling the myriad pinxtos, the bread-mounted tapas of endless variety of seafood and pork. Tapas supposedly originated in the Basque Country, and you couldn't go into a bar without seeing plates of their offerings proudly displayed for you just to grab. The USDA would probably have a field day.

Our second night, Sunday, we decided to try a different tradition: a cidreria. Basically a large tavern with 10ft x 10ft barrels of cider, the cidreria was a way to get out of the city and hopefully see a bit more of Basque culture. We had missed the memo, however, and as it turned out, only about eight other customers were there in the dining room that must have sat 200. Undeterred, we poured ourselves cider from the barrels in the traditional long distance stream from a tiny spout. True to the image of the liquid leaving the barrel, the cider was terrible, and we immediately replaced it with a bottle of Txakolin, a slightly bubbly white wine that everyone else seemed to be drinking. This is also poured from a height (to enliven bubbles), but we basically just spilled it all on the floor.

After spending almost three full days in the Basque Country, it was only during an announcement back at the Bilbao airport that I heard for Basque spoken for the first time. It is written on signs everywhere (alongside, and often following, Spanish), but it seemed that every conversation I overheard--shopkeepers, garbage men, hostel managers, cops, people at bars--was in Spanish. Makes you wonder how much the majority of the people in the province really care about independence from Spain.