Two months ago I was at the height of thesis work. I was so burned out and tired of thinking I thought there was no other way to keep me from going nuts but to reward myself with a few days of completely brainless existence. So I searched the Net for low-cost flights (and there are many in Europe) and booked a weekend flight to northern Spain. The journey didn't turn out to be an entirely brainless activity, but spending a few days in Bilbao, San Sebastián and Logroño (May 5-8) did keep me within the bounds of sanity.Bilbao. This city and the entire region to which it belongs, Pais Vasco, is famous more than anything for its culinary tradition. The mere mention of the place is enough to conjure images of its famous chefs, elite culinary societies (most of which are male-exclusive) and the locals' fondness for an excellent meal. I was surprised that in restaurants in Bilbao, and in the entire Pais Vasco for that matter, a complete two-course meal with dessert comes with a whole bottle of wine -- unlike in Málaga where they serve you a small glass. So as soon as the waitress landed the wine bottle on my table, I thought to myself, "Huohhhh, am I supposed to drink all of that?" I looked around me and all the other tables had a whole bottle each, except that the wine was being shared by two or more people. I, on the other hand, was alone. It didn't matter since I love wine, and I consider myself a borderline alcoholic. It's just that I was too drunk whenever I stepped out of a restaurant that I often had to doze off in a park before I could set out again. In my sober moments, I visited the famous Guggenheim museum, took a funicular to a hilltop, but spent most of the time in the old quarter where the city's famed pintxos and bar scene are concentrated.
San Sebastián. I arrived in San Sebastián too early in the morning, around 9 am if I remember correctly. Aside from the closed shops and the nearly empty streets, one of the first things that greeted me was rain. It was pouring, the sun was nowhere to be seen, and there was no heavenly sign that that day was a great day to live your life as a tourist. My poor little umbrella was useless because it was windy, and my shoes and pants were getting soaked. However, the odd thing was that I didn't seem to mind the rain. In fact, I was happy to be walking aimlessly in the rain, following the stretch of the sea and watching the violent waves crash against the stones. I was even whispering to myself a Pinoy pop song, against the defeaning sound of rain hitting the pavement. Hahaha. Funny how even a rainy holiday could bring joy to a burned-out graduate student. Eventually the pouring came to a halt and I was able to explore the city without the need to balance an umbrella and a camera in my hands. I visited a couple of churches, hiked to a hilltop overlooking the sea and saw a group of old men fishing in the river on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I took pictures of some banners of the ETA, an armed Spanish separatist group based in País Vasco.
Logroño. This city is part of the region of La Rioja, a name you will see printed on most wines of Spanish origin. This region, which boasts numerous vineyards, is where the finest red wines in the country are produced. I'd squeezed in Logroño in the trip because I was eager to see the famous vineyards. However, I was disappointed to learn that they were closed on Sundays, even those in the town of Haro where a good number of them are concentrated. Good thing I stumbled upon a wine shop where I was able to grab a couple of reds. I was fully aware that they were also being sold in Málaga, perhaps at a friendlier price, but it felt good to buy them in that dimly-lit, traditional-looking store in Logroño. Much like buying peanut brittle in Baguio. Apart from the vineyards, there was nothing really much to see in this city. I wandered about the town park for a while, observed the Río Ebro and passed by the Universidad de La Rioja before heading back to Bilbao from where I was to fly home to Málaga the following day.
