Bilbao
Basque Country, Spain
If you like a bit of oyster in with your grit, you'll find plenty of both in Bilbao.
You can taste a city at the top of its game, with traces of the ashes it has risen from scattered all around. Quite literally in the case of certain restaurants, but more on that later.
A creative law unto itself
To say Bilbao is a law unto itself is true literally, as well as spiritually.
For reasons too unfathomable to fathom, it not only has its own (impenetrable) language, but its own laws and the right to raise its own taxes. With that comes a resilience and indefatigability bordering on stubbornness.
Goodness knows, over the years it has needed it.
Franco’s iron fist demanded one thing from Bilbao; steel.
Bilbao delivered. It industrialised and its population doubled. A few got rich, but inequality soared. And much of the city ended up as slums.
Then in 1975 a perfect storm rolled in. Franco died. Spain became free and open to global markets, just as oil prices shot up and commodity prices hit the floor.
The inevitable recession hit Bilbao hard. Youth unemployment exceeded sixty percent and the city was addicted to heroin and state hand-outs. Toxic pollution became so extreme, the river Nervion was declared ecologically dead and a third of city land was abandoned. Bilbao hit rock bottom.
So much for the grit. The pearl in Bilbao’s story is the commercial power of art, and the totemic impact of one extraordinary building; the Guggie.
Of course, much has been written about 'the Guggenheim effect', but the building’s impact is deeply visceral, not just commercial. After a brief ride in from the airport, the other side of the mountain, you emerge out of a long tunnel and bang! There it sits; inventive, impertinent, defiant. You can only experience that particular surprise once in your life, so experience it you must.
On second impression, seeing the Guggenheim is perhaps a bit like meeting a celebrity in the flesh; a little smaller than you imagined, but boy does it command the room. It certainly Top Trumps the Sydney Opera House for sheer presence.
Of course, Jorn Utzon was gifted the more striking site, dominating and pretty much floating in Sydney's expansive harbour. Whereas Frank Gehry was dealt a congested bend in a polluted river, with buildings cluttering the eye-line.
The Guggenheim Effect
As a result, the best views of Gehry’s titanium concoction are often snatched glimpses. You cross a long, city street, there it sits, gleaming assuredly at the end.
Titanium lustre
When I say gleaming, let’s talk about exactly what colour the Guggie is. Titanium has its own particular lustre, quite unlike cold, harsh steel. It's darker, richer and thoroughly unpredictable. And the sky plays games with it. In some lights, the whole building glows with a sienna warmth, at other times it’s resolutely cold, with stark flashes of cyan chiming amongst pewter and slate tones.
I certainly danced around my palette of watercolours, like Monet trying to capture the ever-changing facade of Rouen Cathedral. Albeit I was rather less successful. Look at other people’s renditions of the Guggenheim and you’ll notice the best are either pure line, or pure tone.
Some people say Gehry chose titanium for the The Gug’s cladding for deeply political motives (anything but steel). Others quote practicality (titanium is gossamer light for its strength). I reckon it was pure aesthetic playfulness. Bravo!
Playful audacity was, of course, what commanded the world’s attention. It channelled Bilbao’s ‘down, but not out’ attitude, captured the ‘two-fingers-to-convention’ ethos of 21st century modern art, and signalled a city in business. Its audaciousness was, of course, good for business. Bilbao’s economy has since switched from 80% industry to 80% services. The thing it’s most in service to, of course, being art tourism, a lucrative seam, and my own particular MO.
Once inside, you quickly realise the gallery is the art.
To visit is to wander around inside a masterpiece. And whilst you’ve no doubt seen the building’s public face on Instaface or Googlebook, the choreography of its artfully warped spaces is something you can only appreciate by being there. Sinuous, sensuous, spiralling, surprising, sometimes constricted, other times soaring, you rapidly run out of adjectives and settle on plain ‘stunning’.
Oh, and there’s some art too. The stand outs being a wonderfully cheerful Rothko and a set of monumental and playful installations by Richard Serra. Those aside, this is the sort of gallery where someone drops a dirty tissue on the floor and before you know it, a curious crowd has gathered round, admiring the irony with which its folds echo the gallery space. While security guards earnestly prevent admirers getting close enough to touch.
The Gallery is the art
Food is Bilbao’s other adjective defying art form. Borrowing from the Basque tradition and rivalling nearby San Sebastian, Bilboa’s food scene is now world class. I savoured two of the top ten best meals of my life there.
The best of Bilbao's past
And here’s where the phoenix and ashes happily co-exist. While a lot of Bilbao has been rebuilt and gentrified, in and around the Campo Viejo things remain a little … authentic.
Let’s just say in parts, you have to take the rough with the rougher.
Right in amongst all this sits local joint, Dando la Brasa. It looks shouty, urban, raw and feisty. But its food is something else; refined, respectful ... oh and raw and feisty, if that combo is even possible. I ordered the five course tasting menu, but really regret not ordering the nine. It was that good.
A couple of days later, as I was smugly recalibrating my all-time dining top ten, I found my way to Mina. The entrance is located precisely where you’ve given up hope of a one star Michelin restaurant ever existing. Another example of book, cover and judgement colluding to surprise.
Inside, the surprises continued aplenty, with each dish delivering a uniquely playful experience. It's the sort of food where ashes from Bilbao’s one remaining steel smelting plant are sprinkled over a single perfect quenelle of caramel ice cream.
To be entirely honest, I’m telling a bit of a porky here. The carbon dust went with the confit oyster. The ice cream actually had naturally occurring rock of salt grated over it, from a block the shape of a nymph’s foot!
I kid you not.
I realise the advice “prepare for surprises” rather defeats the point, but that’s Bilbao through and through.
Always look down
I rarely say this about places I review, but Bilbao is probably a three night destination, four tops. You could always combine it with San Sebastian or some of the Basque's beautiful northern beaches. They probably Top Trump Sydney’s Northern Beaches, but I’ll have to make a long overdue trip Down Under to properly verify that claim.
A Few Links and Practicalities
(Just sharing the love. I absolutely don’t get paid for these.)
Hotel Miro: www.mirohotelbilbao.com/en/
I’d say this was good, rather than brilliant. But the location and view, if you’re lucky enough to pay for one, are brilliant. The better rooms are worth stumping up for.
Dando La Brasa: wwww.dandolabrasa.com/
Mina: www.restaurantemina.es
Don’t be a cheapskate! The full fourteen courses won’t trouble your waistline, even if they will dent your pocket. The accompanying wine pairing is a journey around the region and an education in itself. I sat at the counter overlooking the kitchen at work, which adds to the drama.
Bistro Guggenheim: www.bistroguggenheimbilbao.com/en/
A two minute stroll from the Miro hotel. If you feel doubtful about choosing a gallery restaurant for a destination meal (as opposed to a gallery pit stop), don’t be. The experience was only pipped out of my all-time top ten by the two venues listed above.
Don’t miss;
Bilbao has the most beautiful railway station in Spain. It’s hard to miss as you pass by across the river on the tram.
I would suggest taking several walks past the Gug, at different times of day.
The local white wine, Txakoli. Fill your boots. I doubt you’ll find it on any list anywhere else in the world.