21 – 23 August 2019
As we made our way east from Vigo and our successful nautical adventure, we had plenty of time to contemplate during our 8 hour drive. Our trip, and the first (and only organised) part of our trip, was coming to a close. Only lunch in Santiago de Compostela, the Aste Nagusia festival in Bilbao and a quick side trip to Barcelona to pick up Bonnie stood between us and our arrival in France.
Our first stop for the day was Santiago de Compostela, because it was on our route and we were keen to check out the Cathedral. We wouldn’t have time to do this properly, but we thought anything would be better than nothing. Our quick exploration revealing a beautiful little city with impressive architecture that went way past just the incredible cathedral (that was, unfortunately, closed for renovations when we were there). We had to satisfy ourselves with a quick trip to a wonderful fresh food market for supplies for lunch (stocking up on local salami, chorizo and a range of cheeses) before making our way out of town. 7 hours of driving through Galicia, Asturias and Cantabria awaited for us before we arrived in Basque county and Bilbao.
As the kids sat glued to the ipad in the back of the car (yes, this is how they travel), we watched the scenary go past. We had taken the coast road as it promised to be a little faster, and it revealed itself to be laced with stunning scenery of steep hills and deep ravines with tall viaducts facilitating rapid transit – all with occasional glimpses of the sea. It was incredibly beautiful.
We talked about how we thought the trip thus far had played out. We agreed that it had been a resounding success, that everyone seemed to be having fun, that the kids were learning and growing more than we could have dared hoped. That it was all going way too fast, and we didn’t know how to slow it down. That we were looking forward to getting to France, that we couldn’t wait to pick up Bonnie (meanwhile, he was enjoying his last night in Sydney with our friends Dave, Emma and family, blissfully unaware of the 2 day ordeal that awaited him) but that we didn’t want to wish away our last substantive stop on our tour.
This was our second time in Bilbao, having been here years ago to visit the famous Frank Gehry designed Guggenheim Museum there, and for Liz to get sunstroke at nearby San Sebastien. We hadn’t loved the city, nor had we disliked it. If it wasn’t for the festival, we wouldn’t have been back on this trip.
But we are total suckers for a good local festival. The International Lederhosen Festival in Windischgarsten; Fasnacht in Basel and fireworks in Battle spring to mind. As we drove into downtown Bilbao we started to get a feel for the scale of this 9 day Basque festival.
Aste Nagusia has only been running since 1978, but kind of hoovered up an existing tradition of performers coming to the city in August – circus, bullfighters, boxing, traditional dance etc – and created a single umbrella around it… and thereby provided an excuse to close off the whole city, turn it into one big bar and add fireworks. Everything is better with fireworks.
The festival has its own symbol, an old plump lady called Badator Marija who casts a careful eye over celebrations and ensures everyone is drinking enough, giant statues of Basque folk heros who dance and flaming bulls to terrorise children. The schedule for the event is actually organised by the participant festival groups, the comparses, who set up the tents and arrange the schedule, with the city only providing overall top cover (fun fact: when they tried to get too hands on a few years ago, the comparses went on strike for the year and the event collapsed … the city backed off the following year and it went back to normal after that).
We were staying in the thick of it, just across the river from the epicentre of the festival but surrounded by the satellite venues. We hoped the sound proofing on the windows would be sufficient.
Somehow we navigated to our apartment, but on our way to our pre-arranged parking we managed a wrong turn… and ended up in the thick of the festival… surrounded by slow moving, fast drinking Spaniards with little interest in shifting to make way for our Duster and its French tourist plates. The local police force took an interest into why we were navigating through a restricted area but quickly realised that questioning us was futile and that we had no clue what we were doing… and escorted us out. Way to make an entrance.
By the time we had found our way back to the hotel (this time via roads we were actually allowed to be on) and unpacked, it was 9pm and time for dinner.
We headed out into the throng of people milling around the streets, bouncing from a music concert in one Plaza to a Basque dancing group in another, another just concentrating on serving as much as beer as possible until a DJ started later on. Everywhere people were drinking, munching on bocadillos and enjoying the atmosphere. The kids were wide-eyed at the vibe of the place; we were convinced that we would come out of the experience with at least one less child than we started. Human chains became compulsory.
Predictably all the restaurants were full – as you would expect from the busiest week of the year – but we eventually found a table in a labyrinthine Italian place (yes, we got desperate, but it was good) and had an excellent feast of pizza, pasta and red wine. What could be more Basque than that?
As we surfaced from the restaurant, the 1030 fireworks started. The kids eyes lit up and they bolted into the crowds to get a better view. We were sure to lose at least one out of this (at least that would make impending French school fees cheaper we thought). The fireworks went for about 20 minutes and were probably the best we’d seen outside of Sydney’s NYE/Australia Day efforts (it turns out there is a competition that runs across the 9 days of the festival for the best fireworks display, so they are all trying to out-do each other).
From there, tired from the long trip to get here, we decided to call it a night, the sounds of the festival humming around us as we collapsed into bed.
It turns out the festivities go until around 6am. As Anthony hit the streets around 8 for a run/explore there were still regular pockets of revellers enjoying (unsure about this, from experience, diminishing returns at play here) a final beer before calling it a night/day whilst dodging the street cleaners who own the streets between 6-9am before the festivities were to kick off in earnest again.
A brief exploration of the city revealed a pretty old town, a lovely river interlaced with bridges, the incredible Guggenheim Museum and, most excitingly, Puppy, the 10m high, flower covered ‘living sculpture’ of a West Highland Terrier by Jeff Koons who now guards the Guggenheim after having toured the world (including a visit to Sydney in the 1990s). The kids were going to love this.
(Side note: in preparation for Bonnie’s arrival, because we are all dog nuts (and much to the amusement of dog owners across Europe), we have developed a complex game of dog spotting. The first person to see a dog has to shout ‘My Dog!’ and gets a point. If the dog is a Border Collie, you get 2 points; also if it has all 4 paws off the ground. Brown Border Collies are worth 5. Brown Border Collies riding a motorbike are worth 10. If you call a cat whilst pretending its a dog you lose all your points. If Sena calls the same dog after you, she gets all the points (its quieter that way, but we’ve had to start two points systems – one for Sena and one for everyone else). The first person to see Bonnie at the airport would automatically win the game and a new game would commence. We weren’t sure how many points Puppy would be worth, but it would probably be quite a lot)
Home again to see Liz glued to her phone, watching the Emirates flight containing our brown and white Border Collie take off and slowly make his way to cruising altitude. B minus 30 hours.
We hit the streets. The first event of the day was to find the dancing giants – 10 giant sized statues of famous Basque people (we never found out who) with smaller, normal sized people inside them who form a dancing parade every year as part of the festival.
We arrived and Sena was immediately terrified and we had to individually approach each one and touch/shake their hands before she stopped screaming.
What we didn’t realise, is that is both the Giants AND Giant Heads parade, and soon the 10 dancing giants were joined by a plethora of more normal sized people with giant heads on, who were running around slapping people with large foam sticks.
Everyone, except for Sienna and Jessie, thought this was very funny. From Sienna’s perspective, these things were lethal, and one touch would undoubtedly send her to an early grave. At least that’s what her reaction to the threatened assaults suggested.
From Jessie’s perspective, it was simply an opportunity to get out some festering aggression and express herself more fulsomely. As a particularly feisty lion started his good natured ‘attack’ on Jessie, she charged and started fighting back, the insane laughter demonstrating that she both knew it was all a game but at the same time relishing a chance to hit something (that wasn’t her sister in the back of the car). The poor lion bid a hasty retreat, but not before Jessie had chased him some 10 metres and struck some particularly choice blows.
Suddenly Spanish/Australian relations (or at least Basque/Australian relations) are at the same level as Portuguese/Australian relations after the whole ‘you wee’ed in my national park then got naked when I was trying to get some sexy time with my girlfriend’ incident)
We decided everyone needed some quiet time after that, so we retreated to a bar next to the main square for a well earned sprite/coffee/beer (it was 10am and everyone else was doing it, so why not???) and listened to the local municipal band play (compared to the rest of the entertainment, it was clear that their parents were in the organising committee or something, but it was much better than nothing).
From there, it was time for ‘Basque Games’ – which included water polo, woodchopping and women doing strength competitions (I bet you’d never have guessed you’d read those 3 things in the same sentence before did you?)
We were finally satiated (for the morning at least) and spent our last remaining energy walking/dragging the girls to see the ‘surprise’ that awaited them just over 1km away in the midday heat. (NB: they are totally over our ‘surprises’ and the mere mention of one is normally enough to spark rebellion in the junior ranks).
This time, however, as we turned the corner and Puppy was revealed, the girls were suitably impressed. Ellie initially thought it was a cat (and therefore lost all credibility for anything, for evermore). Jessie liked the fact that it combined two of her favourite things – dogs and flowers, Sena thought it was cute and then wanted to go home…. And so we did, keen that the girls get a decent chunk of downtime before the evening festivities commenced.
We resurfaced again in the later afternoon (B-24 hours), following a harrowing and completely unsuccessful couple of hours of yelling at the kids to go to sleep (normally it works, this time they had not obliged). The main culprit was Sena, and as a result of the afternoon excitement she was massively overtired and teetering dangerously on the edge of insanity. Which way would she go? Only time would tell.
The first stop on the evening program was ‘arts and crafts’ (and beers) on the main square. A truly excellent combination, where everyone’s a winner, and held on exactly the same spot that the super-woman-strength-competition was held only hours before. Craft and roadies in hand, everyone felt better and ready to hit the ‘flaming torro’ at 8.30pm.
We arrived at the square where the flaming torro was to menace small children and unfortunate tourists, mildly perturbed by the fire truck on the edge of the square (on the bright side, pretty sure the firemen also had a beer in hand). The main attraction (a guy with a lifesized bull statue on his head, complete with multi-barrel fireworks and overgrown sparklers) came running in, literally all guns blazing, spitting sparks and making deafening bangs.
Sena ran for the hills. Jessie, content that she’s already won both a moral and physical victory over the locals for today, stepped back. Ellie stepped in with the local kids. Local parents grabbed their children to protect them from the sparks. Anthony grabbed Ellie to use as a human shield and moved closer, safely protected behind 30 kgs of 9 year old.
Needless to say, we charged the bull aggressively and often, all the time getting flashbacks of what should-have-been-but-never-really-was in Pamplona about 10 years ago (when the reality was that there was a lot of hiding and high pitched screaming). Locals were, of course, impressed with our bravery (and the use of children as shields).
Fortunately, no child or bull was harmed in this incident, and the fireman got to finish their beers in peace.
From there, it was off to dinner, the excitement of the day having created quite an appetite. Having learned from our experience last night, we had carefully chosen and pre-booked a local restaurant tonight. Unfortunately it was a total fail, and instead we ended up in a bocadillo/bar next door where Jessie and Sena discovered that you could create a nice little happy space/refuge underneath the bar which can be a perfect spot for enjoying a sandwich dinner in a packed bar (whilst Mummy and Daddy have a beer).
We had a prime spot for the 1030 fireworks this time – which Sena pronounced as the best ever – and a fitting finale to what was starting to feel like the end of our travels. We were both sad that it was coming to an end, excited to be seeing Bonnie tomorrow (and terrified about what state he would be in) and ready to settle down and start the next chapter.
In the immediate term, however, we had 3 kids with eyes rolling around in the back of their heads with fatigue, so we abandoned our plans to hit the 1130 flamenco and instead made our way back to our apartment, safe in the knowledge that the festival only had another 7 hours to run (tonight).
B minus 18 hours.
Joseph Family Adventure 
How do you keep up the pace?
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