The magnificent Guggenheim Museum

A modern wonder of the world.

Spain - Bilbao

Sunday 27th September

Imagine this if you will.

We are sitting on a café terrace, overlooking one of the world’s GREAT modern buildings. It is early evening, the sun has disappeared but has left some of its light behind, with a partial moon now fully visible waiting for its turn. The weather is perfect, clear sky, no breeze and about 20 degrees. There is a very good 3 piece jazz band playing just a few metres away while we enjoy a cold and refreshing drink in the company of many other people enjoying the experience. The building in front of us is starting to take on a whole new character as the light changes. This is not one of my fantasies – this is real – this is us in Bilbao in the Basque region of Spain, in a Sunday evening, taking the time to reflect on our visit today to the Guggenheim Museum. What a building, what a place, what an experience.

The next couple of photos give just a taste of what we have .seen today. I will post a separate blog with more photos. For more information about the Guggenheim Bilbao check out http://www.guggenheim-bilbao.es/?idioma=en

We arrived in Bilbao this morning (Sunday) after a long (9+ hours) drive from Lodeve, most of which we did yesterday. We have come to Spain for a few days because another couple are using our apartment for 5 days on their way back to Australia after a trip on the Canal Midi.

Our main destination was, and is San Sebastien, where we will be going tomorrow, but we have wanted to see this museum since it was first opened in 1997. We have not been disappointed, in fact we have been blown away by it. It may be not everybody’s taste in architecture, but to us it is magnificent. Where does architecture end and art begin? Or is architecture art?

Apart from the Guggenheim, the whole Bilbaon experience has been a very positive one, with the city far exceeding our expectations, admittedly based on insufficient pre-reading. It is a city of more than 350,000 people, located in a strategic part of the Spanish Basque region, that has had a major re-birth over the past 10-15 years, particularly after the completion of the Guggenheim. It should be on the agenda of every visitor to Spain – we will be back. A quick look at some of Bilbao follows:

Funniest incident

As always on a trip like this, travelling through unfamiliar countries with inadequate language skills, there have been many amusing, and some downright funny moments. The pick of the bunch for me happened in Berlin, several weeks ago. To set the scene, you may remember that I have commented in earlier blogs, how few Americans seem to be travelling in Europe this year, and how that has made it better for us.

We were in the Reichstag (German Parliament building), after lining up outside for a while, negotiating a very tight security net and entering the lift that will take us (and another 30 or so people) up to the dome. The lift was being contrary for some reason, and the door would not close. The security man escorting us got out, got back in, got out, got back in and so on…but still it would not close, the man was getting a bit agitated, as were a couple of the punters.

In my attempt to lighten the atmosphere I said “Houston we have a problem” in a weak attempt at an American accent.

Immediately I got a response. From behind me a slightly miffed voice with a classic Texan drawl said, “In Houston we don’t have problems we only have opportunities”.

Back in your box Ron.

Most embarrassing moment

I am going to publish this now as I cannot imagine that we will have another more embarrassing moment on this journey.

A couple of days ago we took my brother Garry and his wife Jan to Les Baux, a stunning hilltop village and chateau remains about 180kms from Lodeve (more about Les Baux later).

After visiting the village we returned to our car intent on driving down to Cassis, on the Mediterranean, so that Garry could fulfill his ambition to swim in that sea. As we pulled away from the carpark I noticed the fuel tank was only half full, and the digital display was showing only 400kms left. This was a (puzzling) concern as I had filled the car that morning so there should have been 80% of the fuel left.

We drove on, with me thinking that the fuel level sensor would catch up after a kilometer or two, but it didn’t. About 5 or 6 kms on we decided to stop and look for evidence of a leak. Garry and I both looked under the car and sure enough there were large drops of liquid falling on the ground, from somewhere in the engine compartment – “Sacre Blue” we have a leak! We lifted the bonnet but could not see anything (the Peugeot has a very compact engine compartment), so I decided I should ring the Peugeot 24 hour roadside assistance service which we were entitled to do. As both of our French mobiles had run out of credit we had no choice but to drive on until we found a public phone box. We weren’t far from the major town of Arles so thought it would not be difficult to find the Peugeot service agent there.

However 10kms short of Arles we went through the small village of Fontvieille, and saw a phone-box right alongside a convenient carpark. It was starting to get late in the day so thought the sooner I made contact with the roadside assistance the better for everybody – so we stopped. I made the call which was answered by a very polite and patient Frenchman with quite acceptable English language skills. After asking me lots of questions about who I was, what car we had etc., I had to try and tell him where we were – exactly! It took him at least 5 minutes to locate the village, based on my spelling which unfortunately was slightly astray. I kept leaving out the second “I”, and neither of us could understand why Google was not coming up with the answer. Eventually we got it sorted, and he assured me he would have a mechanic there within the hour, who would try to resolve the problem on the spot; if not the vehicle would be towed into Arles, and if necessary we would be given a replacement car. All good – I thought, so we wandered off to find a café in what turned out to be a pretty little village. After a while I left the others and returned to the car in case the mechanic turned up without phoning first (I could still receive phone calls on my exhausted SIM card).

I got the call a little while later, this time from an impolite and impatient Frenchman who did not have a word of English, and I was struggling with his aggressively delivered French. He was in a tow truck and trying to find us. Somehow I managed to direct him to the carpark, and he proceeded to lift the car straight onto the truck without having a look at the “problem” first. He turned out to be just a tow truck driver, not a mechanic. He was a big dark guy (second row forward I reckon) with a classic Gallic face sporting a permanent scowl. He was quite agitated as it was late and he needed to get us back to the garage before it closed. We were having a difficult time communicating, but eventually we understood that the 4 of us had to pile in the cab with him – interesting. Gaye reckoned she has always wanted to ride in a tow truck. We had many laughs on the way into Arles, some at the drivers expense so we were hoping his lack of English was not just a ploy.We arrived at the very conveniently located garage that we could have very easily found if we had just kept going earlier and thus avoided all the drama. There was only one person left there, and he had zero English as well, so describing the “problem” clearly was challenging. Once he understood he asked me to reverse the car a bit so he could examine the puddle on the ground left by the “leak”. It was only very small but he dipped his finger in and had a smell (and taste) – it was water. He excitedly (in classic French style) told me it was simply condensation from the air conditioner, which of course I did not accept because it was clear that we had lost nearly half a tank of fuel, and the filler cap had NOT been interfered with. I lay on the ground to have a close-up sniff myself – and then VERY sheepishly got back on my feet accepting that it was not a puddle of diesel fuel (“gazole”). But why was the fuel gauge giving an incorrect reading? Guess what, as we drove away with our tails firmly between our legs, the digital display was telling us we had 780kms left in the tank, and the gauge was miraculously now showing more than 3/4. Perhaps getting the car on and off the truck had somehow disturbed the fuel in the tank enough to kick the sensor into action. I think the truck driver and the garage man will dine out for years on the story of the “crazy incompetent Englishman with absolutely no knowledge of automotive technology”. I had not let it be known that we were Aussies.

Apart from my acute embarrassment, the fallout from this incident, meant that Garry missed his longed for swim in the Med, and we missed a special dinner that Samir was going to cook for us that night.

Sunday 20th September

Another superb autumn day. We decided on a picnic at the Cirque de Navacelles, a quite amazing geological feature on the River Vis, that is not too far from Lodeve. We also planned to visit the local Buddhist monastery on our way home as it is only open to tourists between 2pm and 6pm some Sundays of the year. We met a young Spanish woman last night at La House, who told us she had come from Valencia just to visit the temple, and that we should too.
On our way down into the Cirque, close to the village of Navacelles, we spotted a small track that looked like it might lead to the river. With some reservation from the women in the car, who thought the track looked too small for a car and way too steep, we took it anyway. It opened out into a grassed area close to the river that looked a good place for a private picnic but further exploration found a tiny foot-track that lead right onto the rocky bed of the river. A better place to picnic on a warm autumn afternoon is hard to imagine. The photos below show the view into the Cirque, and our picnic spot by the river at the bottom of the canyon.

We had a very pretty and technically challenging drive back using tiny roads that were barely marked on maps, but were generally well sign-posted, and eventually found the monastery which is situated in the middle of pine plantations in the mountains above Lodeve. Way too many people lined up and waiting to get in, so we changed our minds and headed back to Lodeve. Later on a walk around town we passed the Brasserie L’Esperance (opposite La House) and were spotted by Abraham (the proprietor) who we had also met the day before. He is a Berber (from Nth Africa), and proud of it, who fancies himself as a bit of a rock star, and stakes a claim to being related to Hannibal. He and his mate were just packing up their gear after entertaining the crowd, but he insisted that they would start again, just for his new Australian friends – he is a real character. So we stayed for a couple of beers and a bit of music, and were soon joined by a growing number of locals who joined in the frivolity. It wasn’t long before one of the locals (obviously a penny or two short of a pound) who grabbed the mike and proceeded to entertain us with his versions of some French folk songs, La Marsellaise and even impersonations of motorbikes and F1 cars in action….very funny!

We have met some terrific people this time including Samir, the proprietor of La House (think I have mentioned him before), Mimi an young Irish woman who is studying French and Buddhism here (she has been to Oz several times and knows Fremantle well), and Abraham.

Our Aussie friend Deb

We had made arrangements to visit Deb Westerberg, a new friend (from our last visit in 2007), born in Albany, lived in Perth for many years, Scotland for several, and now in a small village called Bize in the Minervois region. When we visited her in May 2007, she had not long since purchased an old house, with the intention of turning it into a Gite (self contained short term accommodation). Deb was (and is) very bravely living out an ambition alone that she and her recently deceased husband had dreamed about while living in Edinburgh for a number of years. A couple of photos of her delightful place follow.

We had a great time with Deb, who is a person who lives life to the full, and who enjoys un verre de vin as much as we do. We had a lot of laughs, visited a couple of nearby historical villages, picked some grapes and just generally had a good time. The funniest moment came when I stopped the car to take a photo of some grape-pic kers hard at work in a local vineyard. My travelling companions were a bit concerned that I was invading these peoples space and that I should ask for permission to take a shot. That didn't prove necessary because as soon as I got out of the car with the camera, they all stood up, posed and then called me over. When I got a bit closer one of the young women handed me her secateurs and invited me to pick a bunch of grapes while she took a photo. They were all amazingly friendly and it was hard to get away.

Another highlight was Oyster day. Every Wednesday afternoon a couple of blokes turn up at a local bar with a vanload of fresh oysters, which they shuck to order. Fresh, cheap and totally delicious accompanied by an ice cold beer (see below - the shuckers are in the background).

It was fantastic to see what she has achieved with her property since we were last there. We will definitely catch up with her again once or twice while we are in France.

The stunning Viaduc de Millau

A few images of the quite amazing Norman Foster designed Viaduc de Millau. This stunning bridge crosses the Gorges du Tarn near Millau, just 60 kms north of Lodeve and is 2.5 kms long.