Showing posts with label mozart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mozart. Show all posts

Monday, 25 September 2023

1993 Germany, Austria, Venice

1.9.93 London Victoria

On the train.  That same small fear in the pit of the stomach – I remember sitting on the train at Ewell East, about to set off for a month of Interrail.  Now it’s only two weeks.  And how things have changed since 1979 – the first of three years I did it (March to April, as I recall – but pity I never kept a travel diary then…)  Interesting the young people with their backpacks – these images of spotty youths – as I was, and smelly too – one shirt a week, I fear.  Now I am overloaded with stuff – socks, pants and god knows what.

France visible today… A rather undignified scrabble at Dover: on to the bus then to the boat.  It’s a pity that the Channel Tunnel is such an obviously dangerous way of going – it ought to be much simpler… Very smooth crossing – very few people on board – great, hope it continues.

Belgium.  Ages since I’ve been here.  One of those betwixt and between places – that only really exist theoretically.  But as someone said recently, asking for great Belgians is almost the wrong question: it’s more about the Flemish…  Outside, pure Cuyp: cows grazing in the twilight, rich tones of the sunset – pinks, purples, violets, mauves, oranges etc.  Strange to be pushing into Europe.  Real travel.

2.9.93 Stuttgart

Lots of lights in Germany – you get the impression everyone is working… Trains just the same – pull-down seats for sleeping – and I nearly buggered up the sliding door (as I did in one memorably long and cold journey).  Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof – frighteningly clean and efficient: 5am and everything waking up.  No litter anywhere.  Interesting collection of the usual ne’er do wells at this hour – me included.  If only Italian style could be married to German efficiency.

The train journey was a little more wearying than I recall it – old age.  Lots of PC mags to buy.  Even as I sit here, more people arrive: almost like time-lapse photography.  Since the bloody information office ain’t open until 9.30am, I have dumped my bags – too heavy – and gone for a walk.

Today cold, but crisp.  Sun out in main square, grass being cut.  Behind, by the very vertical church, the first of two flower markets.  The second reminds me of Verona – a kind of clean, updated Verona.  For some reason there are four brass players on top of the church tower, playing… 8.45am.

Well, having weighed up the pros and cons of sleeping a second night on the train, I have taken a room (without WC etc.) in Hotel Mack – 80DM – reasonable, I suppose.  I do feel better after the shower...Now in ‘Fresko’ outside Mr Stirling’s rather wonderful Neue Staatsgalerie – the use of the different marbles is simply joyous – you really feel the Platonic essence of its rockness… Parenthetically, I see that Mr S. is designing a music academy to go next door – certainly a lot of dosh here… and yet walking around this morning I couldn’t help feeling this was some shopping precinct (Milton Keynes?) writ large.  I’d say American except that there’s little evident poverty here.  In fact, in general the place stinks of money.

Very quiet generally, I’m pleased to say – hope it continues.  Lovely – and huge – park here – miles of it.  Splendid fountains.  Interesting exhibition of Hungarian photographers in a pavilion there.  That strange toggle between having somewhere to stay and not.  And yet at least I have the option to move on…

Food required.  Inside the Staatsgalerie – nice Burne-Jones’ Perseus cycle – especially the killing of the dragon – lovely bum of Andromeda.  Room 16 cool David Friedrich landscapes – 20 years ago I first saw them (?).  12: moody Böcklin.  14: fine Rembrandt self-portrait – old, thick impasto…. Not so defeated as in others.  Also very early Rembrandt – Saint Paul in prison – funny little piggy eyes.  As ever, the old German stuff does nothing for me.  Room 29: frightening Chagall in blood scarlet.  Modern collection not bad – but the setting is better. 

Back to Bahnhof – booking seats for tomorrow and changing old DM for new. To the City Gallery, using my Press card, bless its cotton socks.  To the Keith Haring, which the first time I’ve seem them in the flesh – or rather in colour, since it is the dayglo colours that strike.  What’s instantly impressive is that he evolved an iconography – the featureless babies, the cross, the space ships – and a style that is instantly recognisable, striking but not trivial.  Few can do this.  You can also see that the lines are very self assured – no fudging.  The second room even more impactful than the first – explosions of colour, striking images.  The white cross series – lovely texture – and the images are made for it.  Only the more Grosz-type “realistic” drawings do I find forced: the others are magisterial

To the Stiftkirche, inside this time.  Wonderful carvings of princes - they really leap out of the wall. (A yummy Quarktasche eaten).  As well as the extraordinary ties and coloured shirts they wear, the men are also distinguished by their little Schubert glasses.  The women, on the other hand, tend to adopt the Dame Edna approach…  And now...busking Siberians – complete with bass balalaika – not  bad either.  Also, I’ve seen people reading Russian newspapers…

3.9.93  Linz

Stuttgart station.  Typical: the plan shows almost exactly where my wagon should be.  So bloody organised.  Good brekkers this morning – pretty good value overall.  It is raining – will it always rain in Vienna…?  Very impressive the old ICE – makes British Rail look pretty sick.  Very flash, toilets five star.  Raining, but so green and wooded outside.  I find it hard to like Germans, but you have to admire them…

After the Siberians yesterday, I saw a group with a cimbalom.  Hungarian I thought: nope, Czech the name looked.  But it could have been Slovak – the world in flux.  Berge (Oberbayern) – rather fine rolling countryside here...worth returning to.  Amazing feature in Der Spiegel on an autistic man, through a PC has written a book.  He explains – partially – his situation: too much input, overload of stimulation.  As a child (5) he taught himself to read – leafing through books with a photographic memory…

Linz is as I expected: neat, tidy, prosperous – complete with busking Albanian/Rumanian? - and wet.  I’m in Hofmann Backerei, 27 Landstrasse, eating quark (again) and coffee.  Hotel very cheap – 310 Schillings (about £18) including Frühstück.  Goethestrasse, near station.  Very plain.

Too late to see anything, but I’m only really here for the river – and as part of my European update.  Again I noticed amazing variety of East European newspapers.  To the Alte Dom, awash in gilt and rococo curlicues.  But nice, very light and refreshing, partly because white is everywhere.  Outside, the main square feels positively Mozartian (remember K.425?).  In the Hauptplatz, a crazed carillon plays weird harmonics; two men play chess on a ten-foot square board… A tram passes.

I stand in the middle of the Nibelungen Bridge; under me a serious piece of water: the Danube, already as broad as the Thames, but barely begun on its journey… (hi, Claudio).  The earth/bridge moves...huge grey clouds father.  I’m off.

In a local café – having bought Oberösterreichische Nachrichten – largely because it used the honour system – you take it, putting money in.  Says something about the place.  Which I like – it’s very “carina” – bit too nice.  On the bridge again, looking back.

4.9.93 Vienna

Linz station.  Hotel had that youth hostel smell.  Opposite, a train from Skopje (? - which is…?).  Interesting magazine – News – glossy, but so parochial.  You get the impression that everyone knows everyone – and they probably do. 

Vienna.  The station a madhouse, as is outside – I discover later that today is the opening of an important section of the U-bahn.  A woman stamps about 50 tickets – for a competition, I guess.  Hotel “West End” – not over-clean, but I like the attitude of the man on the desk – and it costs just £21 including breakfast.  First place I go – Kunsthistorisches – to the café on the mezzanine.  Rather grand. 

Room VII – amazing series by Bellotto of Wien.  Interesting pic of Gluck: you get the impression he was a bit of a git.  V – unusual Caravaggio – an orgy of hands… Madonna of the Rosary. Nice Bronzino.  I almost walk past the Cellini salt wotsit… Unusual Dosso Dossi: Jupiter painting (sic) butterflies while Mercury shushes… A roomful of Giorgione – the Three Philosophers best…  Stunning painting by Vincenzo Catena (who he?).  TitianGypsy Madonna – lovely delicacy.

It has to be said that there is no room quite like X: full of Breughels.  I don’t know if its true or not, but the room feels exactly as it was 15 years ago…  Paul’s conversion - such a tiny figure amidst the tumult.  And the sea so far away.  Early Spring – what atmosphere – you can almost feel the chill in the air.  The wrecked ship, the icy mountains, the warm tones of the town.  And those distant, distant horizons: what happens there?  Winter: did he see this – or just invent it? The details – like the broken inn sign.  Tower of Babel – amazing sense that Breughel knew what the middle of the tower looked like…  and the way a mountain has been pressed into service – an obviously sensible way to build such a tower.  Even Portakabins – well, equivalents…

Strange man, Arcimboldo: the Four Seasons - Summer, Winter, Fire, Water – all faces… Too many bloody Rubens: but Das Pelzchen, the erotic pic of Frau Helene Rubens is stunning.  The Rembrandts: there is no doubt, he is king – the three self portraits here, blige…  And to end today – cultural overload – the Vermeer Allegory of Painting (hi, P. Greenaway…).

A long, long and delightful aimless walk round the centre (OK, so I was looking for an Apothek – shaving cream, if you must know).  Vienna could well be one of the most successful pedestrianised cities I have ever seen.  Thousands of people milling around, lots of cafes – but none of the artificiality you often find.

In St Stephen’s now – and here too many people – but many seem Viennese.  Sun came out as I walked from Kunsthistorisches Museum to Kärntner Strasse (to buy a ticket for Nozze tomorrow – around £20 – not bad for opera, in Schönbrunn...an allowable luxury.  Even the opera seemed vaguely reasonable: I get the feeling that the Schilling has depreciated greatly against the pound since I was last here.  Or perhaps my terms of reference have changed. 

Amazing number of tall women here: what do they put in the food?
Kärntner reminds me of the main drag in Istanbul – though rather different.  (A man is locking the gates around me: a primitive desire to flee takes hold.)  This sums it up really: eating a Viennese pizza (large but tasteless – cheap at 25 Schillings) listening to the usual Peruvian (?) pan pipes.  Back in Kärntner.

5.9.93

Down in the hotel’s little dining room.  Three serving – Russian? Czech? - East European, anyway.  Coffee surprisingly good.  My room has an outer, padded door: I can sport the oak.  In the U-bahn.  New weather forecasting method: by consensus – I look at what everyone else is wearing.  It is raining (slightly).  

In the Karlskirche.  Wow.  Amazing exterior – quite unlike any other I’ve seen – and glorious interior – huge swirls of marble – even the pews are inlaid.  Mahler and Alma married here.  This has just become one of my favourite churches – it reminds me of San Biagio outside Montepulciano. Beautiful ellipse – and only this morning, I was thinking about a schoolmate’s insight into the moment of inertia of an ellipse about a point on its edge… Happy days.

Wandering looking for a café.  To Josefplatz. Strange day: sun/rain/wind.  Not bad for walking, though I’m getting tired.  Sundays in particular are lonely in these places, when the world seems at home – and you are not.  As ever, being here, I think of Bolivia, Patagonia…

Ethnological Museum.  Good stuff on Americas – including a fabulous Aztec feather headdress – imagine what their civilisation at its height must have looked like… [A stupid git has just photographed it – with flash... "e un fatto scientifico che la luce danneggia I quadri" as someone once said…]  Back in the Kunsthistorisches Museum – bucketing down outside (thank god I went back for brolly.) 

Exhausting – the Völkerkunde Museum – but American stuff good – the sense of loss, the hundreds (thousands) of tribes whose individual wisdom has been lost.  Also an amazing map of south-east Asia showing the linguistic interpenetration.  Nation?  What nation? - and when to go there?  In the Egyptian section – and they have one of the bulls from the Serapeum – enormous.  Wonderful.  I’m really glad I wrote Egyptian Romance; I must read it one day.  Treasure of Nagyszentmiklós, 10 kilos of gold – beautifully worked, eighth century.

Looking at the Rembrandts again: when did self-portraits become common?  Bit cheeky, really, painting yourself…  With the Breughels (Mr and Mrs).  A man wearing two pairs of glasses at once.  Japs the most evident tourists here – the only ones with dosh (and a rising Yen).  Breughel’s winters seem real winters – not the namby-pamby stuff we know.

To the Upper Belvedere – whose entrance and view over the garden I remember vividly.  And the bloody rain (but at least by tram the journey was a doddle).  Wonderful Schiele – that I last saw in Zurich, I believe.  Also the Klimts good, especially Oberösterreichisches Bauernhaus where the wood cabin seems to grow into the landscape.  Schiele shows how evolving your style is crucial.  He had it; others don’t.  Giovanni Segantini did – weird, but his.  The Bad Mothers– very odd, a hellish (=cold) vision of naughty nuns, rows of them into the snowy landscape.  Klimt: Portrait of Sonja Knips – where her pink dress is a waterfall, a flower, a motion.

To the centre, and into a real café (= smoking, full of “young” people): Café Hawelka, Dorotheeergasse.  Free papers to read (some rather old), general aim of “total relax” as the Italians say.  Seat booked to Budapest (almost too early).  Nearby, a man reads a Rumanian newspaper...

Outside Schönbrunn – conkers. Autumn is here.  In the theatre – rather fine – very intimate – probably very much the kind of space Mozart would have known– and probably also the level of playing/singing (we shall see).  Lots of gilt and plush – but hard seats.  Number of Japs here too – including one bloke who got press tickets.  Humph (at least I’ve got into everything free with my press card so far – helps pay for it….). As the orchestra “warms up” I get the impression once more that there is a special warming up music written purely to impress the audience… The entrance to the right of the house, beautiful at night.

Figaro and Susanna – Japs
Cherubino – Agniezka Gertner (very good)
Conte – Kurt Schober (not bad)

For some reason the pierced cupola with the cracked plaster underneath reminds of of Istanbul, the Turkish baths… Lovely acoustic – especially for the winds – bassoons lovingly outlined.  Small string band helps.  Conducting solid – conductor plays cembalo.  Big cuts in recitatives.  Makes Wagner seem so bombastic.  Mozart is just pure lines.  The details, the bassoons.  Set quite lavish, and orchestra much better than expected – only the poor horns broke a couple of times.  The Figaro had a good voice, but lisped…

Wien is pretty clean – not as clean as Stuttgart – no dog poohs – compare Italy.  Also in various places Zettel literature – free bits to tear off and keep.  

6.9.93

The Danube.  Still a very serious piece of water.  But I can’t quite mesh this view (near the U-bahn Donauinsel) with my memories – I seem to recall clambering over railway lines (?) to get to it.  The map shows some, but the landscape looks very different.  Perhaps the flats in front of me are all new – they look less than 15 years.  Fine hills to the north – the map again shows that Vienna is really rather small, and soon passes to countryside.

To the Prater (hi, Arthur).  Interesting watching the Ferris wheel – held up by wires, I note.  The Hauptallee of the Prater – reminds me of a road we saw in Ouarzazate, long and tree lined (?), leading into the desert.

To KunstHausWien – wonderful exterior – uneven floor: “The uneven floor becomes a symphony, a melody for the feet...it is good to walk on uneven floors and regain our human balance.”  Leibovitz show interesting – though the early works indicate that she’s not that great a photographer – shrewdly by choosing famous subjects and then work with/against their grain, she is guaranteed an audience.  Nice one of Laurie A.: NMR brain scan…

Hundertwasser – clearly a loony, but an amiable one (redesigning the Australian and New Zealand flags…).  His ideas are sound, but the result very 60s and flower power.  Yuk.  Reading his biography, which is utterly extraordinary, it sounds like a parody – perhaps of what I wish my life to be.  And yet his art is so wishy-washy, so feel-good…  On the first floor, a tree grows out of the windows, as in Gormenghast.  In the café – which is rather expensive, so I’ve opted for the Tagesmenu – who knows…?  Visited Hundertwasserhaus – amazing – and a real nightmare.  Literally: the kind of thing you’d imagine in a feverish state.  Old Hundertwasser’s style is very reminiscent of Schiele and Klee – small, brightly coloured elements.  But his images are just pretty: compared to Schiele, he has nothing to say – for all his good intentions.

Drorygasse – of course, in my day, it was much tougher… found the old belfry youth hostel – but now there’s the U-bahn.  There were two lines 14 years ago.  In Kardinal-Nagl Platz – full of immigrants – Turks (Kurds?), very ethnic.  Streets as drab as I remember them.  But amazing how little I recall of them – just odd images: no travel diary, the fool…

Prunksaal – very impressive.  Strange that the steps leading up to the library remind me of another – Trinity College Dublin – though this is much more bombastic, but not more moving.  Particularly impressive the double-decker design, and the two pairs of great marble chairs – reminds me of Karlskirche.  Among the otherwise ho-hum manuscripts, amazing crossword – the cross in the centre of a running text that spells the same OROTERAMUSARAM – clever.  Hrabanus Maurus.

On the way out, copy of Mozart’s dedication: “Patience and  Tranquillity of mind contribute more to cure our distempers as the whole are of Medicine” IN ENGLISH.  Why?  Wherefrom?  (Masonic text?) (30.3.1787).  Spooky, too, to see that Ludwig’s handwriting was almost identical to this book’s scrawl…

In another coffee house – OK, but smoky again.  Topfenstrudel – cheesecake to you and me – nice.  Very civilised – foreign newspapers and books and mags to hand.  Walking, walking (Ephesos Museum closed…).  The Graben shows well what Regent Street could be without the traffic [a young man passes with his new toy: an HP calculator; is this a very male thing, gadgets.  A lot of quite attractive women here – often in the Anne-Sophie Mutter variety, with a tendency to girlish puppy fat.  A couple walking down the Graben, the steps completely synchronised, even down to the mid-air rhythm and angle.  Says it all really.

Been here for an hour or so, watching the world go by.  Opposite, an oldish bloke strumming a guitar and singing – but not busking.  Sky almost clear blue, air cold but lovely.  And so along to Trześniewski's – which I couldn’t find before, simply because it was closed.  Polish, obviously – great chopped herring, sardines, gherkins, egg, ham on small bread slices – 8 Schillings each, about 50p.  Now drinking slightly odd red wine.  This is obviously an institution (also in Dorotheergasse).  Wien really is very civilised.  I really like it here (= Trześniewski) and here (= Wien).

7.9.93

Ah well, Venice and Peter Greenaway call.  The Sezession building: yuk.  Lovely day though, cool air, bright sun.  22.22pm to Venice.  Tonight. Going to be a lazy day… Coffee at the Kunsthistorisches Museum – closed, but café open. Read newspapers.  Then sat by Karlskirche.  Then to Stephansplatz – pass Trześniewski – thinking it’s closed, but it ain’t...so here I am, eating this ambrosial stuff.

To Stephansplatz – very strange experience: because of reflected light from Haas Haus, there is sun from two directions – very disconcerting.  Schönbrunn, by the Gloriette – which reminds a lot of the Veronese Feast in the House of Levi, in the Accademia, Venice (hi).  Very peaceful here, despite the tourists.  I don’t remember this steep ramp up and the monument. Schönbrunn is a very good example of what is wrong with many palaces: it’s like a modern block of flats, lacking human scale.  Moreover, you know that most of the room are unnecessary, and merely there for scale.  

As I watch the world go by, I think of the millions of patterns there must be – and have been.  Now sitting nearby the theatre, a eating a rather nice cherry cake (the latter exactly as I imagined it – always a nice sensation).  Ich glaube dass I this cake in East Berlin eaten have – so zu sagen.

Amazing cloud formation: huge waves – not small ripples, but great strokes in high, thin clouds…

8.9.93 Venice

Strange now to be hurtling towards Venice.  Had compartment to myself – slept well, apart from the stream of passport/customs officers.  Going to Venice for the Peter Greenaway exhibition; seems a suitably apt expression of my current madcap life.  Wien Südbahnhof was rather nice – computer controlled lockers – as well as the orange and blue ones and a garderobe – Rosenkavalier restaurant etc. all very well organised.

Just arrived at Pordenone.  About to cross the bridge out to Venice: I remember the first time…  In Vivaldi’s church – the first time.  Palazzo Grassi closed – a bloody technical fault…  Very unspecial here – except for the grille – for the girls?  Vivaldi died near Karlskirche… lived in Riva del Carbon.

In Museo Fortuny – Peter Greenaway up to his usual tricks – water around everywhere – but otherwise Fortuny as it was… Intervals – Peter Greenaway film of 1969 – filmed in Venice – music is Vivaldi.  Drawings – Hangman’s Cricket.  Walk through H type stuff.  Drawing by numbers – “the relentless clicking away…”  Prospero’s books – the preparations make mine look thin – huge collections of background stuff – reference to Tulse Luper (Tulse Luper’s Suitcases – a future film).  The pages – scribbled on, painted over, with collage – remind me of Tom Phillips.  All this Dog/God stuff is very undergraduate.  

Pity the one film I haven’t seen is not working in the first room. A Walk through Prospero’s Library – very strange: uses Glass’s music at the end.  I have to say, that the female nude at the end – stunning.  “Wreck his revenge…”? I think not.  Two wonderful books about Peter Greenaway £40 and £50… I resist.  After all, I probably prefer not to know too much about his thinking – which is pretty weird.  Better to enjoy what I do.  I buy a poster instead (£5.)

23.9.93 Italy

On the train again.  North from Verona, soon amidst stunning mountain scenery and river.  Must come back.  Gray rainy day.  Have just passed Peri (and a church high among the hills).  My (German?) colleague in this compartment (couldn’t reserve anything else) is also writing – perhaps that his colleague is writing, and wondering – as I am – what he is writing.  Autostrada alongside us.  Thickly wooded hills – above Garda I would guess.

24.9.93 
Köln

Ages since I’ve taken a couchette.  I love the paraphernalia, the ordering.  One worrying thing: the guard took my tickets and passport yesterday – gave them back this morning.  Logical, but I felt very naked without the passport.  Slightly broken sleep, but pleasantly so: half awaking to hear “Gleis 1” – or some other  Bahnhof voice.  Awoken fully at 7.30 by the guard.  Outside, the Rhine.  A large but rather dull river – too tame and tamed.  Danube much more impressive.  Outside, black and white houses, stone-faced churches. Very German.  I’ve rather neglected this country – something I’ll have to remedy in the future.

In the Dom – which is certainly big...but it does not take the breath away as so many others do.  It is just big.  Even from the outside it looks rather like a small church blown up.  Spent most of today in the Ludwig Museum.  Good modern stuff – though, boy, are these 20th century Germans depressing. Other stuff more ho-hum.  Sondersusstellung – German photos – dreadful.  You can really see the pernicious effects of there being too much money for art. - 99% is disposable.

Arrived here to find a bloody Messe: obvious, really, but I’d not taken it into account.  Luckily the Tourist Office is very efficient, and found a room for m, DM115, near the station (“6 Domgasse).  Tiny but clean, central, reasonably cheap.  

Raining again.  Ate prepared rolls for dinner – I rather like this exiguous existence – for a while.  To the Westdeutscher Rundfunk concert hall, for a choral concert – and why not.  Programme nothing special.  Hall rather fine: light wood, silver glistening organ.  Quite large.  Choir rather heavy in 17th and 18th century music, better in the later stuff.  Petrassi “Nonsense Poems” rather fine – real use of different choral sonorities.

25.9.93

Raining. Hard.  Feet soaked, arm too.  But slept well, good Frühstück.  Found good bookshop in Neumarkt Platz.  The Dom full now – well, it’s dry.  Visited St Aposteln – ho-hum, clearly re-bult – and St Gereon – much better.  Very surprising form.  The Decagon reminded me of one of the most moving churches I’ve seen, in Mont St Michel – that sense that a thousand years ago, somebody worshipped here.

To the splendidly-named Römisch-Germanisches Museum, but stunning, and the mosaic not bad.  Still bucketing.  The guide book says there are a million piece to the mosaic: an interesting way to grasp the concept.  Upstairs, a strange room full of clay lamps – including a wall full of obscene ones.  In the basement, I read that the mosaic is now where it was discovered/built.  A good 20 feet from the current ground level.

Unbelievably, Köln shuts at 2pm on a Saturday – 95% of the shops.  To the Käthe Kollewitz Museum – if only because it’s open.  Unusual form – and rather relentless images.  Her women look like monkeys, and bring out well the sense of vulnerability in the world.  Also of women’s relationship to their children.  A Sonderausstellung even more depressing.  What are these artists thinking of?


Thursday, 16 March 2023

2023 Bilbao

At the heart of Bilbao lies the Guggenheim
At the heart of Bilbao lies the Guggenheim

10.3.23

By the cathedral in the old town.  The smell of drains, and a light rain falling.  A characteristic feature of the houses in this district is the glassed-in balconies – like Turkey and Georgia.  Strange to see them here.

Glassed-in balconies by the cathedral
Glassed-in balconies by the cathedral

Up early today – 5am – then along to the station to take the train to Gatwick.  Which was delayed, and made things more of a rush than usual.  Flight left late but arrived early – only just over 90 minutes.  Bilbao is near, geographically, but so far culturally, linguistically – which is why I am here, albeit for a flying three-day visit.  To see a place I have heard so much of, with its wonderful, mystifying singleton language.

Erribera merkatua by the River Nervión
Erribera merkatua by the River Nervión

To the River Nervión, by the huge Erribera merkatua, supposedly the largest covered market in Europe.  Makes me think back to Tashkent and the Chorsu building, and forward to the great central Asian markets I hope to see soon in Dushanbe and Khujand.  The church of St Anthony with its wonderfully uneven blocks of stone, the old bridge nearby. The main market has closed for the day, but the smell of fresh fish smacks you in the face as you enter.  One side full of bars and cafés, most offering the local pintxos – Basque tapas.

A walk along the river, shadowed by trams and (electric) buses, to the Teatro Arriaga.  Alas, at the moment there is only Hansel and Gretel playing, which I have no desire to sit through, even for the sake of seeing the interior.  The outside is enough – over the top French empire style [Wikipedia says "neo-baroque"...hm].

Teatro Arriaga
Teatro Arriaga

Arriaga is a fascinating figure. Often called the Spanish Mozart, he was more the Spanish Schubert – he only lived 20 years (1806-1826), and coincides with Schubert, not Mozart.  Pretty much forgotten immediately after his death, that has had the happy consequence that the only editions of his works that survive are modern, and freely downloadable.  Sad that we’ve lost quite a few works, but the string quartets plus Overture Opus 20 give a hint of what he could do – and could have done.

In - and above - the Bilbao metro
In - and above - the Bilbao metro

On the metro to Indautxu – mostly to validate my 72-hour city pass – only 20 euros.  Metro modern, but with a design quirk: you enter above the two tracks, then descend stairs to the platform you want.  Curious to see the trains under you, with only a low wall.  Signage in the carriages not very good – Barcelona’s far better.  But very cheap – 80 cents with an Oyster-type card used by most.

North to the Doña Casilda Iturrizar Park, domainted by the looming and rather incongruous Iberdrola Tower – all 40 floors of it.  The park reminded me of the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont made from a quarry in Paris – similarly slopping.  Indeed, much of Bilbao is hilly – part of its charm.

Contrasting architectural styles
Contrasting architectural styles

Now sitting in La Baguerie, a modest little café near Moyúa, which is the centre of the modern part of the city – and where the bus for the airport departs from.  Feels like Saturday, with lots of people out shopping, especially ladies of a certain age.  Nearby the incredible Txabarri Palace – a kind of Basque gothic.  Also nearby the gleaming Iglesia de San José de la Montaña – which is particularly striking when viewed with the Ibendrola Tower in the background.

Plaza Barria
Plaza Barria

Back in the old town, which is really bustling.  To the Plaza Barria (New Square), which is like a small version of the Plaça Reial in Barcelona – complete with palm trees.  Lots of children here, in contrast to the wrinklies I saw out shopping.  Strong wind getting up, but warm – temperature around 21°C
, compared with London’s miserable 7°C…

Back to room to recover, then out into the seething streets – lots of people out drinking, eating.  Great atmosphere.  Along to the nearby Café Lago – I’m too tired to wander far.  Has good reviews and indeed has great buzz.  One thing that surprises me: no one has switched to English when I try to communicate – badly – in Spanish.  Also, I can’t say I’ve heard any Basque, but maybe I’m not attuned to it significantly.  First glass of txakoli – the local white Basque wine.  Very slightly fizzy, but not too much. Nice.

By the Guggenheim
By the Guggenheim

After supper, out along the river towards the Guggenheim.  Lots of people out – and broad embankments just made for walking.  Past the bridge that looks amazingly like the one in Bratislava.  Then on to the huge shapes of the road bridge by the Guggenheim, the Guggenheim itself, and the Iberdrola skyscraper.  The Guggenheim not lit up as I expected, but glorious nonetheless.  Then back to the hotel with the tram, getting off at Arriaga.  Walking back through the narrow streets of the old town, there are so many people out drinking and eating pintxos that the level of noise was that of a small, crowded pub.  Lovely end to a great day.

(The cathedral bell strikes ten...)

11.3.23

The entrance to the Guggenheim, plus cat
The entrance to the Guggenheim, plus cat

On the tram to the Guggenheim.  Such a civilised way to travel.  Ripping them out in the UK was such a stupid move…  A grey day, with rain threatened for most of it – typical for Bilbao, apparently.  Outside the Guggenheim, under intermittent rain.  Cloudy, but bright.  The Iberdrola Tower stands sternly nearby.

Giant sculptures by Richard Serra
Giant sculptures by Richard Serra

Inside.  Standing at the centre of the huge Richard Serra artworks – an enormous spiral of metal – surprisingly claustrophobic as you go round and round – perhaps because the walls are so high, and inward-leaning.  And the fact that there is no quick way out.  The long, undulating ones feel like tiny canyons, and remind me of that feeling created watching the film 127 hours… This gallery is amazing because it is so big – you rarely get to experience space in this way, and the artworks articulate that space brilliantly.  Great demonstration of that: I got lost – or rather lost my sense of orientation, and walked back to the entrance thinking it was the end.

A huge Jenny Holzer installation, with nine illuminated strips rising in a giddying fashion.  All in Basque.  Now Spanish.  Very weird effect of the floor sinking… perhaps because the texts move in perfect sync.  One side is in Basque, the other in Spanish.  One blue, one red.  Both hypnotic.  Oh, now in English…

Inside the Guggenheim
Inside the Guggenheim

Climbing the stairs, the interior looks like a modern version of one of Piranesi’s prisons – all odd angles, stairs, windows, metal.

In Room 202, a witty four photos by Thomas Struth – Audience 06, showing tourists staring at something in Florence – they look up, so a statue maybe.  Nice to see the watchers watched.  They look posed, but aren’t…

In the upper galleries, “classical” Abstract Expressionism.  Amazing sculpture by Chillida – whom I knew of, but not as a Basque.  A huge, brain-shaped rock, richly veined like cheese, pierced by perfectly smooth square openings, in three dimensions.  Wonderful.  As I climbed up here, looking down, the Guggenheim suddenly felt like La Sagrada Familia.  Interesting echoes.

My feet begin to hurt.

On the way out, popped in to the temporary Miró exhibition – his Paris years.  Lots of good stuff; also lots of meh stuff…  Quite busy here now.

Lunch in the market
Lunch in the market

On the tram, straight to Ribera, then into the market for pintxos and wine.  Market open – that fish smell… Great atmosphere here in the food section.  Out to find alcohol – not for now, but to take back.  The light txokali, of course, plus a Navarran/Basque liquor, Patxaran, made with sloes. BM Supermercado well stocked.

Inside Azkuna Zentroa Alhóndiga Bilbao
Inside Azkuna Zentroa Alhóndiga Bilbao

Then past Arriaga Theatre, over the bridge and the along the main shopping street – 
Gran Vía de Don Diego López de Haro – Bilbao’s Oxford Street/Champs Elysee.  Past Moyúa, along Ercilla Kalea – pedestrianised, reminds me of the similar street in Barcelona near La Sagrada (Avenue de Gaudi). Past the Pompidou Centre-like Bizkaia Plaza to here, the very odd Azkuna Zentroa Alhóndiga Bilbao.  Famous for its weird squat columns.  Currently sporting a huge red sun in close up, flames shooting out, projected on to a huge screen hung over a large empty enclosed space.  Always terrifying to think that’s what the sun is doing…  Wandering around, just noticed that there is a swimming pool – above us, with vague human forms visible as they pass over the translucent floor panels.  Spooky…

Don't look up
Don't look up

In the evening, off to the 
Euskalduna concert hall.  Easy – tram all the way.  So I go to Arriaga, the tram comes, we all get on – and the driver tells us all to get out.  It goes no further today, not clear why.  So along to the metro, up to Deustu.  Down to the river, over the bridge – which reminds me strongly of Bratislava – past the huge rusty iron wall of the concert hall – they do love their iron here, one reason Serra was able to go big on it.  Sitting by the bar in the slightly fresh wind, going in soon.

Euskalduna concert hall
Euskalduna concert hall

The concert hall has a really interesting design.  Basically, it’s a huge steel box inside the outer steel box.  Internally, it is covered in a rich golden-brown wood.  Unusually, the side seats are in pews – big sections enclosed on all sides.  I’m at the front of one, since I thought I’d have more leg room, but not with this huge wall I won’t… Fab view, though.  Lots of old people here – well, my age.  Not many young ‘uns.

Inside the concert hall
Inside the concert hall

Programme began with George WalkerLyric for Strings.  Very strong double basses – maybe all that wood.  Performance slightly spoiled by two noises.  First, just before the conductor began, a man blew his nose very sonorously.  Then, during the quieter passages could be heard squeaky voices coming from the headphones of the two camera operators – of which there were at least five in total.  People started moving to get away from it…

After the Walker, Adams’s Dr Atomic Symphony.  I’d only listened to this a couple of times, before, and this performance was much more convincing.  Perhaps because the conductor was a young (black) USian, Roderick Cox.  Worked for me…  Rachmaninoff Symphonic Dances good too – bass and brass really belting it out.

After the concert, the rain was bucketing down.  But – miracle – people were waiting at the tram stop, suggesting that trams existed.  And they did, so tram to Arriaga for me, back to my room – and to bed.

12.3.23

To the Museum of Fine Arts of Bilbao.  Early rain giving way to broken clouds and sun.  The museum is free.  Nice mixture of old and new.  Van Dyck Lamentation of dead Christ – great study in downward sloping diagonals.  A roomful of dark Goya prints “A rain of bulls”…  Interesting that there are no explanations in English – only Basque and Spanish.  Nice Ribera of San Sebastian cured by holy women.  Striking how many people around here look like figures from a Ribera painting…  Upstairs to a room with two Ruisdaels – one print, one pic.  I haven’t seen his stuff for years.  Still love it.  The painting a wood at dusk – very romantic – no figures, just twisted and broken trees, the usual pond.  Very atmospheric, very moody, dare I say…

Fab Orazio Gentileschi – Lot and his daughters – Lot in red, the daughters in yellow and blue, lots of pink flesh – legs, arms, and breasts – the ladies exploding out of their dresses.  Strong upward diagonal.  Painted in London, apparently.  A sad, tiny figure of Lot’s wife, turned into a microscopic pillar of salt as punishment for turning around to look at the burning city of Sodom.

Underground station exit in Holborn
Underground station exit in Holborn

A room with a horrible twisted gob of meat in the corner – yes, a Francis Bacon.  I avoid looking at it in order to preserve my mental health…  A very unusual Zurbaran, of St Catherine of Alexandria, looking very stern, and yet childlike too.  An interesting work by Xabier Morras, showing the Underground station exit in Holborn.  1969, with suitably old car models.  Number plate DLP 126C – I wonder who was in the car when that photo was taken. Where were they going, what were they doing?  Now that moment has been caught in art, whatever it was…

A video explains the massive buildings works underway outside: they are adding a huge new wing.  At least I think that’s what the video said: it was all in Basque when I saw it, so I had to grab the few words I knew there…  Down to the river, sitting by the Guggenheim, its huge canopy before me.  Lots of people out, lots of dogs.  Weather clearing.

Vizcaya Bridge with its gondola
Vizcaya Bridge with its gondola

After lunch, on the metro to Areeta metro station down by the sea – quite a long journey, but easy.  Going to see Vizcaya Bridge, the weird gondola contraption there.  From the metro down to the river, where I see the huge gantry spanning it.  For some reason best known to the Basques/Spaniards, the overhead walkway is closed from 2pm to 4pm (lunch for the lift person?).  So I take the gondola for 50 cents.  Short, sweet, and rather surreal.

To the (mini) lighthouse
To the (mini) lighthouse

Then walk out to here, under the mini lighthouse.  Lots of motor boats in the harbour, smell of the sea.  Reminds me of a similarly long, hot walk out to the harbour in Valencia some years back.  Not  much to see here, just the opposite bank, and the sea to my left.  Not many boats moving.

Since the lift man clearly won’t come back early, no walk across the gantry fro me.  To Moyúa for a quick coffee and bun before trying to find the Artxanda Funicular.  Which was not easy, and led me through various insalubrious parts of Bilbao – I knew this from the quantity of dog poo everywhere: in “nice” areas, people pick it up and put it in dinky little bags.  Not here.

Finally I find the funicular station, where I was able to use my 72-hour city card.  Trip only a minute or so, view good.  In fact, the park at the top looks exactly like the one in Bratislava – sans castle.  Overcast now, but still pleasantly warm.

A lone raptor floats over the city – looks big.  Reminds me of the eagles flying of the Caucasus when I was up by Gergeti church

The view from the park
The view from the park

From here I can pick out the landmarks I know: the cathedral, Arriaga theatre, the bridges, Guggenheim, Ibedrola Tower, the concert hall of last night.  Not bad work for three days…

Back in the hotel.  At 7pm a deranged carillon emerges from the nearby cathedral.  Truly demented, rather wonderful.  

13.3.23

Up early for the trip to the airport.  Out in search of breakfast.  I love walking through old cities before everyone else is up.  Here reminds me of Venice, which I once took a stroll in at 6am when I was on a press trip there. To the Plaza Barria, the Café
 Bar Bilbao, one of the few places open at this time.  The wind is rising: the palm trees shake dramatically.

Open for breakfast
Open for breakfast

As ever, I arrive at the airport far too early, unable to check in.  In fact, checking in was not part of the plan: my ticket is hand luggage only.  It was when I was packing the two bottles of Basque alcohol – the txakoli and Patxaran – that I realised I can’t take these through security.  Various alternatives run through my mind – drinking them now? – tricky, no corkscrew – giving them to the maid?  In the end, I went online and added the case as hold luggage.  Not perfect, but doable.  My fear was partly that I wouldn’t find equivalents in duty free (and looks like I was right).

An amusing social experiment at the check in.  The departure board said desks 23 and 24 could be used, and a few people were already queuing for 23, so I went to 24.  But as more people arrived, they saw many queuing for 23, and only me for 24, so joined 23, making it longer, evidently assuming that I had made a mistake.  I had a choice: stick it out in 24, and risk being forced to go to the back of 23, shamefacedly – or join 23 now.  I decided that if they gave two desks, there would be two desks.  And so it proved, happily.  But quite a tense few minutes there…

My one regret for this trip is that I heard so little Basque spoken.  In fact, the only occasions when I heard more than the odd sentence was in the announcement at the start of the concert yesterday, which told us to switch our phones off.  It’s true that practically every public sign – and even most ads – use both languages.  But it’s sad that more people don’t take pride in and use their amazing linguistic heritage.