1994 Paris

26.4.94

Public architecture begins in the Charles de Gaulle Airport – a triumph of form over function (ish), with its weird subterranean links to the satellites and the interlocking glass tubes to luggage retrieval.  Back in the RER. Depressingly, the same ads as a year ago.  Building works in the station.

Back in the Hotel Ares – refurbished, and with rather nicer staff.  The elevated metro here has been repainted.  Nice that feeling of returning, of recognising, and of spotting differences.  Obviously architecture has much to do with this.

To “Le Suffren”, of course, and even here, there’ve been changes – new chairs, new interior – same wonderful dédaigneux waiters, though.  Prices seem higher – perhaps we’re poorer.  Our annual visite here provides a useful index to how things are going.  But what a lovely city nonetheless – the lights, the bloody Gauloises-smoking people in their outrageous shirts and jackets…

27.4.94  The Louvre

Nice inverted pyramid – volumes – stunning use of old foundations – the scale and breadth.  To one of the main sculpture galleries – so light, so successful.  The white marble.  Pretty impressive.  Interesting that the older part of the Louvre is looking distinctly ropey.  

To Galeries Lafayette for fine, filling lunch (72 Francs), then to Galerie de la Musique (Rue Réaumur) where I find an expensive book on French music and musicians.  Then café, then to Printemps, back to hotel – Paris, as ever, is exhausting, but pleasantly so.

28.4.94  Grand Palais

Last night re-found the fine restaurant near Liceo Italiano – La Fontaine de Mars.  Lovely weather now – pale blue sky, cool breeze.  Grass growing greenly before us.

Rather a failed morning: both Petit Palais and Grand Palais are extra to our tourist tickets, and expensive.  To FNAC – nice and cool, but without the mad excitement of London.  Then try to see Brassaï – also extra.  Metro to hotel – to find a bottle of champagne from the wise hotel manager (he recognised us).  Back in the Grand Palais (yo! Press card).  Origine de l’Impressionisme.  Curious pic by Bazille: atelier with pianist in the corner – new twist on pianist in a brothel.  The massive pix of Monet and Manet – new to me, particularly attractive.  One – “Marine: orange” has precisely the colours and contrast of sea we saw at the beach near Merida.

29.4.94

Back in the serene, majestic Louvre.  The other sculpture court.  Bosio: amazing effect of weather on bronze in his Hercules fighting Acheloos.  Lovely serpent.  Fine Mesopotamian collection – that sense of how much was achieved 4000 years ago.  To the restaurant – surprisingly good, and well executed. Cool here, even though there is ravishing sun outside.

To Denfert-Rochereau – for “Prospero’s Books” (ha!).  After lunch at the Louvre (a really happening place) to Île de la Cité for nice sit in the sun (very warm today), then to here.  The open air cafés – or rather the tables on the street – a part of the French love of la vie en publique.  Small arts cinema (30 Francs/seat), playing “Nozze di Figaro” – too low/slowly – of a kind almost extinct in UK.  A nation of cinephiles.

To the Café du Rendez-vous Denfert-Rochereau, typical French roadside café .  Good caffe (I’ve been spoilt by Italy for most) and crepes.  Classic facade opposite, six storeys, white wall of sun, trees breaking into leaf. Impressionism eat your heart out.

30.4.94 Tour Eiffel

Sunny but cool. Slightly hazy.  Waiting for the third étage lift.  Of course, the Eiffel Tower is pure architecture – without form or function, pure third dimension – which is the defining characteristic of architecture.  From the top: again, striking how tall French buildings are – not skyscrapers, but blocks of flats – the characteristic grey roofs.  Looking towards Bois de Boulogne.  More than any other city I know, Paris is a city of lines – Haussmann, Mitterrand et al.

Also very noticeable is that the flats – the great blocks everywhere – have very strong horizontal and vertical lines: everything is like a grid.  Due in part to the absence of detached houses or low maisonettes that might change the rhythm.  The overall effect is very like a synthetic cubist pic: an image full of clashing lines that hover and blur.  Also: there are very few office blocks here – mostly towards the periphery.  This is a city for living.  Down on the first étage – feels very low and open.  Descending, very noticeable the diagonals of struts – a huge Piranesian nightmare.  

To the Institut du Monde Arabe.  Rather fine building.  To the café on the top – view from the roof over the Seine.  Nice artichoke.  Fascinated by the regulation system for the lighting: photoelectric cells control hydraulic pumps that move rotating plates, opening and closing apertures.  I’ve yet to see it in action: lots of Arabic gutturals around.

To the Syrian exhibition (last day today).  Generally disappointing, but a nice feel of tens of empires – Hittites, Hattites, Akkadians etc hurtling together, contesting this parcel of fertile land, inventing the city, writing…

Now drinking thé à la menthe on the terrace.  Very hot, very nice.  Next to us, three ladies of a certain age discuss computers remarkably sensibly.

On the Bateau-Mouches – an eternal cadence in six languages.
The smell in the Metro, pinned down: burnt wood…

1.5.94

Everything closed, of course.  Blue sky, but slight chill in the air.  Outside Saint-Roch, away form the bloody marchers.  To Le Marché aux Puces, Porte de Clignancourt.  A huge modern-day souk.  Wonderful.

2.5.94

La Samaritaine.  Fine view, good coffee.  A walk from the waxworks museum through some wonderful galleries, Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois, to here.  So much to see in Paris, I feel.  Ashamed for London – whether justifiably or not is hard to say.

Lunch in Galeries Lafayette.  Walk down to La Madeleine – first time I’ve seen it: large, classical, covered in scaffolding.  Towards Boullée’s only surviving construction in Paris.  To 16, rue de la Ville l'Évêque – very strange, a bank now, with a glass portico, through which we can see Boullée’s sad remains.  Now crushed between two dull concrete slabs.  Seems to be the dining room of the bank now. Nice swags in the Corinthian columns’ eyes.  Corinthian passing to Doric. Sad.  Fine freizes in the portico, two sphinxes on the six steps.

Inside the Madeleine – much grander than I expected.  So many columns and arches and domes.  Light falls from the ceiling as if liquid.  A sea of open-backed raffia-seat chairs, surprisingly delicate, giving a refined ripple through the space.  Outrageous chandeliers like golden vines and creepers.

Outside the Madeleine, to a café behind it (or the restauration).  Ridiculously noisy, but hell, it’s the principle that counts.  

3.5.94  Carrefour Buci

Very characteristic quarter.  Sitting in the warm sun.  Clear blue sky.  Nice that though we leave at 5.30pm this evening we can enjoy Paris in this relaxed way.  Very noticeable how pleasant just walking in Paris is (from Le Bon Marché to here).  Cf. Köln or Stuttgart – dead boring, depressing even.  Here just being – L’être – basta.

To Loubnane, Rue Galande, for mezedes.  The parking here:  if there is two metres of road a junction, this is enough for a BMW.  Rich Turkish coffee – reminds me of Egypt.

Returning to UK, the contrast with France is clear: fluffy explosions of trees everywhere below us.  And on the tube bringing us in, greenery everywhere.  London is organic, Paris is planned and man-made.  Also noticeable how the Underground sprawls out into the suburbs – weed-like, and asymmetrically.  Le Métro is more dense and orderly, as strictly within the Périphérique – a name that says it all.

More destinations:

1991 Paris

1992 Paris

1994 Paris

1994 France

1995 Paris

2023 Paris 

1990 Munich

9.11.90

Well, what a surprise.  I find myself in the gloriously appointed Altes Residenztheater, all cream and light Baroque.  I have come (foolishly perhaps) to see Schnitzler’s “Zwischenspiel”.  Inevitably the programme tells me nothing – even going so far as to reprint “Die griechische Tänzerin" – which I have read several times.  His prose is so good, so smooth, so inevitable – I wish mine were.

Despite my tiredness, and my activities of the past days/weeks (more anon), I think I’ll be OK, if only because I kipped from 5 to 6.30pm  Everyone very formal here – glad I didn’t come in trainers… Inside to the theatre.  A glorious riot of gilt, cream and maroon – a very regal feel.  Very High Baroque (Asam brothers etc.).  Real armless chairs – I have a whizzo one, No. 72, DM41.  Royal box amazing: central, with huge drapes et al.   A real find – I tried first for the opera – “Ballo in Maschera” – but sold out.  I just hope Schnitzler’s dramatic prose equals that of his short stories.

In front of me one is confronted with the stage curtain, “Zwischenspiel” written thereon, a wind-up gramophone in front.  Hmm… (NB: there sill soon be kids who have never seen gramophones, or understand their principles…) 

Halftime.  Out with the throng as they rush to their Sekt and various raw meats.  An interesting experience.  I catch perhaps one sentence in 10 – but it is enough, and I shall definitely stay to find out what happens.  The story so far (cf. “A Life for the Tsar” in Moscow and “Le Donne Gelose” in Venice).  The composer Amadeus teeters on the brink of an affair with a singer (Friederike).  He has a long talk with his wife Cäcilie – another singer – and they part (though I dunno why she agrees).  He meets C. again some time later, and they seem to be getting back together… (?)

The German is lovely, though not very well projected, especially from downstage – the acoustics don’t help.  The direction rather static, but this is partly Schnitzler’s fault.  Like me, I fear, he’s a bit of a talker, not a virtue in drama.  Unlike Canada, some attractive bints here – with a characteristically hard look to many of them.  But what a contrast to Toronto… Acting generally feels high quality – and judging by the papers, there’s quite a lot of it – again, cf. Toronto…

10.11.90

I sit in the Hofgarten, under a gentle sun – we are leicht bewolkt – the air cool but pleasant.  Bustling Müncheners everywhere.  1.45pm strikes.  Selig?

I salved my conscience this morning by trolling along to the show for an hour or so.  But never before have I rubbed blisters from a show.  Then back to change, out to try to buy tickets for Vermeer at Herkulessaal (sold out), then along to St. Matthäus for a concert (on the door).  But it’s too pleasant now to do much except walk around.  I have had an odd lunch (ish) – roast chestnuts and dried bananas (à la Lakes).  Then along to the Ägyptische Sammlung – rather disappointing, small, nothing special.  For me the most exciting thing there was the map of Egypt, with all its evocative names.  Ah, "Egyptian Romance"….

Along to the Staatsgalerie for Kaffee and Kuchen.  Then: roomful of Kirchner – some quite nice.  Great Nolde: “Nordermühle” blazing orange and complementary greens and mauves.  Two good Kandinsky: one early, the other (abstract) later, but organically growing out of it.  A Max Beckmann I know well – “Still life with telescope” – but why?

Interesting effect in Dali’s “Apotheosis of Homer”: he put big gobs of paint on, lets them dry, then paints on them.  His ants only have four legs on some of his pix.  Magritte’s “Third dimension” – shows birds perched on the veins of a leaf – fractals…  “Sie können niemals wissen” – eerie pic of half human/half android…  Collection quite good, though upstairs is naff.  Also rather quiet.  The Tate et al. gain from the people.  Perhaps modern art is otherwise rather lonely.

Along afterwards to Die Neue Sammlung – exhibition of newspaper cartoons, happily fairly comprehensible, if only because the images were rather obvious [kids going by, shuffling their feet through the yellowing leaves – something I loved doing up Downs Road – and still love doing here and in Canada][I have been sitting for a while, trying to remember the Greek word for otherwise/altrimenti/autrement/sonst – αλλιώς?  These words – but I’m pleased how quickly my German seems to have come back.  Though last night I failed to grasp the ending of the play – I’ll have to read it when I return].

So now I sit in the Englischer Garten – named after its Capability Brown freeness, I suppose (ich vermute), the sun low and weak, sinking through the light cloud which has threatened all day, but mercifully held off.  People out walking in pairs, people playing with kids (but far fewer than in London), running with dogs, sitting and watching (like me).  

A few notes on this and that.  The river through the park is in some state of spate, roaring through.  Walking across the grass, I saw molehills – and immediately thought of the smell of anti-mole poison as smoked in by my father.  A lovely way to go, I always thought.  Other childhood smells: plasticine (a slightly rude, stinky smell), crayons.  Furs seem far more acceptable here than in the UK.  Half the world seems to be wearing glasses – all the trendy new shapes (that also look very old-fashioned, for obvious reasons).  People playing with frisbees – delighting in its simple grace – and the joy of catching it effortlessly.

Money begets beauty.  Not directly, but a wealthy city has far more attractive men and women than a poor one, if only because they are well-groomed and well-dressed.  Also noticeable is everyone eating out at lunchtime today – another sign of wealth.  On the U-bahn here, a man rubbing his daughter’s cheeks, quite hard, superficially in play, but it went beyond that.  The girl, eight or nine, also reacted to him in a very grown up way – not like a child.

The bells sounds with a quirky, deep-throated old-world clangour.  Only time can do this.  An AC/DC video on the TV: the ultimate Dionysian music for the 20th century.  Also the obligatory “erotic” programmes – even at the Sheraton.  Annoying how sex – of this rather laughably (but dangerously so) soft kind – has been normalised.

A lovely day today – and a week ago I was at the Niagara Falls.  Amazing.  The sun reddens to the right of the Dom’s towers (Dom closed for restoration).  Why do the words “tub of lard” keep going through my head?  All around me a few remaining trees with full foliage in various stages of turning.  Lovely smell of sap and leaves.  In the distance, a bloke practises juggling with Indian clubs (what a nice name for an object).

A long walk through the park, the temperature dropping now that the sun has disappeared.  U-bahn back to the hotel, where I put a jumpy on for the evening.  On the TV a programme about Computer Associates, narrated in that ultra-clear German accent – with lovely uvular fricatives – that I know so well from my previous Munich trip.

Which brings me on to something I have omitted to mention: that I recognise barely anything of Munich.  Marienplatz (just), Odeonplatz, the Staatsgalerie – but barely anything else.  It would seem that – like a baby – I had not evolved my full city mapping machinery.  Now when I visit somewhere, I soon lock in and retain its basic outline – as well as details (e.g. Torino rears up in my mind, even though I took just one early morning walk there).  Interesting.  But it also awakens a desire in me to visit München, um sie besser kennen zu lernen (Deutsch really is pulsing through the old Gehirn).  Not to mention Paris, Berlin, etc. – perhaps a weekend every month or two.  I think that "Egyptian Romance" will demand much of my time next year.  Also, I am pretty certain I’ll go to South America – therefore I must brush up my Spanish, therefore I must do Germany first, lest (μήπως) I become confused.

I am eating in a place just down from the Kaufhof at Marienplatz.  Like the Peterhof we ate in on Thursday night, it has a real buzz about it.  The Dirndl-skirted waitresses fit, as does the décor and the music.  Nudeln and ox soup to start (nice), some pork job to follow.  

Pork job was pretty gross (as was to be expected of German food): roast pork, boiled pork, pork sausages, pork dumplings (?) sauerkraut and tatties.  Some of the flavours distinctly odd – but surprisingly pleasant for being so.  I have not drunk beer since I was last in Munich (12 years ago), when I tasted two.  Given this is the centre of beer making, I almost wish I drank the stuff.  Perhaps I should try it?

11.11.90

Up late (I missed my alarm), checked out, on circuitously to the Alte Pinakothek.  I vaguely – but only vaguely – remember this.  Downstairs – lots of old German stuff that does very little for me.  Also an exhibition of early Italians – what a contrast – there seems so little humanity in the German by comparison.

Upstairs to the real stuff.  Mabuse’s beautiful “Danae and her golden shower”. Rogier van der Weyden’s wonderful Madonna painted by Luke, in a big triptych (the faces…).  Dieric Bouts – Christ’s face.  Altdorfer’s “Battle of Issus” – totally different shape from what I recall.

Of the main Rubens hall I still find his style overblown, if virtuosic.  However, I have a better appreciation of the lusciously endowed women of this period.  Wonderful series of Rembrandts – the tiny early self portrait, and the Biblical series.  I wonder what he saw in the darkness which surrounds the image?

To the cafeteria for a quick cake and coffee – the latter very Italian, tasty.  Once again, I find a Munich gallery good but rather unsatisfactory.  It doesn’t really hang together.  The National Gallery is far better balanced – but then Munich is not London.

Over to the Neue Pinakothek.  It is everything that the Alte Pinakothek isn’t: light, friendly, busy in the right way.  A few comments.  I must just note a masterpiece by a minor painter:  O. Achenbach’s “Italienischer Park” – the effects of light are gob-smacking – a beautiful Tiepolo pink, but so true it emphasises how rarely other pix achieve this justness.  Also “Don Quixote” by Daumier here, and very noticeable how utterly English Constable looks.  Beautiful metaphorical landscapes by Caspar David Friedrich.  Looks daft to see “Strasse in Upper Norwood” by Pissaro… Another pic I remember well: Segantini’s “Das Pflügen” – though before it was upstairs by a stairway (in the Alte Pinakothek?)

Along to the Staatliche Antikensammlungen.  I pass through an open space I have vague memories of: that of the Staatliche Antikensammlungen and the Glyptothek.  I remember things as grander, perhaps raised up more.  It looks more like Downing College…

Lovely and light inside.  Greek things now send a certain frisson through me.  The stone facing of the halls reminds me of Khufu’s tomb…  This place is beautiful, partly because it is so well designed.  The floors are black stone, the walls pitted and creamy, the chairs butterscotch – the perfect match and background for the red and white patterns. 

Downstairs, totally mind-blowing gold crown – so delicate and well preserved.  I don’t normally go a bundle on earrings, rings, bracelets, etc., but this lot is gob-smacking: I have never seen such workmanship – and from 700BC sometimes.  In fact, I’ve no idea even how some of it was done, the tiny weaving of gold braids together – these were hardly primitive civilisations.  This is quite simply the best collection – and display – of ancient treasures I have ever seen.

To the Glyptothek – a name that has been floating in my brain for 12 years.  Hall XI: a sea of bobbing Roman heads viewed from the ramp.  Magic.  All of them looking out to the courtyard, as if yearning for Rome…

Great use of the same blistered stone as a partial lintel.  Otherwise lightly whitewashed bricks.  Very cool spaces.  Perfect.  Amazing mosaic: not only does it have a Möbius strip, but also a portrait of Hitler…

Again, this really is the perfect example of how this museum should be done.  I sit now in the lively café – brill coffee and cheesecake, spoilt by the smokers around me.  I sit in a canvas and wood chair.  Selig again.  Very attractive women about – art certainly does it…

The Glyptothek reminds me of something out of Piranesi, of the yellow church by Sangallo outside Montepulciano (when was that…?).  High barrel vaults and Pantheon-like corner rooms – all very appropriate, perfectly classical, perfectly muted.  Collection well-spaced out as it should be.  People sketching, sitting on thoughtfully provided stools (canvas again).  Also a book showing how Eduardo Paolozzi and others exhibited here, stimulated by the works.  Great idea.  Should do in the UK.

Happily, this trip seems to have panned out well..  This is a great ending.  I have got the hang of Munich (only 12 years late), and discovered the Neue Pinakothek, the Antikensammlungen, and – vor allem – the great and glorious Glyptothek.

A fine Weston differential pulley hangs over the eaters, drinkers – and smokers.  Its massive coiled chains look almost alive.  But what is it used for? [The pull of the pulley…]  It is amazing how national characters linger.  A man next to me sports a monocle; elsewhere, I have seen many people in ankle-length leather coats – à la Gestapo. Surely this stuff is still loaded…

Once round as fond farewell, then outside into the gentle drizzle.  Across to the Propylaea, which reminds me of Dendera. To the U-bahn.

More destinations:

1989 Zürich 

1991 Berlin

1996 Vienna, Venice

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2023 Bilbao

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Programme began with George Walker – Lyric 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

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

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

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

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

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.

More destinations:

1991 Lisbon

2021 Gibraltar

2023 Barcelona 

Moody's Black Notebook Travels