Homeward bound

I arrived early at the bus terminal underneath Plaza de Colón. There was a woman already on a platform bench. At first I thought she was also headed for the airport; she was well dressed with a smart coat and mascara around her eyes. On a second look her legs were dirty and her shoes were dusty. She was mumbling to herself with a sad expression and was totally absorbed writing on a piece of paper which was completely covered with minuscule scribbles. I realised that she was mentally ill. I wondered how she came to be outdoors; maybe she had been sleepwalking; a mystery that I would never know the answer to.

At the airport there was a vast row of check-in counters. Mine was the first flight of the day and I was the first check-in. Some passengers looked like they had spent the night in the airport.

And so it was farewell to Spain for now. I would not be back until 2004 when I visited the Canary Islands, via Barcelona. Even with a month in hand, I had covered little ground. It's such a large, diverse country in landscape and cultures. Almost any statement about the Spanish that you could make, except that they live on the Iberian peninsula and Spanish is the most common language, will have many exceptions.

I was glad I took up Spanish; it opens doors not just in Spain but wherever their former empire extended to. A language that is second or third by number of speakers, depending on whether you count level 2 English speakers, is a valuable key. I am partial to the Spanish and their cultures. I admire their capacity for life. A history of an empire gained and lost has tempered idealism with pragmatism. I found them affable. One of the joys of travel is receiving kindness as a total stranger and having faith in the fundamental goodness of people affirmed. I like their sense of community; their we are in life together spirit. 

As I write this in 2013, the economic crisis gripping Europe has sorely strained their communal spirit, I hope not past breaking point. Sad stories of deprivation have emerged, such as the child who turned up at school announcing: I have a magic bocadillo from my mother, it's bread and bread, and I get to imagine what's inside. But there is also uplifting news, such as the groups in Santander that meet to teach each other skills to improve employment prospects. I reflect that the children I saw 20 years ago would be now having their prospects cruelled by over 50% youth unemployment.

Spain emerged on the world stage around the time a certain Cristóbal Colón arrived seeking sponsorship for his idea from Ferdinand and Isabella, when those Catholic Monarchs had united Spain. Centuries of exploitation of the New World followed, a resource boom if you like. Spain became too reliant on gold and silver flows. The colonies broke away in independence and the former master fell behind in the industrial age. After the horrors of civil war and repressive government, a democratic European nation emerged. But in the rush to catch up with the rest of Europe speculation bubbles developed. I was reminded by my travel diary that I had been there during a time of high unemployment. The recent financial crisis, deeper than the one in 1993, was caused by a construction bubble and regional government spending on white elephants. The central government had been fiscally responsible, but had to bailout the banks and the regions, which have a high degree of autonomy to cater for the diverse communities that are collectively called Spain.

We arrived a half hour early in Amsterdam due to a tail wind. There were new F and G terminals with duty free shops. I nibbled on free samples that had been laid out: ginger cake, almond biscuits, chocolates, and smoked almonds. I bought 4 more CDs to use up Dutch money and put the remainder in a charity box.

The KLM plane was The City of Nairobi, a name redolent of an earlier age of sea journeys. I decided to fight off sleepiness for 5 more hours to help the timezone jump. Even the mealtimes had been adjusted to be closer to the times at the destination.

The return was uneventful. There was a stopover at Bangkok with a change of cabin crew though a few stayed on to spend time in Sydney or Melbourne. And there was no domestic disaster like a fire or flooding awaiting me at home, despite my anxiety. Life returned to normal and I began plotting the next trip.

Last day in Spain

Today's the day to tie up all the loose ends. As it was Saturday I went to the Rastro (flea market) just in case there were any interesting goods and to pass time. It was non-existent or I was too early. Parque de Oeste was also sparsely attended, just a few people with kids or dogs. Maybe the majority were sleeping off Friday night festivities. There was a rose garden which was fragrant, but I feel that just one genus is boring. I found the dictionaries I wanted at El Corte Inglés. I also bought a jigsaw puzzle as a present, though I have forgotten to whom I gave it.

Late in the evening, I went to Café Central to listen to Tomas San Miguel and Friends. I didn't know who he was, but I discovered later that he is a well-known composer and keyboardist. The music was beautiful, and had a new age or ethnic feel. I now realise that the "lovely percussion work on metal rods and wooden beams" I wrote about must have been the txalaparta, of Basque origin. It seems to have experienced a revival and there are many virtuoso players now. If one of them ever holds a concert here, I'm attending.

It was past midnight when the concert ended. I got my key deposit back from the hostal before going to my room as I would be leaving before daybreak. I stayed up reading Umberto Eco until it was time to leave for the airport, just before 4 am.

Toledo

There were two choices for a day trip out of Madrid, Toledo or Ávila. For better or worse, I picked the former. After a breakfast of cafe con leche and an ensaïmada, I caught a train from Madrid Atocha to Toledo, a distance of about 80 km. It was a hot and sunny day.

The Alcázar is the most imposing building in Toledo. It gained fame when the nationalists held it against adverse odds during the Spanish Civil War. Today it's a military museum and has displays of armour and such.

The gothic cathedral is another sight of Toledo. It's rich in art treasures, including many by El Greco, who lived in Toledo for the last part of his life.

There were swarms of schoolkids in the cathedral, probably on excursions. The gothic arches were magnificent, but by this time I was suffering from religious building overdose. Basta ya de catedrales, I thought to myself.

Toledo was full of young tourists from all over, ticking off this city on their checklist. One still had the luggage tags on his backpack and wore sunglasses. He couldn't have labelled himself TOURIST more blatantly even if he had worn a T-shirt with that on it.

I found the streets where the locals lived and shopped more interesting.

There wasn't anything else I wanted to see so I caught the train back before lunch. I thought that the regional train was more comfortable than the express because it wasn't airconditioned and therefore breezier.

After a bocadillo snack and a siesta, I found a Cuba Festival in progress in the plaza, but the queues were long. And anyway I was headed for a screening of Rancho Notorious, another in the Fritz Lang festival, featuring Marlene Dietrich. Lots of twists in the story; a great director.

When I emerged I looked for a Mexican restaurant on Gran Via but it didn't look promising. In the end I selected Hamil, a Korean restaurant. They served a good meal of miso soup and grilled meat. It felt strange speaking Spanish with another Asian.

Then it was back to the cinema for the late late session, this time for an Atom Egoyan film, The Adjuster. His films have great visuals and intriguing scripts but often express despair in the human condition.

There was still a lot of people out on Gran Via at 0240 as I walked back to the hostal.

Madrid 5

From the train I saw deer in a park as we approached Madrid. We arrived at 0700. Estación Chamartin was new and shiny. I caught the metro to Sol and had breakfast in a bar before leaving my bag at the Lucense. The concierge, the mother, was sleepy as it was only around 8. It was still too early to call KLM to reconfirm my ticket. It was a cold and rainy morning. Where to sit down? Even Maccas wasn't open until 1030. I went to the Museo de Jamon and had another breakfast. There I chatted with a Belgian couple. They were in a group of 10 from Flanders. It seemed that one of the women had been robbed by a thief who followed her into the hotel. They blamed unemployment and drugs.

At 1000 I went to the Museo Reina Sofia. Guernica, Picasso's protest against the killing of innocent civilians by the aerial bombing of the eponymous Basque village, is a physically imposing painting at 7.8 x 3.5 metres. It's behind bullet-proof glass. A note mentions that Picasso worked on it between 1 May and 7 July 1937. There was no place in the room to sit and contemplate the painting. Besides Picasso, Dalí is also well represented at the Reina Sofia. I noted that the outlines of figures in his works glow. He is best known for his modern art, but was also a competent portrait painter.

By this time the sun was out but it was still cool and windy. I went back to have a siesta. In the afternoon I had time on my hands so I sat in the Retiro watching the world go past and eating pipas. Pigeons ate pipas whole but what could a sparrow do with a whole huge pipa I wondered. There was a bunch of black feral cats roaming. This late in the trip I was suffering from homesickness and feelings of cynicism. Madrid was dirty, busy, and impersonal, but there was no doubt that there was a lot going on.

That evening I finally managed to find a serving of horchata, something the guide book said to try. It was pleasant and vaguely reminiscent of almond drink. I wouldn't hesitate to have it again. With the benefit of Wikipedia today, I see that the main ingredient is chufa, from Valencia. I rounded off the evening with a film at the Cine Dore, Man Hunt, made in 1941 by Fritz Lang. It was a wartime thriller but unfortunately had propaganda thrown in due to the times it was made in.

San Sebastián 3

I would be taking an overnight train, the only one for the trip, so I would have no place to siesta. After breakfast in the comedor, I visited the Mercado de San Martin, where I bought pipas. I sat on a bench at the promenade and ate them, feeding the pigeons some. Two Australian girls walked past and I realised this only after I saw the flags sewn on their backpacks. I hesitated so lost them.

I walked around the base of Monte Urgull and visited the other market, Mercado de la Bretxa, where I got ¼ kg of cherries. It was late morning so I returned to the pension, had a shower and packed. While I was dressing police sirens screamed. A small demonstration had begun. Apparently a youth in Irun, on the French border, had been hurt by police.

I carried my backpack to the main building and decided to read in the comedor until the hostilities blew over. It was on the second or third floor, as I recall, so I had an overview of street. Youths with handkerchiefs over their mouth threw rocks at the police vehicles. The police charged. The youths retreated into an alley. The police stayed at the end of the alley with perspex shields and gas cannister launchers. Eventually the police left and the youths peered out of the alleyway before dispersing. The intriguing thing was that the townsfolk walked past the alley entrance as if nothing unusual was happening.

The pension owner was unfazed by all of this. I asked him about a hole in a window pane. Si, roto por una manifestación, he said in annoyance.

The lunch was fantastic. We were served a tomato, potato, peas and egg salad, followed by a pork cutlet with cheese and ham. While we were eating, an explosion was heard from the market area. Youths had hurled rocks and Molotov cocktails. The police charged and the demonstrators retreated. They went back and forth a few times until calling it quits for the day. We finished our lunch in peace with a banana desert. I had to admit to frisson from witnessing my first street demonstration.

I left my backpack and went back to the beach. There I bumped into the Aussie girls again, K and B, from Melbourne and Perth respectively. They had met in Paris and decided on a quick trip down to Spain. We chatted and walked up Urgull then had beers in a bar. I gave them the maps and tourist info I had on San Sebastián. They invited me to share a pasta dinner with them at the youth hostel. We bought groceries at a supermarket before catching the bus. At the stand we met S and C, a Kansas girl and a Canadian respectively. They were taking the same night train I was. We chatted over beer, chips and pâte in the common room, then moved to the kitchen for dinner. It was steamy there from the cooking. The conversation ranged seamlessly from Australia to beer to music to education to travel to pop music to TV shows. Nearby was a Basque teacher with her young charges. It was fascinating to hear Basque spoken.

Around 2030 I collected my backpack from the pension where the owner teased me: ¡estas vivo! S and C were already at the station when I arrived. There were heaps of backpackers going through San Sebastián enroute to Barcelona or Madrid as it is one of two major railway routes into Spain.

It was a bit uncomfortable sleeping in the couchette in my street clothes. The pillow was tiny so I used my jacket to prop it. And so the train trundled into the night for the last leg of my Spanish odyssey.

San Sebastián 2 – Igueldo

For lunch I went to the barrio of Gros where a bit of searching turned up a place serving a menu del dia, which was a merluza dish, accompanied by a glass of white wine. After the siesta, it was raining again, so I went to the CD store and bought a handful of CDs. I hoped I had enough pesetas left for the last few days. I walked past the Teatro Victoria Eugenia. There were people lining up for the theatre. Nothing of interest. At this point the skies suddenly cleared. The weather here was fickle, you had to take advantage of breaks quickly.

I caught a bus to the base of Igueldo, the other hill that flanks the bay on the west, and walked up the road, passing expensive houses and tennis courts. It was not as strenuous as going up Urgull. The visibility was good and I wondered if the distant coast was France.

As with Urgull, there was a good panoramic view of La Concha. There were youths at the base and also near the top, near cars with stereos blaring away. A couple was necking in a car. Nobody took notice of me so I didn't feel out of place.

I watched a couple of cars race up the hill; it seemed to be a local sport. Other traffic on the access road included motorcycles and scooters.

The air was humid, yet skin dried quickly, perhaps due to the breeze. I returned to the promenade where colours were desaturating and shifting towards the purple end of the spectrum. A frisky alsatian was playing on the beach.

By this time it was around 2200 and the globes on the promenade were lit. I found a pizzeria where I was served the best pizza of the whole trip, with large prawns, shellfish and tuna. Worth every peseta of the splurge. The cappuccino was not Australian style; the milk was not steamed.

I was still the only guest in the annex. I read into the small hours. By 0200 cats were wailing in the alleys and garbage collectors were clinking bottles. I didn't mind staying up as I was trying to preadjust to the forthcoming timezone jump.

San Sebastián 2 – Two palaces

I woke early so I wrote a couple of postcards to pass time until breakfast. Skies were cloudy and drippy. Breakfast in the comedor was bountiful. The owner kept pouring coffee for me but I really wanted more milk. Going to be a bouncy day.

At the BBVA (Bank of Bilbao Vizcaya) I cashed some travellers cheques. This late in the trip meant that I would have to spend more of it to not end up holding too many pesetas on exit. I noted that most banks, but especially Banco Central, had thick iron bars on windows and doors against attack. But not BBVA, a Basque bank. At the train station I bought a sleeper ticket to Madrid for the following night. I was asked if I wanted to pay con metalico. I guessed that this meant paying in cash, as opposed to, of course, con plastico.

I caught a bus to Palacio Aiete, which was the summer residence of Isabel II and her retinue. You might wonder why in those days Spaniards would head north for summer, given that nowadays people head for the beach in summer, viz the Mediterranean coast. The reason is of course the searing heat of inland Spain during summer made them head for cooler climes.

I met an English mother and son in the gardens. He was teaching at the university and she was on a short visit. They were feeding the ducks and geese at a pond. One duckling tried to make a dash for freedom but was rounded up by the mother. There was a statue of a begging dog. I didn't know whether it was a likeness of Isabel II's dog.

There were peaceful forest paths with birdsong. I thought of the Debussy piece Jardins Sous La Pluie.

Still, here in the winter it rains a lot and the mercury drops to single digits Celsius. I imagine there would also be mist and wind from the Bay of Biscay so there are drawbacks to San Sebastián.

I walked down to Palacio de Miramar. As the name suggests, this has a view of the sea and is in fact a bayside hotel. There was some kind of orthodontic conference going on, thus the well dressed people. The esplanade was being restored partly with funding from BBVA.

The water was calm and clear green, but as it was only 20C, overcast and humid, only a few hardy souls were in the water. Most of the visitors were strolling at the water's edge.

I would have liked to sit and relax, but due to the recent rain there were no dry benches.

The island in the middle of the bay is Santa Clara Island.

I wouldn't be surprised if these houses have million dollar views.

A recent photo on the web shows that this clock and barometer are fortunately still there, although the waterfront area has acquired more apartment blocks since my visit. It was too good to last.

To be continued after lunch.

San Sebastián 1

The day started off sunny with traces of clouds on the horizon. The bus was fairly full with passengers from points west. The driver put on a rock muzak station. It took a while to leave the industrial suburbs of Santander as traffic was heavy. We passed a bridge on the bay that I had glimpsed from the boat the day before. The mountains were to our right as we headed east on the divided highway on this strip of Green Spain.

It was only 100 km to Bilbao but it was slow going because of the traffic. At one point we were stuck behind a slow smoke-belching beer truck. The small town of Laredo had an enticing crescent beach. (A search today shows that it is indeed a vacation destination.) About 20 km out of Bilbao we crossed into the Basque country. A nationalist had crossed out the a to give Bilbo, the Basque spelling. Bilbo looked like a grimy industrial city, the air was hazy, though it was probably the day's weather and not pollution. In a petrochemical complex they were flaring off gas. (The Guggenheim wouldn't be completed until 1997.) Bilbo is flanked by mountains, so the highway straddled valleys with flyovers and spans. There were convoluted ramps and exchanges. Wire mesh covered the faces of cuttings to forestall rock falls. The SOS phones at regular intervals were solar powered. There was a 1.3 km long tunnel just outside the city. I noted that a military barrack was well secured, as personnel are subject to ETA attacks.

Between Bilbo and San Sebastián the highway headed inland through coniferous forests, some in stands and some covering entire hillsides. In places the terrain required the east and west lanes to part. Timber framed houses appeared here and there. At a toll point, the driver paid with a swipe card. The skies turned overcast then it rained. Approaching the city I glimpsed the huge statue of Christ on Monte Urgull. San Sebastián is situated in the attractive bay of La Concha.

At the tourist office they gave me an excellent map. The owner of the second pension I asked was very friendly so I took the room. I also took the lunch that was served in the comedor. This was the only accommodation I used in Spain that had a restaurant. The serving was huge. The owner said he would put me in the annex so I left my backpack in the main building and went for a walk. I needed to cash some travellers cheques, but the banks were closed for the afternoon. It was a warm and very humid day, outside thermometers showed 30C.

When I returned from my walk the cheery owner took me to the annex. It looked like I was the only resident there that night. After the siesta, I found the markets where I stocked up on strawberries, cherries and apples. The vendor wanted the last peseta; frugal people lived here. After a detour to the pension to wash the fruit, I walked up Monte Urgull. The land had been neglected and allowed to turn wild, though not vandalised. After a strenuous climb I reached a vantage point where I could take in the whole bay.

There was a small cemetery for English soldiers who had fought with the Spanish against Napoleon in the Carlist Wars. The fortress lost military importance after the development of San Sebastián as a tourist resort and now the city owns it as a recreational area.

I found a viewing area and ate my strawberries and cherries with a fantastic view of La Concha spread out below me. Ladybugs flitted in the air. There was a lady with her dog, looking over the ledge. After a while, I stirred myself to walk up to the fort. The statue of Christ was undergoing restoration. I was alone there, save for an old man and two youths.

The mountains to the south formed a magnificent backdrop for San Sebastián. A cyclist arrived at the lookout, had his fill of the scenery, then exited via a dark stairway. At the bottom of the path were groups of feral cats. One was rummaging in a garbage can. They were skittish and wary of humans. They watched passing dogs dispassionately. The cats and dogs probably knew each other well.

Back at sea level in the city, I hoped there might be a seafood outlet at the marina, but not so. I walked through the old town. The idea of standing at a bar with a beer and ración didn't appeal to me so I finally settled for a plato combinado.

I spotted a CD shop with a good selection of jazz so I made a note to come back for some final purchases before leaving Spain.

I was the only guest in the dark annex that night. I stopped believing in ghosts long ago, but it felt spooky to read Foucault's Pendulum in such surroundings. Travel is like leading a second life and reading a esoteric book takes you into yet another world. Most discombobulating.

Santander 2 – Sunday afternoon

Seafood is excellent in the Atlantic provinces of Spain and I wasn't about to miss a chance to sample it. It was a fair walk back to the city centre, and thence to the bayside Barrio Pesquero (Fishermen's Quarter). Families just out from church services were there. Paella pans had been set up on the sidewalk, sending enticing aromas into the air. There were a lot of choices for establishments, some of them beyond my means. Eventually I settled for a menu de la casa which consisted of sopa de pescados (fish soup), chipirones encebolladas (squid with onion), accompanied by wine and finishing off with a helado (ice cream). It was yummy. I was a bit woozy from the alcohol so I caught a bus back to the pension.

In the evening, I boarded a harbour cruise. It was a warm evening and the earlier overcast weather had dissipated. The blue sky contrasted with the aquamarine water. Heladerias and helado stands were doing a roaring business. I grabbed a sweet pastry, nothing special, for the sugar lift as dinner would be late. The Spanish buy a lot of sugar-free chewing gum. Mouth exercise, when not talking, without the sugar, hahaha.

Some of the passengers had name tags; Latter Day Saints on an outing? There were passengers from Asturias (the next autonomous community to the west). They were friendly, good natured and pleased to respond to visitors, especially Spanish speaking ones, but were dignified and reserved when you did not engage them in conversation.

The oblique light of the evening gave shape and texture to the land and water. I enjoy cruises. You really feel like you have made a journey, unlike sterile airplane journeys where the destination airport is similar to the one you left. In a philosophical mood, I wondered what lies on the other bank of the Styx. Would we discover that, as in waking from a dream, everything in life seemed to make sense but was really nonsense?

I elected not to disembark at the other side of the bay to explore, which was fortunate, because on the return passage the wind blew up suddenly from the south, churning up waves in the bay. There didn't seem to be much to see on the eastern side of the bay; the cruise was for its own sake.

In the evening I had dinner of fabada (beans, a regional speciality) with merluza (hake) at Cevejaria Santander. The TV had a game show on called Pesame Mucho (Weigh me a lot). I groaned when I recognised the awful pun on the renowned love song Besame Mucho (Kiss me a lot). As far as I could tell, contestants had to guess each other's weight.

Many city buildings were floodlit and this ghostly looking edifice isn't an image from the afterlife but the Palacete del Embarcadero, from 1920, originally for embarcations, now used for exhibitions and conferences.

From the newspaper: 1.2 millon tonnes of oranges and lemons had been destroyed to maintain prices at a cost of 20 pesetas per kilo destroyed.

Santander 2 – Sunday morning

An overcast day with diffuse sunshine but pleasant temperatures. I'm taking a long walk along the city beach as well as the one facing the Bay of Biscay. Santander faces southeast even though it's on the north coast of Spain due to the curve of its harbour. The beach was orange brown. Volleyball players and joggers were making use of it. The tide was out and there was no surf.

An alsatian had his paws over the ledge of the top of a restaurant, barking wistfully at passing people and other dogs. Couples and old folks were just some of the people out enjoying a Sunday walk. There were also bunches of cyclists doing their rounds. With only the sounds of the waves and the occasional football whistle reaching me, it was a relaxing way to defocus.

I bought some pipas (sunflower seeds) out of curiosity and to blend in better. There was a rhyming triplet on the packet: Y dijó el toro al morir / Siento deja este mundo / Sin probar pipas Facundo (And said the bull when dying / Tis a pity to leave this world / Without trying Facundo's pipas).

I stopped to watch competing palas (scoop) teams on the beach. The ball was played using a scoop strapped to one arm. The scoop is used to catch the ball and return it in one fluid motion. The high speed of the ball was quite scary. The game seems to be a variant of Basque pelota.

There is a casino behind the beach at Sardinero. In the picture are Sunday cyclists at the Plaza de Italia.

This beachside Restaurante Rhin is also near the plaza.

The western headland, La Magdalena, is a recreational area. It has a small municipal zoo with lions, separated from people by moats.

Penguins, in their enclosure, not visible in the photo.

There were other residents such as sea lions, seals and polar bears.

These galleons were used by the 20th century Cantabrian mariner Vital Alsar Ramírez in his explorations.

A team of mountaineers was practising scaling a wall.

This is probably Isla de Mouro with its lighthouse at the entrance to the harbour.

(To be continued, starting with a seafood lunch.)