Bilbao or Bust

We left Belfast on Monday night, September 30th. We stayed in the harbor for three nights before spending my birthday at sea on the way to Brest, France. The start of less than auspicious, as our water was turned off. No washing and no toilets. To compound the difficulties, our day in Brest was a total disappointment as we were forced to stay on the ship. I had agreed with Dusty that if we were not allowed to go ashore at our next port, we would quit this altogether.

As we departed on what would be another full day at sea on our way to Bilbao, Spain, we had no idea that the black and grey water problems that had haunted us in Belfast had continued and had not been removed from the ship while we were in Brest. There was talk about work not being done on Saturday, being at the wrong kind of dock, and not having paperwork due to our last-minute change in destination-- in short, a clown show. That all made no difference when, once again, we were told that water would be off for an extended period.

The mood on the ship was pretty somber. Dusty gave me that look again. "What are we doing here?" was what I read. I really didn't want to ask her to tell me out loud because I was starting to have a hard time coming up with an answer.

I spent some time up in the observation lounge watching out over the front of the ship as the wind drove waves into the bow. I ran into Andy, and we took a few fast laps around the quarter-mile promenade deck to pass some time and get some exercise. In an effort to lift our spirits, we went out onto the very front of the deck to take some pictures and mess around with dramatic poses, tinged with a liberal helping of melodrama, fighting the raging seas.

When I went back up to the Observation Lounge on my own, I had sat for about fifteen minutes when Maria, the keyboard player from the ship, came in and asked if she was in the right place. I told her that she was scheduled to play there, but I was the only one present at the time. We talked a bit and agreed that since she enjoyed playing the piano, she should just take time to play what made her happy, and that I would love to listen. She played a couple of pieces that she had written. She sang the words in Filipino (Tagalog) ? and then again in English. One was a heartbreak song, like so many are. It was autobiographical, and there was a short explanation about the boy who broke her heart. I felt privileged to listen.

Several more people came in, Michael and Cheri. I had gotten to know them a bit and enjoyed seeing them dance and the YouTube posts that he created. https://youtube.com/@believesailing

With a few people in the lounge, Maria fell into her entertainer mode and soon was performing Elvis and Lady Gaga material. When she asked for someone to sing with her, I obliged, as much to cheer myself up as to support her upbeat efforts at improving ship morale. Sometimes I can sing pretty well. This was not one of those times, but I made the effort. Sometimes the effort is what matters. At least I keep trying. At a lot of things.

At dinner, Dusty selected a seat where the setting sun would not get in our eyes. There were clouds and patches of blue here and there. At some point during our meal, she looked out and said she saw a bit of a rainbow. When I turned, I could see just the last bit of one reaching down to touch the blue-grey waters of the Bay of Biscay. I was up out of my seat to step outside for a better look. With my phone in hand, I took a couple of shots with the hope that this may be a sign of hope. Maybe better things to come.

With that little prayer in my heart, I went back in to finish dinner when everyone started to look and point outside. Our little sliver of a rainbow had grown into a neon-bright double rainbow. As the sun was setting, the arch grew higher (as the rules of refraction dictate), and we were being treated to a light show on both sides of the ship.

To the port was the full spectrum of visible light bent out over the water, while on the starboard was the spectacle of reds and oranges reflecting off the scattered clouds that sunset worshippers live for. The optimist in me grabbed onto the symbolism of the moment like a drowning man.

Wind and rain took us through the night and met us in Bilbao the following morning. We were also met dockside by two huge tanker trucks. I guess that our water issues would finally be addressed. This may not be a good day for sightseeing, but we definitely planned on going ashore. After a bit of chatter online, several of us agreed that going to Costco was a way to get off the ship and resupply some necessities. Steve and Doris were in. Andy and Dusty argued for a while about who would stay and who would go, since a cab would be needed and fitting five adults plus Costco booty would be impossible. Dusty finally insisted that Andy go and there is no arguing with Dusty when she says that it's final.

Doris had her three-wheel cart, which could carry a bit of stuff, while Annie and I both had our backpacks to help consolidate whatever we got. Steve had never been to a Costco since he was from Australia and was in for a treat. I used the Uber app to request a ride, and it said a cab would be three euros less, so I opted for that. Five minutes later, the app said it was still trying to find a cab, so I cancelled and went for an Uber.

The driver was a sweet young lady who had immigrated from Morocco and spoke English well, but Spanish even better. When we started chatting about the ship with the three-year cruise, she was quite interested, and I got a bit of teasing from Wagga Steve about showing off my Spanish. All in good fun. The fifteen-minute ride had cost about twenty euros, but taking the metro would have taken nearly an hour and been a nightmare carrying all the stuff we were about to get at Costco.

Inside the store, we quickly separated, but ended up with much the same thing: a lot of booze. In my case, a four-pack of Spanish wines packed in a nice wooden box, and a local one that I had never heard of before: Txakoli. It sounded interesting. Slightly dry, mildly effervescent, with a history of local production for the masses going back over five hundred years. About five euros. Sure, I'll give it a try! I also wanted to find something for Dusty. She had asked me to get some toothpaste, but... Really? I had to find her something nice. Chocolate came to mind, but the ones I found were mundane, or just big packs of the same old same old. Then I saw the big gold box with a ribbon around it, just like the Costco in Iceland. There was the Belgian chocolate gift pack. Dusty deserved a gift. Done and done. Wine and chocolate (and toothpaste) and I was finished.

We met at the front of Costco and compared our hauls. Impressed with each other's good taste, we worked the checkout and made our way to the cement slabs that passed for benches in front of the big box store. My phone was quickly in hand, hoping to have better luck purchasing a cab ride for under twenty euros for the return trip to the ship. The same price came up for the cab as before, about seventeen euros. This time, Uber was showing thirty-five euros. I decided to roll the dice and submit the request. Ten minutes later, the app said no cabs were available. I tried Uber, which now showed seventy-five euros. Holy crap! I could see their algorithm for pricing had kicked in based on demand. It was time for one more gamble, and it was not a gamble that this motley senior crew could manage the metro. I tried getting out and back into the app and got an offer of sixty euros this time. I bit the bullet with both Spanish and English swear words going through my mind.

When the black Toyota Camry rolled up, the lady driver got out and looked at us. She started waving her hands back and forth, saying that we would never fit! She underestimated our determination and skills at space management. In less than a minute, we had packed Doris' hand cart plus all our precious cargo into the trunk of the car and squeezed our butts inside.

Our driver, Sonia Maria, was closer to our age than our first driver. When we told her about the ship and the three years of travel, she quickly saw herself in our shoes. We informed her that many people were still working from the ship, but none were Uber drivers. Some skills did not translate well to the work-from-home concept adopted by many of our fellow travelers. After discussing the costs of rent, food, transportation, and such, she understood the appeal of what we were doing. She drove us past the guard shed at the terminal and dropped us off. She gave each of us a hug and wished us well on our journey forward. The disappointment of the weather and transportation frustration was melting away in the real-life experience of being there and sharing the adventure.

The next day dawned bright and blue. My mood was better as we finally had excursion plans for the day. We would take the shuttle bus to the metro from the port city of Getxo into the destination city of Bilbao. The Guggenheim was there and would be an iconic landmark to mark our embarkation on true world travels. Alan, a friend from the ship, had taken the metro the day before and would help us get started. He had a ticket to view the artwork in the Guggenheim at 11:00 and suggested we all take the 10:00 bus to get on our way. Paulie, another friend, was a serious foodie and recommended Mercado de La Ribera as a stop for pintxos (North Spanish Tapas) and to see the fresh foods of the market.

Most plans need to be flexible, and that was the case for the day. There were about twenty of us from the Odyssey who planned to take that bus to the metro that day. When we got to the Metro station, Doris, from the day before, was with us and had her same three-wheeled cart for stability and to carry stuff. Dusty and I slowed down a bit to help her out and fell back in the group. By the time we had all purchased our metro tickets, the first train had arrived and left with most of our group. About seven minutes later, another train came along, and I was trying to make sure that we got to the right station about thirty minutes away.

A sweet older woman across from me either started the conversation, or I did. We chatted, in Spanish, about what we were doing and where we were going. She made sure that we were quite clear about where to get off and how to go on to the museum on the other end. My faith in humanity took another step forward.

After about twenty stops, we exited at the Neguri station along with dozens of others. Most went to the stairway on the right, but I already knew that an elevator was going to be our safest bet. To the left, I saw a few people with strollers getting onto one and worked our way over there. It was a small space with others waiting to get on, so I told Dusty to stay with Doris, and I would meet them at the top.

I started to wonder if I had made a mistake as the stairway led to a hallway with a fork in the tunnels. One sign said Guggenheim, so I chose that one, even though it took me further away from the elevator shaft. Another escalator, and I was ascending to the plexiglass dome that covered the metro entrance.

Old European buildings surrounded me, and a huge roundabout was in front of me. In the center of the roundabout was what a small town would call a park: trees and flowers surrounding a central fountain with cobblestone walkways throughout. After about ten seconds of that, I reoriented myself to where I thought the elevator would have come up, and sure enough, there it was. Across the street to the left and behind me was an oversized telephone booth structure with a sign on top that said "Metro" on it.

Dusty and Doris were just coming out as I waved with much relief at not having lost them. They crossed the street to join me, and I consulted my phone to get us oriented toward our first stop for the day, The Guggenheim Museum. It happened to be on the other side of the fabulous fountain/square/park/roundabout that had caught my eye, so we would be forced to go through it and maybe take a few pictures. I was really feeling the urge to travel. It seemed that both my travel companions were enjoying it as well. Dusty was grinning as she took in the sights, and Doris appeared genuinely happy to be there too. Who wouldn't be? This was a gorgeous day in a stunning location. There was so much to see, hear, smell, and experience that it was going to take some time for my senses to settle down and do what I had promised myself months before: be present in the moment.

After spending some time at the center of the mini-park, I looked down the roads in each direction. A white spire caught my eye, standing out against the bright blue sky, with the buildings on either side of the avenue focusing on it as if daring you not to look. The cones of the little trees in the park echoed the shape of the spire as the life of the city moved against the still life of nature and architecture.

I came back to the plan for the day of walking to the Guggenheim Museum and asked my phone which way we should walk now that the three of us were alone in Bilbao. The blue dot was me and the little fan of color that moved when I moved the phone said that it was down that street and to the right. I took the lead, and we crossed the roundabout onto the carefully laid bricks and tiles that made up the sidewalk, which would have been nothing more than concrete in a less artistic and historic city.

A few blocks later, I realized that the little blue dot was not going the right way, and we would be forced to change direction a bit. This would require us to go through a large city park on our way to the museum. Well, if we had to.

It was just a few amazing old buildings and a couple more statues and monuments before the bow of a bright silver ship thrust up into our view: the unmistakable stainless steel curves and points of the Guggenheim Museum.

The building drew plenty of attention to itself as it was framed between green lawns in front of it and the river that divided the new city from the old behind.

After moving around to get a few shots from our approach, the three of us went inside. We had not reserved a time to see the artwork and were satisfied to just see the building and the large pieces outside that hinted at what could be behind the shiny curved walls. Doris wanted to pick up a few things, and while she and Dusty roamed about, I managed to run into Andy and Alicia, with whom we had been hanging out for some time now. With all of us planning to go to the market, we agreed to try and meet up there a bit later for some pintxos (tapas) and to share stories.

Outside the museum, we made our way down a long stone ramp to the riverfront, where walkers, vendors, and artwork occupied the scene. Consulting my phone again, I could see it would be a bit over a mile to the market, and we would pass several bridges along the way. The first was high above the river and required going up about four stories of stairs to get to the main span. This was not the bridge to bring Doris, with her little tricycle pushcart, and Dusty, with her dislike of stairs. We could see lower bridges further along and planned to make use of one of those when we got there.

By the time we crossed the bridge into the old city, Doris was beginning, or maybe well into, exhaustion. She asked how much further, and "close" would not be the right answer. It was about 300 meters more, and we found a chair to rest for a bit near the cathedral. We were now in the narrow alleys and old stone buildings of pre-American construction. The three-headed lion fountain had the date MDCCC, only a bit after our revolution.

Doris mustered the energy to make the final dash/walk to the La Ribera Market. Inside and up the stairs to the right was the area with little stalls serving food. There were tables and chairs where dozens of people were eating and drinking with the nonchalance of true locals. I hoped I could find their pace of life in due time. This was where Doris found her chair and table and snack and rest. We contacted Andy and Alicia to let them know we would meet them at the same spot.

Downstairs were the actual market stalls. Meat, fish, and everything that you could possibly eat were laid out in row after row of delicious freshness. The pictures kind of speak for themselves.

Outside, there were at least a dozen people from our ship sitting with snacks and drinks, looking across the river at the rows of colorful houses.

About the time that Andy and Alicia got there, Dusty and I sat down to try some sweet treats with a glass of sangria in Heineken glasses. Alicia was about as tired from walking as Doris was. They agreed to catch a taxi back to the ship instead of walking. Dusty said that she was ready to make the walk back with me and Andy.

The return walk was made at a brisker pace, with Andy providing a fair bit of banter along the way. I guess I did my fair share as well. But it was his idea to stop at the rubber ducky store on the way back to pick up the metro.

He and Dusty went ahead of me more than once while I would stop to take a picture. At one point, the sound of an acoustic guitar playing Spanish music echoing off the walls of the old city stopped me in my tracks. I had to take a moment to appreciate just how real the moment was.

All good things must come to an end. And this had been a good thing. We made the metro just in time to catch the last bus going to the ship.

And the next day we would be in Gijón. And we would not get off there due to tide issues, a nearby storm, and the slope of the gangway. But we had gotten off in Bilbao. They had earned a little grace from me to stay on and see how things would turn out. I won't be writing about Gijón, but will pick up again a few days later in Lisbon, Portugal. Spoiler alert... Yes. We got to get off the ship in Lisbon and it was worth it.