Tales of Bilbao by Bilbao Turismo

TALES OF

BILBAO LET’S TALK ‘BILBAINO’ A BRIDGE OVER THE HEART SECRETS OF MARKETS AND MINES A ‘TXIKITO’ ENCHANTED PALACE THE ‘ARRIAGA’ AND ITS GHOSTS THE BILBAO SCRIBBLE LAND OF THE LIME TREE OF STEPS, BRIDGES AND PASSAGEWAYS ‘PUPPY’ AND THE TITANIUM GIANT ‘MUS’ IN TIMES OF WAR THE HOUSE OF LEGENDS TASTE OF BILBAO

ARTXANDA

TALES OF

BILBAO

Edition: 2014 © Bilbao City Council Publication and coordination: Bilbao City Council Plaza Ernesto Erkoreka, 1. 48007 Bilbao Texts: Jon Uriarte Lauzirika Photographs: Bilbao City Council Translation: Bitez® SL Printed by: Grafo, S.A. Legal Deposit: BI-1235-2014

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LET’S TALK ‘BILBAINO’ 1 A BRIDGE OVER THE HEART 2 SECRETS OF MARKETS AND MINES 3 A ‘TXIKITO’ ENCHANTED PALACE 4 THE ‘ARRIAGA’ AND ITS GHOSTS 5 THE BILBAO SCRIBBLE 6 LAND OF THE LIME TREE 7 OF STEPS, BRIDGES AND PASSAGEWAYS 8 ‘PUPPY’ AND THE TITANIUM GIANT 9 ‘MUS’ IN TIMES OF WAR 10 THE HOUSE OF LEGENDS TASTE OF BILBAO

PRACTICAL INFORMATION Tourism in Bilbao: www.bilbaoturismo.net Tourism in Bizkaia: www.mybilbaobizkaia.net Tourism in the Basque Country: www.turismo.euskadi.net

TOURIST OFFICES Bilbao Turismo Plaza Circular, 1. Terminus Building. 48001 Bilbao. Tel.: +34 944 795 760 Bilbao Turismo. Guggenheim Museum Alameda Mazarredo, 66 (Guggenheim). 48009 Bilbao Bilbao Airport Tourist Office Bilbao Airport. Arrivals floor. Tel.: +34 944 031 444

Paper made with 100% recycled fibre, completely chlorine free. The paper used holds, among others, the Blue Angel and Nordic Swan certificates.

TALES OF BILBAO

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kili-kolo

Let’s talk

Chines

‘Bilbaino’ The ‘Botxo’. That’s what we call Bilbao. Or even ‘Botxito’ when a somewhat greater show of affection is required if we are away from home. In the coming pages we will visit it together, just like one friend showing another round their house. Explaining what’s there now, what was there before and what it means. BUT BEFORE TAKING TO THE PAVEMENTS let’s take a look at the vernacular. In Bilbao we have four languages. We’ll talk about the fourth at the end of these lines. The other three are Basque, Spanish and ‘Botxo’. Although it’s true that all regions and cities have their own vocabulary, we take ours to the nth degree. Sometimes it comes in the shape of words or expressions born from other languages. But a handful of them are of an origin as unknown as it is interesting. Like ‘Botxo’ itself for example. In fact it means ‘hole’. Historians and linguists disagree as to its possible origins. And since life is short and waits for no one, we’ll simply tell you a little about our peculiar ‘Bilbaina’ vernacular. You will note that the word comes without an accent on the ‘i’. The reason is simple. We are ‘Bilbainos’ with a diphthong. As Unamuno said before Quevedo or Cervantes, if ‘Bilbaino’, ‘Bizkaino’ or ‘Vizcaino’ have an accent, they’re not the real McCoy. Always three syllables, never four. So now that’s clear, let’s move on to the greeting. Don’t worry if someone barks out «Qué!», or «What!» while looking you straight in the eye. It’s not an aggressive question, but a kind of greeting. You can answer with a very handy «aupa!» More than just an encouraging cheer at sporting events, depending on the tone it can represent a greeting, emotional support or condolence. But if it is accompanied with only a slight turn of the head, it implies indifference. To bid farewell, a simple «bueno» or «beno» does the trick. The official word would be «agur», which doesn’t actually mean goodbye, but is a greeting and sign of respect. Perhaps because the Basques in general and the ‘Bilbainos’ in particular are not fond of farewells. As far as names for other people goes, ‘txirene’ is a kind of «a social butterfly», someone who never misses a celebration or event, the life and soul of the party, full of bright ideas. If someone calls you ‘pitxin’ it is an endearing form, the equivalent of pumpkin. However, it is popularly used to show sympathy. A ‘txotxolo’ on the other hand, is a simple person, and a ‘sinsorgo’ someone who is as unreliable as they are tiresome. We call those who put up with everything ‘baldragas’. Someone who is a pain in the neck is a ‘cansagarri’. And an individual who’s rough and ready is a ‘jebo’. Liars are ‘boleros’, because they set the snowball rolling. Nutters are ‘chiflados’, a term some say comes from blowing a whistle, or ‘chiflo’. For someone who is always moaning we have the word ‘mañoso’, and complaining for complaining’s sake is called ‘hacer mañas’. An ‘old boy’ or ‘birrotxo’ is a bachelor set to stay that way for life. And if you hear someone being described as a ‘peste’, it means they are a nuisance. A ‘borono’ is an idiot. This mustn’t be confused with the other meaning of the word, ‘a peasant’, who is usually very smart. Now that you’ve been introduced to the ’botxera’ denizens and fauna, let’s go ‘de potes’, or for a few drinks. This, if we do it with friends, is known as going with ‘la cuadrilla’. And if we’re out for the night, we say that we’re going ‘de parranda’. It is the custom for each member of the ‘cuadrilla’ to stand a round. Another option is to organise a ‘bote’ or kitty, where everyone puts in the same amount of money and one person takes charge of it. We also use the term ‘bote’ for a tip. If you’re going for ‘pintxos’, the little snacks served in bars and restaurants, you should note that they are also known in Bilbao as ‘banderillas’. Let’s continue. The ‘txoko’ is a society where a group of friends meet for lunch, dinner or to have a drink. Their reason to be is gastronomy. In days gone by they were a privilege enjoyed exclusively by men, but luckily that’s a thing of the past. However, it is always the men who cook the food and clear the tables. They are generally located in ‘lonjas’, which are traditionally fish markets. But here you won’t find fish. In Bilbao all premises are known as ‘lonjas’. A ‘zurito’ is a small beer or half a caña, and a ‘caña’ is double the size of the ones served in Madrid or Barcelona. A ‘txikito’ is a small glass of wine. ‘Txakoli’ is our wine par excellence. It can be white, the most common, or red for more local palates. And if it’s one for the road you want, ask for an ‘espuela’. Oh yes, if the food is great and there’s lots of it, it will be described as a ‘jamada del copón’.

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If we’re talking about moods or health, when someone is ‘larri’, it means they have an upset stomach and are feeling a little down. And someone who’s ‘kili-kolo’ is not in the best of health or moods. A ‘trompalari’ is a drunk, and ‘pisar iturri’, ‘ir perfumado’ or ‘pillar castaña’ refers to someone who has had a few too many. Being drunk is also known as a ‘kurda’. Way back in 1894, there was an oddball club in Bilbao known as the ‘Kurding Club’. Its members were youngsters from upper-class, better-off families. Their maxim was to have fun partying and enjoying fine drinks at their famous cultural get-togethers. Or at least that’s how they described it. It should also be said that the City Council car responsible for picking up those who had had a few too many and taking them to sleep off the effects behind bars was known as the ‘Kurding Car’. What’s most surprising is that the name ‘kurda’ stems from the rumour spread through the city that the Kurds are big drinkers. We should also add that an ‘iturri’ is a bottle cap. Its name comes from the iconic lemonade from Bilbao called ‘Iturrigorri’, still found today, even if it is now made somewhere else. Oh yes, and in Bilbao the weather’s never cold, but ‘cool’. The drizzle that soaks us to the skin without realising it is called ‘sirimiri’. And when water floods the streets or the estuary overflows, it’s called an ‘aguadutxu’. So let’s move on to the food. If someone says ‘le pegaría un tarisco’, it means they’d love to bite a chunk out of something. A ‘tanque’ is a large glass and a ‘katxi’ a glass, usually plastic, containing beer or wine with coke, known as ‘kalimotxo’. Here squid rings are ‘rabas’ and mussels, ‘mojojones’. ‘Vainas’ are green beans, and ‘alubias’, red beans. If the latter are served with black pudding, chorizo and bacon, we talk about red beans with ‘sacraments’. Winkles may be referred to as ‘caracolillos’ or ‘magurios’. As far as the ‘antxoa’ is concerned, ask in a restaurant to be certain. Talking about things and their names, the hood of an outer garment is a ‘choto’, a mac is a ‘trinchera’ and a windcheater a ‘chamarra’. A shelf in Bilbao is a ‘balda’. A bucket is a ‘balde’, money is referred to as ‘chines’, and if we let off a rocket we’ll be launching a ‘chupín’. Saying ‘tu-ru-rú’ to someone to mean that we don’t agree with them or «no way» is another of our sayings and comes from French. However, the origin of the word ‘calcos’ for shoes is unclear. But cobblers in Bilbao are known as ‘calqueros’. And only in our land do we say ‘chinchín’ as a toast. An expression that comes from an ancient military instrument composed of little bells. As regards unusual spots and such like, the city has no old part. Here we call it the ‘Casco Viejo’, the ‘Kasko’, or even better and more popular with the locals, the ‘Siete Calles’. Doña Casilda Park is the ‘Duck Park’. And San Mamés has always been known as ‘La Catedral’. In fact, there is no new ground. It’s the same one, turned to an angle of 90 degrees. And it goes without saying that they’d never say ‘Bilbao’ when talking about the City’s football team. It doesn’t exist. There was once a team with that name, but it was disbanded to become part of the old, original and unique Athletic Club. The one we fondly refer to as «Athletic». Before ending, let us tell you a secret: we have an extra colour to everyone else: ‘azul Bilbao’, or Bilbao blue. Look for it. They say it’s the blue of the fiesta neckerchiefs, of a clear sky when the rain has stopped on a summer evening and the one used by the US army in the War of Independence, made from material taken there by a trader from the ‘Botxo’. By the way, we ‘Bilbainos’ are also known as ‘chinbos’, ‘chimbos’ or ‘tximbos’ in memory of a bird that could once be seen in the skies and trees of the City. If you’d like to know more about our expressions and words, check out Emiliano de Arriaga’s ‘Lexicón bilbaino’, a real treasure trove. We’ll continue our tour of the language another day. Today we have another path to follow. Remember how I said that Bilbao has a fourth language? Well, it’s called ‘ría’, or estuary, in the feminine, and it’s the one we’ll look at today.

Would you like to come with us?

TALES OF BILBAO

bridge over the heart

They say the sea is masculine when you look out at it from land and feminine when you sail on it. And pretty much the same applies in Bilbao with the estuary or ‘ría’. While it’s a fact that a river, or río, changes gender as it meets the sea and fills with salt, that’s not all. It tastes of mothers. And it has an unmistakable smell. The smell of life that has been coming and going since well before the time we took our first steps on the planet. She has always been there. That’s why we’re going to visit her on this trip. ••••••

ilbao is the estuary’s favourite son. And to get to know him, you must first of all talk to her. One good place is, no doubt about it, San Antón Bridge. The one that has connected the two banks since time immemorial. The spiritual and the carnal. Old church and new times. The two halves of a City’s heart. That’s how it was even before the city was founded. That’s why we’ll make our way to the place where it all started. Three centuries ago, give or take a year or two, there was a goods warehouse on this very site. The place now occupied by San Antón church. It was built on the biggest rock; water therefore surrounded, ran through, and often even flooded it. Like loves that kill, the estuary leaves it in peace, only coming back every now and then to remind us who’s in charge. That’s something our forebears knew only too well; it’s also why they built a wall you can see if you enter the Church and look behind the altar. But first of all let’s go to the bridge. This bridge is said to have existed even before Don Diego López de Haro founded the City. In fact it isn’t just one, but several. As many as the times it has come back to life. Way back in 1334 a wooden version was built to replace the earlier one, washed away by floods. In 1463 it was rebuilt in stone, in gothic style, and in 1593 it was destroyed yet again by floods. The recurring ‘aguadutxus’, as we call the heavy rains that cause floods, particularly in the lower parts of the City and the areas close to the estuary, badly damaged it and it had to be knocked down in 1882. That’s when the new bridge was built, also known as ‘de Atxuri’ due to the name of the area that houses the Church dedicated to the saint. Destroyed during the Civil War, it was rebuilt at the end of the conflict. Note that there was also a

time when the old bridge lived side by side with the new one, until the former was demolished. Imagine a people capable of knocking down the symbol of their city in the interests of progress! That’s what we’re like in Bilbao. As traditional as we are forward-thinking. As romantic as we are practical. That’s why walking over these bridges is like walking through our history. But we invite you to look upwards too. Can you see the figure way up high? That’s the Giraldillo. I’ve written it with a capital letter because it’s one of a kind. It is eight feet tall, made in bronze, and talks to the seagulls. The two are so closely related, that if we see the gulls sitting on it we know a storm is brewing. In exchange, the Giraldillo tells them the ‘susedidos’, as we call gossip and incidents, or the ancient tales of time past. Like those of the ‘sirgueras’ who occupied the banks of the estuary until early last century. Women in aprons, scarves on their heads, who worked on the banks, pulling the towropes of the barges on their way to the market and mines; using nothing but their arms. Illustrious quills from here and there wrote about them, amazed at their tremendous strength and cruel fate. The Giraldillo also tells them that the famous sardine seller who plied the banks would sometimes use public transport. The Santurtzi train had a different smell to it depending on whether the sellers were coming or going with their marine gems. Nor does the lookout at San Antón forget to include in his tale the adventures of those who swam the estuary for their work, bets or simply for pleasure. In 1839 an edict prohibited bathing nude in the estuary or even swimming with clothes on, despite being all covered up, during working hours. Many were those who defied the rule. Perhaps because, at

the end of the day, we all have something of the Atlantean in us. And that’s why they continue to recount the legend of the man from Liérganes. You haven’t heard it? Well lean over the old Bridge, listen to the lookout and cast your eyes deep down into the water.

«Liérganes». On making enquiries, they discovered that there was a town near Santander with the same name. And they decided that a friar, named Rosendo, should take the young man to the town in question. Maybe there they would find the answer.

The man who took to water

And indeed they did. Shortly before they got to the town, he rushed ahead of the group, making his way to the home of María de Casar. On seeing him, María recognised her son and broke down, sobbing. And there he stayed. But he never completely recovered. He lived in his own world. He went barefoot and often naked. It didn’t bother him if he ate or fasted for days. He spoke very little. Until one morning, nine years later, he dived back into the water and disappeared once again. But this time, it was forever.

In the mid-17th century, in a town in the nearby province of Cantabria called Liérganes, lived Francisco de Vega and his wife María de Casar, with their four children. When her husband died, María sent the second of her sons, Francisco, to study in Bilbao. The idea was that he would learn the carpenter’s trade. And so he did, until in 1674, on the eve of St. John’s Day, he went for a dip in the estuary with some friends. He dived into the water, started swimming, and suddenly disappeared from sight. As he was a good swimmer, the others thought nothing of it. But as the hours went by, they started to fear the worst. By night time, they had given him up for dead. Five years later, men who were fishing for prawns in the Bay of Cádiz saw something strange in the water: a marine being of human appearance. But it slipped away as fast as it had appeared. To their surprise, they saw it several times. Until one day, taking advantage of low tide, they managed to catch it in their nets. On hauling him up onto the deck, they saw that it was a young man with very pale skin and reddish hair. But there was something else. Large scales covered his body from his neck down to his stomach, and others ran down his spinal column. Afraid, they took him to the Convent of San Francisco. There, having tried to free him of the devil with exorcism and prayers, he was interrogated in several languages. To no avail. But when they least expected it, he pronounced a word:

THINGS YOU MAY LIKE TO KNOW...

While work was underway to completely restore the church from 1996 until 2003, a wall two metres thick was discovered surrounding the so-called Atxuri rock, which is said in its day to have connected to the stretch of wall coming from the Calle Ronda.

On the entrance door to the Church, we can read: «Agregada a la Basílica de San Juan de Letrán» (Attached to the Basilica of St John Letaran), which is no other than the Cathedral of Rome. In addition, the church layout with the bridge can be seen on the City coat of arms.

The present San Antón bridge was built between 1871 and 1877 by Pablo de Alzola y Minondo and Ernesto Hoffmeyer. It is a stone bridge, with two eyes separated by a cutwater. It was built near the spot occupied by the original medieval bridge.

By the way, when the old bridge was knocked down, despite being a symbol of the city, no-one complained. A curious fact for a city so tied to its traditions. Perhaps they thought that any sacrifice is acceptable if new paths are to be found.

Like loves that kill, the estuary leaves us in peace, only reminding us who’s in charge every now and then And as the estuary allows us to come and go, stay with us on this journey. We will use it as our guide so that you won’t get lost. That’s what we’ve always done. In fact, the streets either start from the water or take it as their reference. Such is its importance that we have asked it for forgiveness. There was a time when it gave us wealth in exchange for losing its cleanliness. Sometimes it would get angry. Like in 1983 when it overflowed, washing Bilbao away with it. But we learned from that. We have returned it to its former glory with an intense plan of regeneration and unprecedented investment; aspects we will come across on our stroll. We can do it by land or by water. Because the water, grateful, lets us sail or even swim in it once again. By the way, the estuary has its own day. June 22. We must never forget to celebrate the birthdays of our loved ones. At the end of the day, we are a land that smells of the sea. A place where water runs through the heart of the City, bringing it life and death, laughter and tears. The place we’re going to today and will return to tomorrow, but we never stop. Because that’s the way the estuary and the City have been since someone decided that the world would have a naval and that it would be called Bilbao.

TALES OF BILBAO

SECRETS OF MARKETS AND MINES

A coin always has two sides. And Bilbao’s economy had its own. The two ‘M’s’: Market and Mines. Thus the coin would fall sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other. Or not. Because both lived side by side from the very beginning, like lovers who gaze at one another from opposite sides of the estuary. ••••••

t would be impossible to understand the birth of Bilbao without the estuary, its growth and the events that took place on its shores. That’s why we’re going to continue on our way, without straying too far from San Antón Bridge and Church; only a couple of roughly calculated metres will bring us alongside a giant that knows what it means to live right next to the water. The Ribera Market. Gastronomy is a religion for the Basques. That’s why Bilbao treats its shops, restaurants and markets as if they were temples. One example of which is this building. You don’t have to need provisions to fill your stomach, pantry or pot. You may even simply be on your way through, with no intention of buying anything. It doesn’t matter. Feeding the eye is a tradition as ‘Bilbaina’ as it is effective. And you’ll probably find that you’ll end up taking a culinary gem home with you; but that’s just the cherry on the cake. So let’s visit the market. Which, it has to be said, is not just any old selling place. It’s the best of its kind according to the ‘Guinness Book of Records’; and it’s also the biggest covered market in Europe. It’s that grey building, with red, black and white details, standing there like a boat anchored on the banks. Or like a train station, waiting for invisible carriages. Or even like a theatre, waiting for the curtain to go up and dreams to come down. Because, if the truth be told, it’s that and much more. The market started growing in this spot thanks to its location. It all started in the 14th century, when fruit, vegetable, fish, meat and spice stalls inhabited the Plaza Vieja, right next to San Antón. Those stalls were gradually covered to protect them from the rain. But it was neither sufficient nor functional. Thus, in 1928, work began on the building you see before you. It opened its doors a year later. So the boat sailed the seas, the station welcomed its passengers, and the theatre opened its most universal play. The everyday activities of a City in movement. Later we’ll take a walk round the outside. But now, let’s go in. Today there are 60 stalls; no. 207 is the oldest. It sells all sorts of pork cold-cuts and articles and belongs to a family that has passed the trade and stall from generation to generation. Proof of this can be seen from the photographs hung in the stall itself, where we can see goods being offloaded from a horsedrawn cart. At that time, the ice-making company stood across from the market, on the other side of La Merced Bridge. A bridge that is not one, but two: San Francisco, which was destroyed by fire, and La Merced, which stands in its place and hides a legend.

If you go up close, you’ll see strange figures alongside the eight streetlights. These are 16 winged beings distributed in pairs on either side of the bridge. They are said to have been the idea of the engineer who designed it, who was captivated by a story that was rife in the streets of the early 15th century. It would seem that these beings lived in the wooded area of what is now the district of San Francisco. And some nights they would frequent the banks. Little or nothing was known about them. Not even if they were male or female. Only that they would travel in pairs, looking for sad, lonely souls. When they came alongside these people, they would brush them with their wings. And in doing so, people would perk up, become much more positive, and find happiness. Those who were looking for a partner would see their dream come true, and those who had one would strengthen the bonds of their love. You may not believe in legends. However if you pass them by, touch their wings just in case. But first let’s talk about those mines they recall today. Do you know that they still exist?

The wealth of the mines

Up until the mid-19th century, any inhabitant of Bizkaia could extract ore. In fact, you barely had to scratch the surface since the mineral was all over the place. But all good things come to an end and the ore was exploited by a select handful of companies. The suburbs have always combined port and mining activity, given the wealth of the subsoil. Can you see the shore across from San Antón and the Ribera Market? Well there were mines towards both the sea and the district of La Peña. Some of them were famous. Like those of La Julia, San Luis, Malaespera and La Abandonada in Miribilla. An area, by the way, named after ‘Mira-vi-lla’ (city view) for being a high point offering views of Bilbao. And if the surface was rich, its innards were even more so. Thus, we said goodbye to the 19th century and welcomed the 20th «making holes in the hole». The ‘Botxo’ was more ‘botxo’ than ever. Houses and districts grew in number as the mineral was drawn from the earth. Until, by then well into last century, somewhere around the 70s, the lamps started to go out. Only the memories of the last miners are left. But the galleries are still there. Can you see the Marzana dock? That’s the mouth of one that comes from beneath Bilbao la Vieja to die in the estuary. If you’re lucky enough to coincide with low tide, you’ll see what’s left of the loading dock where barges would put into port with material on its way to Sopuerta or to the Altos Hornos blast furnaces. It is even said that the old wagon tracks still exist. It looks so dismal that it has been used to shoot commercials, documentaries and films.

Added to the disturbing sound of silence is that of a spring that runs through it. Reminding us of the life it once had. In fact, there are others that still have minerals. But extracting it would no longer be profitable. One curious fact is that the entrance door stands alongside a restaurant called ‘Mina’. It is made of metal and is so discreet that you would never imagine it conceals secrets similar to those of the Granite Palace on The Mysterious Island. They say that inside it you feel neither hot nor cold. As if you were in some sort of limbo. Or moon. Because that’s what the whole area was like until it was revamped, after enormous investment, starting in 1992. Today it has houses, parks and a life that has absolutely nothing in common with mining. Except for a cry that was born there and can still be heard today: «‘Alirón!’ Alirón! ¡el Athletic es campeón! ¡Empezando por Pichichi y terminando por Apón!»1. It is common to use the expression ‘Alirón’ when referring to sporting feats. But it was born in Bilbao. It was heard for the first time when the Athletic Club won the Cup on 10 May 1914, against Club España. That day overflowed from the spots where ‘cuplés’ were sung into the streets of Irun, where the final was played, and then into Bilbao. Before then, Teresita Zazá had included the words Athletic and champion in a song sung by the artist Marietina, written by Retena y Aquino, which originally said: «En Madrid se ha puesto de moda la canción del Alirón. Y no hay nadie en los Madriles que no sepa esta canción. Hoy las niñas ya no entregan a un galán su corazón, si no sabe enamorarlas al compás del ¡Alirón Alirón, Alirón, Alirón pom, pom, pom!»2. However, after hearing the people of Bilbao chant «...Athletic champion», Zazá changed the words. But where did the word ‘Alirón’ come from? Despite the entry in the RAE dictionary as to the presumed Arabic origin of the word, its adaptation to sport comes from the mines in the estuary of Bilbao. Given that almost all of them were exploited by the British, when good quality steel was found, a sign was posted saying ‘All iron’. This meant extra pay. Which is why it was welcomed with such great jubilation. The miners, who knew no English, would read it and pronounce it literally. ‘Al-irón’. And its adaptation to football and the games won by Athletic was only a question of time. It was a matter of fate that a barge used in the mining and industrial years went on to become the vessel on which the team would sail to the City Hall to celebrate leagues and cups before delighted crowds. Somehow everything came round in a circle. But the tale of the barge is another story. One of the many we still have to tell if you continue along the estuary of Bilbao with us.

TAKE NOTE The stalls were first covered in 1840, and by 1870 all had a plain tiled roof to protect them from bad weather. Shortly afterwards, a cast & forged iron and glass structure was built. In 1850 a quality control service for fish, milk and meat was introduced. On 22 August 1929 the new reinforced concrete building was opened, work of the architect Pedro de Ispizua and made in rationalist style. Between 1872 and 1873 the first coal-run blast furnace in the Basque Country was built.

‘Alirón’ comes from the mines in the Bilbao estuary: when good quality steel was found, a sign was posted saying ‘All iron’. This meant extra pay, which is why it was welcomed with such great jubilation

A lirón! Alirón, Athletic champion! Starting with Pichichi and ending with Apón!

I n Madrid Alirón is the song of the moment. There’s not a single supporter of the ‘Madriles’ who doesn’t know it. The girls of today no longer give a suitor their affection, if they don’t know how to woo them to the beat of Alirón, Alirón, Alirón pom, pom, pom!

TALES OF BILBAO

‘txikito’ ENCHANTED PALACE

Do you like stories with passageways? And places that aren’t what they seem? Do you know which is the ‘txikiteros’ corner? And the origin of the strangest glass in the world? To answer these questions we’ll head for a palace that’s not a palace. In fact it’s known as the La Bolsa de Bilbao or the Bilbao Stock Exchange, even if it is nothing of the kind. •••••• TAKE NOTE

In early March 1908, the workers’ crisis affecting Bizkaia caused all kinds of tensions. But one of them was very peculiar. They touched something that was sacred. On March 4, due to the rise in tax on wines depending on their alcohol by volume, the owners of Bilbao’s wine warehouses decided to close their doors and sell nothing to the shops and taverns. The closure was joined by the innkeepers who, in addition to lower taxes, demanded the right to open on fair Sundays. It was a kind of dry law for the local inhabitants, who resorted to buying wine illicitly from the back doors of the taverns. Whatever the case, the battle against the Mayor of the time, Ibarreche, and the norms imposed by authorities local and otherwise, just go to show that you don’t tamper with wine in Bilbao.

lso, though not a tavern, it acts as a temple for its highest representatives. A strange story, eh? To discover it we will visit the Seven Streets. Home of the Yohn Palace, known as the Civic Centre, in the Old Quarter. It is said to have had a passageway that ran as far as the estuary. If you lean over – careful not to fall – look for a vault in the direction of the Palace. Can you see it? That’s where it ran. Or runs. It is apparently still open. It was used to transport goods. But many believe it was used for rather more sinful purposes. At the end of the day, it’s a complete mystery. Starting with its origin.

The first version dates back to the 14th century, when there was a tower house next to the Bilbao city walls. At that time, those who imposed their authority in Bizkaia were the ‘juantxos’ or powerful families. There is no evidence of its first owners; however, in the mid-16th century it was a so-called Gaspar de Bilbao. With the passing of the years it was passed down to his daughter María and later to her daughter, Magdalena, who married Francisco de Salazar. Salazar included the tower, with others, in his son’s dowry. It was this last gentleman who strove to make it look like a palace, in the 17th century. Generation followed generation, until Francisa Luisa de Salazar changed its fate. In 1783 she rented three trading halls, the mezzanine and a room to merchants from the Kingdom of Bohemia.

The ‘txikitera’ law dictates that anyone joining the party must pay their round, followed by the others in order. Discussions revolve around the land, gastronomy, the weather or Athletic. Politics and religion are no-go areas. Jokes, particularly if a little dirty, are told in a whisper, but they prompt loud, open laughter The Grohs and Gotschers came from the lands of the Habsburgs, currently occupied by the Czech Republic and particularly its capital, Prague; they were ironmongers. Business was healthy thanks to the mines and trading, but the early 19th century saw disputes between their heirs. And a man called Juan Jorge Yerschik, partner of the Grohs, took over the business. Decades passed and German-speaking citizens continued to arrive. That’s how the locals referred to the Germans, Austrians and Hungarians who formed this collective dedicated to hardware, ironmongery, porcelain and glass. But Leandro Yhon,

one of Yerschik’s employees, took up his place at the head of the business and turned it into an iconic place. How it finally earned the nickname of La Bolsa remains a mystery. Maybe it’s because it had a little of everything, or is due to the lie of the land. The only thing we do know is that it had its own history before the Bilbao Stock Exchange came into existence. Once again, the years and owners followed one after the other until the floods of 1983 washed everything away. In 1987 the City Council took it over and today it is an outstanding Civic Centre. In it you will find remains of the wall and a privileged vantage point from which to observe the new Bilbao and imagine it as it once was. But first of all, make your way to the monolith of the ‘txikiteros’. Because it’s there too.

The steadfast Bilbao ‘txikitero’

‘Txikiteros’ are neither a race nor a species, but they’re ours and they’re on the road to extinction. We refer to the group who make their way round the bars, wine after wine. Every October 11 they have a rendezvous with Our Lady of Begoña. Or, as she’s known here, ‘la amatxu’. There are two kinds of txikitero. Those who always sing and those who sometimes sing. Today the former have faded into our common memory. The latter however, are still to be found in our streets. In both cases they only drink wine. That’s what sets them apart from the other group, known as the ‘cuadrilla’, who also drink other things. They never eat, even if invited to. And you’ll never see them under the influence of a ‘pote’. It’s an excuse for a pub crawl. Nor is the ‘txikitero’ fond of long drinks; his is a simple short wine. Just the right amount to down almost in a gulp before moving on to the next place. A classic group usually has four to eight members. But there are no written rules or holy laws. And if joining one isn’t easy, getting out of it is a lot more difficult. The ‘txikitera’ law dictates that anyone joining the party must pay their round, followed by the others in order. Discussions revolve around the land, gastronomy, the weather or Athletic. Politics and religion are no-go areas. Jokes, particularly if a little dirty, are told in a whisper. Laughs are loud and open. And their singing, closed. You can laugh with them, but don’t sing out of tune.

The ‘txikitero’ has an opinion on everything, even if he knows nothing about it, which is very typical of Bilbao; but they never talk about private matters. There have been cases of ‘txikiteros’ who, after fifty years, still don’t know whether or not the others are married or whatever. They go out with the group alone, partner or

no partner. Some are groups of elderly men or bachelors. Others are married, allowed to escape for their round of ‘potes’. Luckily they go at it more gently than before, and drinking is less important than doing the rounds together, talking and exchanging ‘Bilbainadas’. At the end of the day they are the proud bearers of our City’s soundtrack, from the estuary to the clouds. As for the ‘txikito’ glass, it had almost disappeared from sight. But gradually it is coming back into use. You’ll find it in gift shops and in the occasional bar. There have been several versions of it. The most popular weighed 623 grams distributed thus: depth of 9.5 centimetres, width of 6, and thickness of 5 millimetres. For the base, 5.5 centimetres, and for the wine 4. There was an even more radical model. It only left a quarter of the glass for liquid. Just enough for a small gulp. But the former was more widely used. Its origin dates back to the times when wine would be delivered by carriage in wineskins. To keep it at the right temperature, it was served in pottery jugs and, from there, into the glass. The first of the versions as regards its origin would have it that Queen Victoria Eugenia visited Bilbao in the 20s, with her children Carlos and Luisa. To decorate the City they hung up little glass lamps containing a candle. Someone came up with the idea that the little lamps could have another use and they were distributed to the bars and inns. The innkeepers, seeing their design, decided to use them as glasses. Hence the ‘Bilbainada’: «Disen que viene Erreña, a visitar Bilborá. El prínsipe txikito con ella vendrá… » (They say the Queen is coming to visit Bilbao. Bringing the little prince with her...). But others point towards a different origin. The carpenter Miguel Gallaga was called to the mansion of an influential family with connections to the Lezama Leguizamón ironworks to repair some cupboards. On opening them, he came across the glasses. In fact, they were used as beakers to hold samples of the minerals found in the mines. That would explain its shape, bottom and thickness. This theory adds that the famous lights of the ‘Bilbainada’ referred to above were hung for the visit of Amadeo I of Savoy and not for the queen. But they were taller, deeper and more slender. When he left, they were recycled as ‘txakolí’ rather than ‘txikito’ glasses. Whatever the case, the success of the thickbottomed glass prompted a company in Badalona to start making them. Until, in the early 90s, they were cast aside with the drop in ‘txikiteros’ and labelled as oldfashioned. But times come round, and today that ugly little recipient has turned into a beautiful glass swan.

TALES OF BILBAO

THE

‘Arriaga’ AND ITS GHOSTS

imes when art was shown in the open air. Streets for seats, windows for stalls, and nightfall as the backdrop. The artists and those who applauded them defied the weather by putting a brave face on the rain and the cold. We won’t be outdone, so let’s make our way there. To the Arriaga Theatre. You can’t get lost. It stands on the bank of the estuary. On the right as you make your way down over the Arenal bridge. And it likes to make a show of itself. You can see it from quite a distance. It all started in 1799 when, sick of losing out to the clouds, the City decided to provide its performances and renditions with walls and a roof. First of all a coliseum was built in the Calle Ronda. Go along there and imagine the scene. In Bilbao every street has a secret and this one has several. For example, what may have caused a terrible fire one night in 1816. Everything was burnt to cinders. It was a harsh blow to art lovers and took great effort to get back up on its feet. Until the arrival of a key date: 1834. The year the ‘Teatro de la Villa’ was built. On exactly the same spot as the Arriaga today. These were complicated times, moment of the First Carlist War. And we all know that, during wars, bridges and iconic buildings are bound to lose out, either to stop the enemy from advancing or to prevent others from using them. The Arriaga survived not one, but two Carlist Wars. Those periods when the city was under siege, were called ‘Sitios’. The meetings held under a famous lime tree, which we will talk about when visiting the Arenal, led to the creation of an association known as El Sitio. But let’s get back to the theatre. Half a century after its construction, wars and economic downturns had taken their toll, and it was knocked down. As an interesting aside, as happened with the San Mamés football stadium, 3 years before its farewell negotiations had started to erect another theatre in exactly the same spot. In Bilbao we like to change, yet keep something of the past. It must be our character. Either that or we’re a hole and, as such, everything must happen in the same place. That doesn’t mean there were no arguments about it. Those who lived in Bidebarrieta complained that the building would block their access to the estuary. And they obliged those responsible for it to find a solution. The answer was found by Joaquín Rucoba, an architect born in Laredo, who made the docks larger and turned the building to face in a different direction.

There are operas with phantoms and theatres with ghosts. The Arriaga Theatre belongs to the latter. To get to know it you have to visit it outside and inside and learn its disturbing history. Even before it was born, flames marked its life. That’s when Bilbao saw the birth of the germ that would later become the theatre as we know it today. •••••• On 31 May 1890, after four years, a million pesetas and more than a few headaches, the new theatre opened its doors. Its name, like the square, was intended as a homage to Juan Crisóstomo de Arriaga. A musician as mysterious as the theatre itself. His full name was Juan Crisóstomo Jacobo Antonio de Arriaga y Balzola. If you’d like to see where he was born, you only have to walk a little way to the nearby 51 Calle Somera. Do you remember how I told you that all streets have their secrets? To find the house stop at no. 12, the number it bears today. That’s where Arriaga would play as a child. He was christened the day he was born in the Santos Juanes Church (Parish of St. John and St. John). He was the youngest of eight siblings. His father, Juan Simón, was an organist and taught the boy to play. He didn’t take much training. At the age of three he was already playing the violin. By eleven he was composing and giving brilliant performances; by thirteen he had completed his first opera. Hence his nickname at the time of ‘Bilbao’s Mozart’. If you like things that happen by chance, you’ll like to know that he was born exactly 50 years after the Austrian genius and that both were christened John Chrysostom. And if Mozart died young, Arriaga even more so. He passed away aged only 19 in Paris, where he had been sent by his father four years earlier to study the violin, victim of pulmonary disease.

The adversities of a unique theatre

However, when the theatre was opened it wasn’t his scores that were played, but La Gioconda by Amilcare Ponchielli. Although there were other things that caused more surprises that day. The electric lighting and a pleasant new feature. Those who couldn’t get a ticket were able to follow the performances by telephone, at 15 pesetas a call. And so, with phone calls included, the theatre was up and running again. But nothing is forever. It lasted for 25 years. On 22 December 1914 yet another fire razed it to the ground. It felt like the revenge of the tormented Erik in “Phantom of the Opera”. No-one was hurt or died, but the building was destroyed. And the work had to start all over again. This time, the architect was the ‘Bilbaino’ Federico de Ugalde, who unveiled the new building on 5 June 1919. This time round the music was Don Carlo by Giuseppe Verdi. And it was followed by others. In 1977 it was declared HistoricArtistic Monument. But it wasn’t until 1980 that

they started returning it to its splendour. And this time round, instead of fire, it was water that struck. Its basement and lower floor were flooded in August 1983. It was heartbreaking to see it surrounded by mud, trees, bits of everything and nothing, and boats irreparably wrecked. But the show had to go on. And three years later, on 5 December, it opened its doors once again. It’s still there. Beside the estuary. Neo-baroque on the outside, hidden corners inside. If you can, go in and climb the stairs. Let the carpet guide you. It is purpose-made in a single piece for the theatre. Both this and its predecessors have been walked upon by people seeking emotions in the dark. And sometimes, something else. Because the show doesn’t only take place on the stage. There is as much or more entertainment in its nooks and crannies. Such as the box inspired in the Orient Express or those formerly intended for widows, more austere and discreet in nature. If you look closely, all rest on corbels in the shape of Titans. Massively strong Atlases who bear the weight of curiosity. At the end of the day, ‘theatre’, a word of Greek origin, means «place to behold». And the Arriaga has lots to see, even when empty. Every seat is inhabited by something. The echo of Bilbao that was never completely burned down or drowned. Despite the fire, the water and time, it was raised back up again. Few theatres have survived so much bad luck, or so many uses. On its ground floor, in 1854, the first electric telegraph was installed as communication between the port and the traders’ meeting place. And in 1892 it became home to the recently born Bilbao Stock Exchange. Also, to launch our August festivities or ‘Aste Nagusia’, the speech and rocket burst, known as ‘txupin’, take place on one of its balconies. As another curious fact, the proclaimer and ‘txupinera’, the woman who lights the rocket, are accompanied by Marijaia. Lady of the celebrations. Icon of the ‘Big Week’. And just as the Arriaga lives alongside the estuary and suffered the wrath of fire, Marijaia brings the fiesta to a close when she is set on fire in the waters of that very estuary. And every year she is reborn ready to enjoy the short time they call life. Exactly like the Arriaga. That’s why stories are told round the world that there’s a theatre in Bilbao that doesn’t have a vengeful phantom, but an invincible spirit that remains alive just like the first day.

The Arriaga carpet, in a single piece, has been walked upon by people seeking emotions in the dark. And sometimes, something else. Because the show doesn’t only take place on the stage. There is as much or more entertainment in its nooks and crannies

THINGS YOU MAY LIKE TO KNOW...

Since it was opened, the Arriaga Theatre was considered to be a first-line venue, thereby ensuring a visit to Bilbao by the leading actors and companies of the theatre scene. Only the Civil War brought it to a halt, although it was back with business as usual at the end of the conflict. Today the Arriaga Theatre is managed by a corporation constituted on 3 October 1986 and is funded 100% with municipal capital.

TALES OF BILBAO

The

Bilbao scribble

No cities, municipalities or towns are without their old quarter or old town. Except for Bilbao. It does have an Old Quarter, the Casco Viejo. But we like to call it ‘Seven Streets’. It better explains our origins. Circles and lines drawn by fate one day when it closed its eyes and let itself go. Have you ever tried to make out hidden messages in a scribble? •••••• THINGS YOU MAY LIKE TO KNOW... There are historians who insist that Bilbao designed its first old quarter with seven streets in mind right from the beginning. And that they were not therefore the three initially designed. Documents exist that clearly demonstrate the existence in 1442 of the ‘Siete Calles’, excluding the Rondas de Arriba and de Abajo. To this, we must add Bilbao la Vieja, on the other side of the estuary, and the San Nicolás and Ibeni suburbs, which lay outside the city walls. In 1483 Bilbao spread along the Arenal and the San Nicolás suburb. Thus, gradual construction saw the birth of the Calle Real, today de la Cruz, the Calle Santiago, today Correos, in memory of the post office that opened its doors there in 1821, and the Calle Bidebarrrieta

magine a town in the middle of a valley with farmhouses and towers dotted all over it. Life was never easy, and even less so in 1300. At that time, the ‘Botxo’ was surrounded by walls that linked up the towers. Inside they sheltered three streets. Tendería, Artekale and Somera. They were surrounded by a wall six metres high and two across; construction began on this wall 34 years after Bilbao was founded. Disputes with the Tierra Llana, or flatlands, the rest of Bizkaia, led to more towers and walls being built. This brought us into the 15th century with another four streets. Belostikale, Carnicería, Barrenkale and Barrenkale Barrena. Which brings us to the name of the ‘Siete calles’. Somera, the top street, had horse stables, shops and inns. Artekale, the middle street, was inhabited by silversmiths, engravers, carpenters and ‘calqueros’, the name given to the cobblers who would set up their stalls in doorways. Tendería was home to textile traders. Legend has it that this is the street where Isabella the Catholic swore the Oath of the Jurisdictions dressed as a peasant. Belostikale, for its part, was occupied by fish and sardine sellers, given its proximity to the market and better ventilation. Carnicería was the location of the first abattoir. Such was its activity that it was moved due to lack of space, hygiene and complaints of smell and dirtiness. The lower Barrenkale always smelt of salt cod, fat, oil, wine and alcohol. This was the departure point for the boatmen who transported people from one side of the estuary to the other. It was also famous for the din of the young rope-boys, the women who pulled towropes and the coopers who did the hardest work. And that brings us to the seventh street, Barrenkale Barrena, the lower one. Frequented by elver sellers and women repairing nets and tackle, this street knew better than any other what it meant to suffer the floods known as ‘aguaduchus’. With time others appeared, such as Pelota, del Perro, Cinturería, la Merced, Bidebarrieta, Correo, Sombrerería... But that’s another story. Maybe you’ll learn more about it if you make your way into the centre of the scribble. To the Plaza Nueva. It’s said that all ‘plazas mayores’ or main squares resemble one another. That may be why ours never wanted to be labelled ‘Mayor’. It preferred to stay ‘Nueva’, or ‘new’, forever. They baptised it thus to distinguish it from the ‘Vieja’ or old square, next to San Antón. Early on it was called Plaza de Fernando VII. In fact, a statue of the king was supposed to have presided over it. But the ‘Botxo’ was had a liberal tendency when it was

finished and the project failed to prosper. As did the name proposed, during the Dictatorship, of Martyrs Square. Because it was always ‘Nueva’. Construction work started on 31 December 1829 and ended on 31 December 1849. Closing years and opening decades. Until 1900 it was home to institutions such as the Diputación, the Escuela de Ingenieros, the Bolsa de Comercio, Correos y Telégrafos, the Sociedad Bilbaína, and the Banco de Bilbao in the place now occupied by the Royal Academy of the Basque Language, Euskalzaindia. In its centre at one time stood the statue of the founder, Diego López de Haro, which you will now find in the Plaza Circular. It also had a bandstand where, in the absence of teachers and instruments, children would play. And a fountain with beautiful water displays spouting from 18 nozzles, plus another in the centre that sent jets up into the air. It comes as no surprise that it flirted with water. Because at one time it was like Venice. Something it achieved through flooding. It happened in 1872, on the occasion of the visit by Amadeo I of Savoy. Imagine it full of water, like a swimming pool. Not due to flooding, but to showing off. And this, despite the fact that water often turned Bilbao into Atlantis. To see it, you only have to make your way along the Calle del Perro. On the facade of the Río Oja, inside the Bar Xukela, and in all sorts of other places and corners, there are marks to indicate the depth of the water during the floods of ‘83. We’ll come back to them at other times, because few things better define the reinventions of Bilbao and its strange relationship with the estuary. A lady who has brought us grief, but also many joys. She even brought us a white, radiant bride who arrived from distant seas.

The exquisite delicacy from the ‘Bilbaina’ estuary

She arrives quietly in early October. She is barely three years old, but is already wise as they come. A thousand long days to travel from the south-east of the Bermuda islands to its destination. That’s why she arrives by night, following the light like a pirate looking for an inn to quench his thirst and a brothel to ease his lonely soul. And our docks must have something to make her like them so much. Her name is ‘malacopterigio ápodes’. But that’s an elver to you. The bride of Bilbao. Because, although she may visit other waters, she has always had a special romance with ours. Texts dating back to the 18th century refer to the fact that they were always desired, elusive and expensive. What a surprise then to hear that there was a time there were so many they’d be thrown away. Because

chronicles abound with references to the fact that they were so rare and expensive. For example, in 1834, in Madrid’s Plazuela del Carmen, elvers from Bilbao were sold at 30 reales the bottle, the container used to transport them. And without leaving the ‘Botxo’, in 1870 the price rose from 6 to 40 reales. To say nothing about later years. Hence the frequent brawls and deaths of men and women. They too skilfully carried lights. Their forgotten names represent all of the souls who searched for transparent gold in the area around ‘the Island’. A tiny piece of land located alongside the district of La Peña. There where the River Nervión dons the appearance of an estuary. The place where they were first fished in Bilbao. With time, all of the elvers fished from way beyond the city bridges were labelled as coming ‘de la Isla’, or from the Island. They breed best beneath the bridges and near drainage outlets. Which is why they also have a dirty background. A background we would rather know nothing about when it shines like a gem. Nor is mention made of its farewell to this world.

It’s said that all ‘plazas mayores’ or main squares resemble one another. That may be why ours never wanted to be labelled ‘Mayor’. It preferred to stay ‘Nueva’, meaning ‘new’, forever Like a prisoner who asks for a cigarette before dying, she passes to a better life after cleaning in tobacco rain, a dip in fresh water and gentle cooking to remove the mucus membrane, smell and memories. That’s where she loses her dun colour and takes on her bridal white. But there’s another test. To separate from the others and fall like a silk cloth through the prongs. A test she always passes. To eat elvers, fry slices of garlic in olive oil until golden brown. Always in a clay dish. Add a hot pepper to taste followed by the elvers. From 100 to 150 grams per person. Stir gently and serve crackling, as if they were angry. They are eaten with a wooden fork. But, above all, with all the respect deserved of such an exciting life and devoted death. As you can see, this scribble has as many lines as it has tales. We recommend that you do like the boys and girls of the City. Every weekend they head off to find the trading cards they want and exchange them for others. Leave us one of your stories and take one of ours away with you. At the end of the day they are like elvers. They are born somewhere and travel the world looking for someone who truly deserves the honour of tasting them.

TALES OF BILBAO

LAND OF THE

LIME TREE T

hat doesn’t mean that we can’t imagine the way things were when Bilbao started walking suddenly, like a toddler taking off along the old Arenal. This is the name given to the right bank of the estuary, between the Arriaga Theatre and number 10 of the Calle Viuda de Epalza. 29,000 square metres. It measures around 125 metres at its widest part. It was a privileged observer of how Bilbao spread beyond its walls.

That Lime tree was the witness of the first love sonnet dedicated by Unamuno to his beloved Concha Lizarraga. But it wasn’t the only one. Geniuses of the quill like Ramiro de Maeztu and Ortega y Gasset also wrote in its shade. Imagine what those cultured exchanges must have been like To visit it, let’s start at the said Calle Viuda de Epalza. There you’ll find Gómez de la Torre Palace, built in 1798, considered the first neoclassical residential building in the City. If you walk for a bit, you’ll come to the Church of Saint Nicholas of Bari, the Calle del Arenal and the Arriaga Theatre. If you turn towards the bridge, known since it was built as ‘del Arenal’ due to its location, although it was initially christened with the name of Isabel II, you will come to a car park. You can leave your car here and make your way along the 440 metres of promenade stretching before you. This is where the ‘txosnas’ are usually set up during the ‘Aste Nagusia’. These are the stalls run during our Big Week by different collectives. The rest of the year, it is simply a promenade along the banks of the estuary. This is where the old dock was. The place where they unloaded spices and products coming from other countries. The Arenal was a sort of beach on our doormat. As you can see, it has handsome trees. At one time it had as many as 284. Walnut, plane and, above all, lime trees. Today around a hundred resist the passing of time. There was one that didn’t make it. But, as we have already said, it is still there in our memories. The Tilo, or Lime Tree, of the Arenal. To explain what a tree can mean, I will quote the ‘Bilbaino’ poet Blas de Otero: «Si algo me gusta, es vivir. Ver mi cuerpo en la calle, hablar contigo como un camarada, mirar escaparates y, sobre todo, sonreír de lejos a los árboles» (If there’s something I like, it’s living, seeing my body in the street, talking to you like a friend, looking in shop windows and, above all, smiling to the trees from afar). Ours has always been a land that respected the wooden giants. As a people we chose the

It’s gone. It left one night in a southerly wind. It went not with a word of complaint, but with noise. Reminding us that it was legendary. I’m talking about Bilbao’s Lime tree. You can see I’ve given it a capital letter. It’s not a mistake, but a tribute. An honour deserved by this tree that lived in the Arenal. But don’t look for it in its sandy home. It was there. But progress covered the grains to set us off into the future. •••••• oak. The one that’s still there in Gernika, as an eternal symbol. But there were others. Like this Lime tree. To get to know it better, let’s head back to 1809. It was planted in Abando. Seven years later it was replanted in front of Saint Nicholas, not far from Calle Arenal no. 5. Due either to its location or its size, the locals decided to spend the most important parts of their daily lives with it. Like Unamuno. That Lime tree was witness to the first love sonnet dedicated by Unamuno to his beloved Concha Lizarraga. And they say it is where he caught a glimpse of her calf. He was quite timid. But he wasn’t the only one to write verses in its shade. Ramiro de Maeztu too who, at the age of 18, worked as a journalist in that industrial Bilbao. And Ortega y Gasset, who was studying at Deusto University, just like other geniuses of the written word. Imagine what those cultured exchanges must have been like. Although it wasn’t all about literature. During one of the Sieges, specifically the one that took place between 1873 and 1874, the locals would meet beneath the tree to hear the news and decide what action to take. This unusual gathering gave rise to one of our most famous societies. The one called ‘El Sitio’. And since we’re talking about wars, one of them holds a large part of the blame for Bilbao’s relationship with salt cod. The Basques brought the famous fish to Europe from Newfoundland. That’s what the Icelandic, Scottish and everyone who knows what they’re talking about says, including the Norwegians, experts in the subject. But they also say, and this time I’m talking about legends, that ‘Pilpil’ sauce came about by chance. Having put a few slices of cod on to cook in a ceramic dish with oil and garlic, the sailor preparing the dish had to go up onto the deck. On his return, the waves had worked a miracle. The oil had turned into a sauce and the humble dish into a delicacy that defies description. At the end of the day, we always take salt cod for our own. And sometimes we do it big style.

Yet another ‘Bilbainada’

Like in 1835. When a ‘Bilbaino’ surnamed Gurtubay made an order out to his suppliers. The shopowner wrote «send 100 or 120 (‘100 o 120’ in Spanish) pieces of finest quality salt cod», and somebody took the ‘o’ for a zero. They sent him 1,000,120 pieces. You couldn’t make it up! Given that the delivery coincided with the First Carlist War, there was no way to send it back. It was a Godsend. It kept them going throughout the siege. The monotony of the menu led them to create all sorts of recipes. We don’t know if it’s true, but it’s the story that was always told in the shade of that Lime tree.

The thing is that it was some tree. In the days of the burgeoning Bilbao Stock Exchange, they called it ‘the municipal assembly room’ for the transactions that went on alongside it. One of its descendants can be found in Amezola Park; another was planted in the Arenal in 1980, and yet another in 1989. Quite a lengthy shadow. Until its death, it was like something out of a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm. On 1 April 1948, at ten past one in the morning, it was blown over in a storm. Its roots extending all the way to the Plaza Nueva were to no avail. It may have been caused by the wind. Or by the weight of its secrets. It wasn’t the biggest, or the leafiest. But it was a ‘botxero’ through and through. And since it’s trees we’re talking about, let’s look at the promenades sheltered by its branches. There are three of them: Los Curas, Los Señoritos and La Alpargata. The Los Curas promenade is the first, if we stand with the estuary behind us and look to the left. Its name is due to the fact that this was the way taken by priests at Saint Nicholas on their way to mass. The one in the centre was popular with students and young men from good families eager for conversation or eyes to fall in love with. The third, running to the right, was the haunt of mechanics and other tradesmen who would mingle with seamstresses and maids in service. In fact, I recommend that you make your way down there one Sunday morning and take a look at the flower stalls. It is impossible to leave without buying a bunch. To say nothing of allowing yourself to be inebriated by the music coming from the ‘Kiosko’ bandstand. We write it with a ‘K’, to set it apart from others. This isn’t just any old bandstand. Modernist since the beginning, it was built in the mid-19th century. Today it houses a café-bar popular with locals and outsiders alike. Whether it’s in this bandstand, in the Plaza Nueva or in the Vistalegre Bullring, make sure not to miss the municipal musicians. 52 teachers who are part of an adventure born in 1894. They may be a ‘band’, but they sound like a philharmonic orchestra. But there are more musicians here. Across from the bandstand is a sculpture of the ‘bertsolari’ Enbeita. ‘Bertsolaris’ are improvisers of Basque verse capable of singing verses and choruses based on a single word or idea suggested by the audience, or by someone who challenges them. Before continuing on our way, make your way to the shade of the new lime trees. They’re still young. But they’re growing by the day. That way, when you come back, you’ll be able to find out what’s been happening in Bilbao. You’ll only have to listen to what the branches tell the wind.

TAKE NOTE Although cod ‘bizkaina’ style and, above all, ‘pilpil’, are the best known outside our borders, there is yet another recipe hugely popular with the people of Bilbao. Salt Cod Club Ranero style. There was also, to the left of the ‘kiosko’, a dove cot from the 20s, which was taken down in the 40s and moved to the pond in Doña Casilda Park. The Arenal was initially an area of sand covered with water as far as the Zamudio Gate. It was a kind of dry dock for vessels and site for shipyards.

TALES OF BILBAO

OF STEPS, BRIDGES and

PASSAGEWAYS T

he estuary will never be tamed. It was born free and will stay that way, despite efforts to control it. That’s why today’s City Hall travelled the City looking for the right spot. Remember how we told you that, until the 15th century, the Council would meet in front of Santiago Church. If it rained, they would meet inside. Having shared its location with the Consulate of Bilbao in the early 17th century, a building was finally built alongside San Antón. And for a time it continued to share house with the famous Consulate, which we will come to later. But fate gave it the very easy option to occupy its current location. It was opened on 17 April 1892. And it’s still there. With its statues of Law and Justice, its superb vestibule and its Arabian Hall. The latter is used for civil marriages. And if you look up, you’ll see the balcony where the Three Kings, the Olentzero and the big sports names have made us laugh and cry with equal amounts of emotion. But, before all this, are the steps. And among them, the fifth. The place where Bilbao looks towards the sea without seeing it, to remind us that it was always higher. 8.804 metres to be exact. Some will say it’s true. In fact, the estuary has risen above on more than one occasion, reminding us that there are areas beneath it too. The strange thing is that this fact is not marked on the step, but by a nail to its rear. Let’s go to the corner of the Calle del Guardia Bernardino Alonso and the Plaza Erkoreka. Can you see it? It’s the one in the middle of the circle. The Basque Government plaque vouches for it. You may be surprised at how near the ground it is. This is due to the difference in height between the rear and the facade of the building. Which is why the fifth step stands at the same height. The sea has always been our second home; but the first is and will always be Bilbao. The almost nine metres in altitude are still a point of discussion. Some say there are a little more than six. We’re no experts, but something tells us that the answer lies in that fifth step. And that’s not the only mystery you’ll find here. Are you brave enough to cross an invisible bridge? Let’s go over the real one first. The City Hall Bridge. It was opened in 1934, blown up in 1937, and replaced in 1940. To

Do you know the height of Bilbao? And that there was a time when the trains would draw up into the hotels? Would you dare to walk over an invisible bridge? To answer these questions, let’s go to the City Hall. Stand in front of the stairway. And now climb up to the fifth step. Do you know what they say about it? ••••••

make it, they took their inspiration from the bridges of Chicago. And precisely the one in Michigan Avenue. This is a bascule bridge, to allow the coming and going of ships. Which is why you can see a little control booth that was used to open it. In 1970 it was sealed and today it no longer opens; the booth was later used as a ticket office for bullfights or as a tourist information point. And since destiny is fickle, both the Arenal and this bridge take us to the Plaza Circular. Home today of the new Tourist Office. Making a visit to this office is the best way to organise your time here with us. And, on the way, you can wait for the ghost train.

The Hotel Terminus, hugely modern for its time due to the fact that it was equipped with lifts, also had a walkway. Located on the second floor, it ran between the Hotel and the North Station. It crossed the street and was so high and covered that clients could cross discretely from one side to the other Thursday, 29 October 1896. Mid-afternoon. Hours earlier a mine train had left from Ollargan for Abando. Everything was going fine until the brakes failed, sending it crashing into the Orduña tramway, through one of the station walls and into a hotel. Luckily there were no victims. Except one. The Terminus. Opened in 1891, that hotel occupied the exact same spot as today’s Tourist Office. Its name came from the denomination given to hotels

when located alongside stations. It had 102 rooms and could take up to 200 guests. All of the rooms had electric lighting and heating. It also had another new feature: the lifts. Climbing without taking the stairs was a magical experience. Imagine it, with its large reception, baggage room, bathrooms, kitchens, halls and dining rooms. Both the crockery and the cutlery were brought from Paris and became the first in the City to be decorated with a hotel anagram. It had five floors, if we count the ground floor, but it actually spread over four of them. It was the only one to occupy an entire building. But there was something else. A walkway. To see it, let’s go to the second floor. That’s where it was. In the wall. It ran between the Hotel and the North Station. It crossed the street and was so high and covered that clients could cross discretely from one side to the other. But the Terminus was financially inviable, and seven years later it closed its doors. The building passed from hand to hand until becoming the headquarters of the former Vizcaína Savings Bank and later a branch of the BBK. Another amusing anecdote is that, on the other side, was ‘La Fonda de Lastra’, a boarding-house the site of which was later occupied by the BBVA bank. If the Terminus was the ‘pelota-players’ hotel’, the one across the road was ‘the bullfighters’ boarding-house’. To some extent, the Plaza Circular has made its own voyage. At the end of the day, if you miss a train, another one will always come along. So, while waiting for the ghost train, let’s go back to the bridge for a moment. Not to the one we can see, but to the other one, the one that’s invisible. Once the City Hall had been opened, access to the other side of the estuary was required.

The idea was to connect the district of Sendeja and the City Hall with the new town, the Ensanche. It was decided that a bridge should be built a few metres down-water from the present one. If the truth be told, more than a bridge it was a pedestrian walkway with two sections rotated using hydraulic machines. Its name was the Pasadera Giratoria de Hierro. Although it was re-christened by the locals as San Agustín Bridge in memory of the convent that formerly stood on the spot, and later as Perrochico Bridge. The blame for this lies with the toll. There was a little booth where pedestrians paid 5 centimes to cross it. A coin popularly known as a «perra chica». And the name Perrochico stuck, even when the toll went on to cost double.

A bridge with history

But Civil War broke out and it was blown up. It was never re-built after the fighting. There are legends that claim it was used to build the current City Hall Bridge or that it emigrated to Ondarroa. But it simply disappeared. Like the San Francisco iron walkway in 1937, the two hanging bridges of the same name in 1852 and 1873, the single-arched wooden bridge in 1813, the stone bridge in 1737, or the wooden Merced Bridge in 1874 and the wooden and stone bridge in 1937. This would take us back to the first San Antón Bridge, the present site of which appears on the City’s coat of arms. But there was something special about the Perrochico. It was the only private one. According to the chronicles, it took a single minute to open and close. If you pass that way, look for it and do like the children of the time, who would hold their breath while crossing it. Sixty seconds. If you manage, it will mean you have healthy lungs. But above all, that you’re capable of crossing invisible bridges.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE?

At one point Bilbao had two mayors at the same time. It was in 1435. Those were the times of the Wars of the Bands between two large groups formed by the most important lineages of the day. The ‘Gamboínos’, who were pro-Navarra, and the ‘Oñacinos’ who were pro-Castilians.

The ‘Gamboínos’ occupied the Arratia Valley and part of the Encartaciones. The ‘Oñacinos’ dominated from Larrabetzu to Plentzia and from Gernika to Busturia. And, unable to come to an agreement in Bilbao, they decided that there would be two mayors. One for each band.

Today’s San Francisco or La Ribera Bridge had many forebears. Among these was one suspended on iron chains between 1827 and 1852, referred to in the popular song: «No hay en el mundo puente colgante más elegante que el de Bilbao. Porque lo han hecho los bilbainitos que

son muy finos y muy salaos (There are no hanging bridges in the world more elegant than the one in Bilbao. Because it was made by the ‘Bilbainitos’ who are so chic and so droll)». In time the nickname was acquired by the Bizkaia Bridge, known for the song Puente de Portugalete.

TALES OF BILBAO

‘PUPPY’ AND THE

TITANIUM GIANT You may have come expressly to see it. But to understand something, you have to know its history. And even more so when referring to a person. Which is the case of the ‘Guggenheim’. Where most people see a museum, we see a fellow countryman who changed everything. ••••••

f it had already been done by the estuary, followed by the mines and later the iron industry, it had to be a titanium giant in the shape of a ship that would change the direction of Bilbao. Before embarking and discovering its interior, we invite you to follow the path that leads to its origins. The first thing you will discover is its curious location. As if it was embracing a bridge. Its entrance looks like the back door and its rear facade the front. You should walk round it and study it from all angles. We suggest four places for taking a good picture. The Calle Iparraguirre in front of Puppy, the Deusto Walkway, the Avenida de las Universidades dock and the La Salve Bridge. But keep your eyes open. Bilbao has always been a City unusual to walk on. Whether because of its paving stones or its steps. Like those of the Guggenheim. Known as «the ones that make you limp», you’ll soon realise that they force you to walk in a rather strange way. Looking forwards and downwards, calculating carefully. But things have a reason to be. They were devised by the architect, but they carry another message. This way of walking has lent its character to our museum’s life. In 1991, the Lehendakari, José Antonio Ardanza, the General Deputy, Alberto Pradera and the Mayor ,Josu Ortuondo signed the agreement with the Guggenheim Foundation, in New York. But it wasn’t easy. The Museum was born in April 1991 during an electoral campaign. Ortuondo and his team had very definite idea that the future of Bilbao and the Basque Country lay in tourism. The doubt was how to turn that idea into reality. The City Hall had the Alhóndiga. Today a place of reference and, as Mayor Azkuna said, the building that took up the baton of the famous museum. But at that time it was an old wine and oil warehouse that was just lying there waiting for a project to revamp it. Meanwhile, those responsible for the Guggenheim were tending towards Salzburg, where the authorities couldn’t come to an agreement. So they got in touch with Thomas Krens at the Foundation and invited him to Bilbao. After the reception, they ate in the Plaza Nueva before visiting the coast and the Alhóndiga. That was enough. Bilbao was the chosen location. But provided that all three institutions committed to it. After more than a few doubts and

agreements, they selected five architects, brought them here and they went round the Alhóndiga, from the street to the terrace.

If you’d like to be in a film, stand in front of Puppy, you’ll feel transported to James Bond’s movie, ‘The World is Not Enough’, on the spot where the famous spy landed after jumping from the building’s 5th floor One of them, Frank Gehry, looked at the surrounding hills and asked to visit them. And they made their way up to the Balcony of Bilbao. Where couples park their cars and give themselves over to the goddess Venus. Having observed the view, he asked to be taken down to the La Salve and later to Deusto bridge. Lastly, he headed for the Campa de los Ingleses park. A place which, in addition to hosting circuses and fairs, was a British cemetery until 1908, ground of the Club Acero football team, and landing strip for the aviator Manuel Zubiaga. And that’s when the magic kicked in. Gehry took out his felt-tip pen, a piece of card from the López de Haro Hotel, and drew four lines. The Guggenheim was born. But there was a problem. The plots of land. They were occupied by companies belonging to different families dedicated to different businesses, and had hangars and containers dotted all over them. At the last minute, just when it looked as if it would never be built, they came to an agreement. But there were more curious stories. Months later, Gehry was waiting for his plane at the old Sondika Airport. He was talking to technicians and architects about how to clad the museum when he looked down, pointed at the cafe bartop and declared: «the Guggenheim will be clad

in this material». It was titanium. The colour choice too was unusual. When they suggested Bilbao blue he couldn’t believe his ears. So many years in the profession and he had never heard of it. By then he was aware of our idiosyncrasy and he thought it was a brilliant idea to use a colour named after the City. It’s the one that can be seen in the Museum offices. As you can see, there are lots of things to visit. Otherwise you could miss out on a great friendship. With Puppy. In the Basque farmhouses and homes it’s common to call your dog ‘Lagun’. Which means ‘friend’ in Basque. So we shouldn’t be surprised that a flower-covered dog has become part of Bilbao to the extent that it feels as if it has been there since the dawn of time. Puppy stole our hearts the moment he arrived. Even if, just like with the Museum, there had been people who didn’t believe in him. But there he is. Would you like to know his secrets? He consists of a steel structure covered in flowers and has an internal watering system, created by Koons in 1992 for an exhibition in Bad Arolsen, Germany. From there, he went to the Sydney Museum of Contemporary Art. But in 1997 he was acquired by the Solomon Guggenheim Foundation, came to Bilbao, and we adopted him. You will immediately realise that he is a West Highland Terrier. He occupies a spot related to dogs. The locals would regularly take their pets for a walk in the park that now houses the information office. It was right alongside a petrol station where surreptitious couples, travellers on the way to catch their trains and dogs looking for a bit of greenery shared industrial times. It therefore comes as no surprise that Puppy is so at home. And he certainly can’t be missed. 12 metres tall, 15 tons and as sprightly as he was on

15 October 1997, when he was unveiled before Krens, Gehry and the authorities. He belongs to the ‘Celebration’ series, including sculptures of pigs, donkeys and elephants. But remember, as we said in the beginning, he’s not only a dog. He has participated in all sorts of music videos and films. Would you like to be in one of them? Stand in front of Puppy, on the right-hand pavement of the Calle Iparraguirre. Exactly where it meets Calles Mazarredo and Lersundi. The very place where James Bond came to land after jumping from the 5th floor of the building, in the opening scene of ‘The World is Not Enough’.

Puppy’s myriad souls

Before continuing, we’ll tell you a secret. He’s called Puppy, but he’s also sometimes known as Milú, Blanquito, Zuri or Troy. He has as many names as there are stars in the sky. Nor is he always a West Highland Terrier. He can be a poodle, German shepherd, collie, boxer, or simply a mongrel. They’re all there in Puppy. That’s why he’s so big. A child told me something a while back. His dog had gone forever. In thirteen years it had only upset him once. By not staying alive eternally. At first he cried. That was before he learned the truth. That the dogs of Bilbao don’t stay on Earth or go to Heaven. Nor are they re-born after cremation. Theirs is another fate. They all turn into one. To form a burial ground with no need for a cemetery. A place where the flowers smell of life and smack of movement. That’s what I was told by the boy who comes to see his friend every now and again. He knows it will never leave. That’s why he doesn’t have a collar on. That’s why he’ll be there forever. He waits there for all boys and girls who want to know where their friend has gone. Remember it when you look at him. Maybe the dog that was once part of your life and left is right there. In Puppy’s heart.

THINGS YOU MAY LIKE TO KNOW...

The Museum has a surface of 24,000 m2, of which 11,000 are dedicated to exhibition space. The square and main entrance to the Museum stand at the entrance to the Calle Iparragirre.

The Museum exterior, which can be visited all round, looks completely different depending on the angle and is also used for art exhibitions.

Given the mathematical complexity of the curved lines projected by Gehry, he decided to use software employed by the aerospace industry, CATIA, to transfer his concept to the structure and facilitate the construction.

You don’t have to count them. The entire structure of the Museum is covered with 33,000 extremely thin titanium sheets. It is also clad in limestone very difficult to find, in a colour similar to the one used to build Deusto University.

TALES OF BILBAO

‘Mus’ IN TIMES OF WAR

I never knew the name of the other three players. Or maybe I did, but I won’t reveal them out of respect. Or that of the fourth one. Because his story has as many names as there have been soldiers in all wars. Bilbao and Bizkaia, like the rest of the Basque Country and Spain, experienced the worst kind of conflict. Fighting between siblings. ••••••

THINGS YOU MAY LIKE TO KNOW... The layout of the Iron Belt ran through Zierbena, Muskiz, Galdames, Güeñes, Sodupe, Gordexola, Okondo, Llodio, Arrankudiaga, UgaoMiravalles, Arrigorriaga, Zeberio, Galdakao, Larrabetzu, Gamiz-Fika, Mungia, Loiu, Gatika, Laukiz, Urduliz, Berango, Getxo, Sopelana and Barrika. There are also remains of the Civil War that don’t directly correspond to the Belt, in Artxanda for example, which are nevertheless worth a look. Both in Begoña and in other parts of Bilbao and the surrounding hills are the remains of battles that took place during the two Carlist Wars.

ivil War is the least civil of them all. On this tour of Bilbao, it is a must to visit corners that smell of gunpowder and blood. Even before that cruel war broke out. We’ll talk about internal and external conflicts in the coming lines. But first of all let’s talk about ‘mus’. Because this City knows what it is to resist and to stake your life in every game. Like that night in 1937. The Civil War was proceeding through its first dark spring. A handful of men, entrenched in the hills near Bilbao, were waiting for a Battalion that was never coming. Some fought for their ideas. Others for reasons of inertia. And by that time, almost all of them, for survival. The company had lost so many men that there was barely a platoon left. Three ragged squads. Theirs was composed of thirteen men armed with two rifles, made in Gernika, and three pistols. The rest, hunting shotguns and knives. And there they were, at the top of a hill. With one eye on their fellow squaddies and the other on the alert; in their hands, four cards and a destiny. Rain playing tricks with them by pretending to be a drizzle and the men holed-up behind the ruins of a farmhouse. A few at their posts and lookouts. The others watching, under tarpaulin, the most surrealist game they had ever seen. For a card mat, an old blanket. And as their only light, the candle in a lamp. Only the veterans played. Those who turned up as volunteers in the City Hall after approval of the Statute to enlist in a war that was lost before it began. The game started. They stopped twice for false alarms. These were the longest two hours of their lives. The winning partners breathed deeply. There were no signs of euphoria. Only a sigh. All looked at the losers. The youngest bowed his head, all too aware of his fate. First it would be his card partner. And when he went down, he would be the group sergeant. Not a good thing. On that hill and in that war, the corporals, sergeants and sometimes even the occasional captain had to fight on the front line. In this sense too it was a peculiar army. Two days earlier, a shell had blown up the straw loft of a farmhouse, taking six of the men who were sleeping there with it. Among them, the captain and two sergeants. Another, badly injured, had been taken down to Bilbao. That’s why the soldiers with more will than fighting spirit, were playing ‘mus’ to see who would be the leader. The man who told me the story won that day. Another time he would lose. But that was when the war was

already decided, shrapnel had done away with his left eye and there were no men left to test his luck against. That’s when he understood that it was time to leave. First to France and then to America. There he won and lost, lost again and won again. But by then it wasn’t a card game, simply the ups and downs of life. Because, for him, mus would never be the same again. He never told me what cards he had in that last hand. It doesn’t matter. With time I have come to understand that that’s the least of the story. It wasn’t a winning but a surviving hand. That of a game of mus in times of war. The kind that left marks we can see today. Let’s go up to Artxanda. Bilbao’s Iron Belt is the best metaphor of a Civil War. Bunkers and trenches stretch along two defensive lines, 300 metres apart from one another. The engineer who directed the work was Alejandro Goicoechea. The man who would end up designing the famous Talgo train. The Basque Government was never too sure of his politics, but they gave him the job anyway. And he, because of his ideas or for reasons we ignore, ended up conveying the information to the rebel army so that Bilbao fell faster than expected. Nor was it a help that the belt wasn’t finished. Added to this, the Condor Legion and the Legionnaire Air Force continued to bomb the City. The Germans had already destroyed Gernika. If the world heard about it, it has to be thanks to George L. Steer, a journalist with ‘The Times’ who spread news of the bombing immortalised by Picasso. On that occasion he stayed in the no-longerexisting Torrontegui Hotel. But if you’d like to follow his steps, head for the Carlton Hotel. That’s where the Basque Government had its headquarters. It had equipped an area to act as an office in the room used today by female hotel staff members to change their clothes. And if you look at the outside steps, you will see several holes. They were the previous bunker vents. Today it is a bar with the same name located in the hotel basement. Not far from here there is a statue of the man who was the Lehendakari at that time, José Antonio Aguirre. But let’s get on our way up to Artxanda.

Funicular railway to the ‘Bilbaino’ skies

This has always been the place of pilgrimage for leisure activities. But in the late 19th century affluence was massive. A casino and several ‘txakolis’ were built, and there were vineyards and picnic bars on

the hillside. And in 1915 the Public Works Directorate approved the project for a funicular railway. The one we’ll take to get up there. The machinery was designed by a Swiss company specialising in mountain trains. It cost 488,407.30 pesetas. It carried its first passengers in October 1915. It was so important that the train, rails and upper station were bombed during the Civil War. The service didn’t start running again until July 1938, when it was once again packed with life. It transported lovers, families, the inquisitive... but, above all, workers. Men and women who would come down loaded with goods and head back up with money for the whole week. It carried absolutely everything.

‘La huella’, standing 8 metres high, recalls the more than 40,000 ‘gudaris’ who fought for democracy and freedom in the Basque Country. And it also reminds us that all violence is absurd From the fruit and vegetables brought by the peasants, to the working donkeys or calves on their way to the abattoir. One map inside another. It has all sorts of stories to tell; dark ones too. On 25 June 1976 there was a fateful accident. Nobody died, but the service was disrupted until 1983. And as if that wasn’t enough, in August that same year the floods also affected it. The service eventually started running again on November 4. And it is still going. Dodging problems and crises. Like us all. Thanks to it, we can get up there the old way and visit ‘La huella’. This sculpture, measuring 8 metres in height and weighing 8,000 kg, represents a huge fingerprint in memorial to the more than 40,000 ‘gudaris’, Basque soldiers, who fought for democracy and freedom in the Basque Country. And it also reminds us that all violence is absurd. When Bilbao fell, the men who were left to receive the winning army and hand them over to the Government had instructions to destroy everything. But they bombed bridges, not industry. Life had to go on. They were criticised for it. But time has shown that they were right. Look at the views. You can lose a war, but not your head. The coming generations must not pay for the injustice. The earth is not ours. We belong to it. That’s the way we see things in Bilbao. And that’s why we’re so proud of this singular hole to the south of old Europe, a place that’s determined to stay alive and comes back to life every day.

TALES OF BILBAO

The house of

Legends You may have a sailor’s soul and not know it. Saltpetre is a silent ghost who accompanies us unnoticed. To understand this we will become adventurous captains. You only have to head for the Ría de Bilbao Maritime Museum. ••••••

ou’ll find it near the Euskalduna Palace and beside the Bridge of the same name. Site of the former Euskalduna Shipyards. We’re talking about a world reference in shipbuilding. The crisis and industrial transformation led to its closure. But neither Bizkaia nor Bilbao would be what they are today without those years of naval influence. That’s why the Euskalduna Palace is built in the shape of a ship. It is intended to remind us that life is a continuous embarkation. In fact, it is a conference and exhibition centre well worth the visit. Afterwards you simply have to walk a little way to the Museum, which encompasses the history of our people through the ships that were born on its river banks. It opened its doors on 20 November 2003. It occupies a surface of 27,000m² easy to get around, split between the inside and an esplanade that houses the former shipyard docks. There you will find ships, sea lions, a crane named after a woman and a humble vessel that carried off trophies and glory. Basques, no matter how far we travel, always stay in touch with the shore. That’s why, for us, the sea is not water, but earth. It is also why we participated in the conquest of Wales in 1282 along with the AngloNorman army. In the Middle Ages we were shippers for Italian merchants, and in 1393 we could be found in the Canaries, the Gulf of Guinea and Newfoundland. There has always been a Basque school for skippers in Cádiz, and between the 14th and 15th centuries we participated in conflicts such as the Hundred Year War between England and France. We were pioneers in conquering places, exploring and whale hunting. And we even had corsairs. It is perhaps for all these reasons that we created the Bruges Consulate in the 14th century. As a result of the routes open to traffic by the Crusades, merchants understood that they had to organise themselves into groups in order to better defend their interests. These bodies were generally ruled by one or more consuls. Hence its name. And that of Bilbao set the rules in seas and oceans for a very long time. More than 500 years later, the Chamber of Commerce reminds us that it was born from that consulate. So you can see that we made History. And legends. The historian Mairin Mitchell says that the first king of Kerry, in Ireland, was Eber. A man who arrived by sea «from the north of the Iberian Peninsula». The place didn’t matter. If it existed, a Basque sailor would get there. And you will find all this here. Including a lady. She’s outside. She’s called Carola. She’s 60 metres tall, weighs 224 tons and can lift 30,000 kg. Construction

work was started on her on 20 August 1954. The control booth stands 35 metres above ground and its views are impressive. She wasn’t always red. But she was always attractive. Men would climb up onto her to work, but also to look at the woman who inspired her name. She was called Carlota Iglesias Hidalgo, but everyone called her Carol. That’s why she became Carola to the locals. She is said to have been very beautiful. But, at an elderly age, she said she hadn’t been particularly beautiful, although she did have exuberant breasts. At the age of 20 she worked in the Central Treasury Office in the Plaza Elíptica. In the afternoons she would change offices to work at her boss’s consultant’s office in Indautxu. Living in Deusto, her best option was to cross by boat. They say that vessels listed towards her when she passed them. But she never realised how famous she was. At one stage, someone told her «We’re going to have to forbid you from crossing here because you are making us lose money young lady». The words were apparently pronounced by the Director, Don Elisardo Bilbao, responsible for purchasing the crane. But she, naively, burst into tears. Years later she found out about the crane, and in time she retired. She died on 26 October 2001 at the age of 76. But her myth lives on. «It lifts more than Carola!» Was the shipbuilders’ war cry. Vulgar, but very typical of the estuary. Do you know that she never married? «I never met the man of my life» she would answer. The woman who raised so much passion never found someone to raise her own. That’s why she stands there, as beautiful as she is lonely, bewitching all those who make their way along the estuary. Greet her before turning back. The boats you can see have a thousand and one stories to tell. From the ‘Bizkaia I’ salvage vessel, the ‘Auntz’ tug or the ‘Nuevo Antxustegui’, on which you can see how fishermen live and work on a coastal fishing boat, to the ‘BBK Euskadi Europa’. In this yacht, José Luis de Ugarte participated in the Vendee Globe ‘93, a single-handed round-the-world race sailed non-stop. When you asked him about the end of the world, he would say Cape Horn. The place where Lord Thomas Cochrane, the captain who inspired the Jack Aubrey of ‘Master and Commander’ defied the clashing oceans. When you see it, think of a man aged 64 crossing oceans like Ahab on the tail of Moby Dick. Although you don’t have to go far out to feel the glory. Ask the barge, or ‘gabarra’. It was christened in 1960 as ‘Gabarra no. 1’ in the Celaya Shipyards, commissioned by the Autonomous Port of Bilbao. But it’s not a barge; it’s a pontoon. A floating

platform with neither propulsion nor controls, used for port work to maintain or support cranes. Its work was humble, and would remain that way were it not for three details. The first took place in 1924. The Acero Club, the football team from Olabeaga, became Champions of Spain in the B series. They were welcomed by train. But on arriving to Bilbao, shipowner Manu Sota decided to tow the team on a barge lit up with torches from the Arenal to Olabeaga dock. The second detail was a ‘Bilbainada’, a favourite song with the ‘txikiteros’, which went as follows: «Por el río Nervión bajaba una gabarra, con once jugadores del Club Atxuritarra...» (Down the Nervión sailed a barge, with eleven players from the Atxuritarra Club...). In fact it refers to a later celebration of the team from Atxuri, but it was so famous that it took to the water once again in 1983.

The barge is the best metaphor of our people and of the Athletic. Hard working, resilient and brave. It reminds us that work and faith can make dreams come true. It happened twice. But it felt like millions

Reappearance of the ‘rojiblanca’ barge

Aurtenetxe, President of Athletic Club at the time, says that the President of the Bilbao Choral Society, Gerrikabeitia, recorded the anecdote. And so the team took to the water on its way to the City Hall. The picture of the Altos Hornos workers perched on top of cranes to greet the champions and the bridges packed with fans is an unforgettable snapshot. An image repeated a year later to celebrate the League and the Cup. A million people gathered. In 2009 the barge was done up following the proposal that Bizkaia should be decked out in red and white for the Cup final in Valencia. The Museum was up for docking her, and the Port Authorities for loaning her. She was repainted in Bilbao blue and decked out in red and white. But we didn’t win and she was put away again. The same happened in 2012 when the team failed to win in the Europa League final in Romania and the Copa del Rey in Madrid. Given the requests, and this is the third detail, the Maritime Museum, Athletic Club and the Port Authorities came to an agreement. That they would keep her forever. The barge is the best metaphor of our people and of the Athletic. Hard working, resilient and brave. The vessel reminds us that work and faith can make dreams come true. It happened twice. But it felt like millions of times. And everyone should know about it. Particularly the new generations. So that they don’t forget that the tide will once again yield trophies. It will depend on the effort they make and on someone telling them who we are, alongside a barge, on the banks of the estuary. It doesn’t matter if they support another team or if they hate football. If they understand what it means, they will succeed in understanding us as a people.

TAKE NOTE The Consulate was the institution that governed Bilbao’s economic fate and acted as a court in resolving trading conflicts. It even had representation in Bruges, a fact still remembered today by Biskajersplein square in that Flemish city. The Deusto Bridge was born as a project in 1930. The work started in 1932 and ended on 12 December 1936, when the Civil War had already begun; it was opened the following day. It was initially a drawbridge for seagoing traffic. Since 1995, it has only been opened for special celebrations. The Euskalduna Bridge was opened on 18 April 1997. It has a metal structure, a length of 250 metres and width of 27.

TALES OF BILBAO

TASTE OF BILBAO

Bilbao starts with ‘B’ for ‘boca’ (mouth in Spanish) and ends with an ‘O’ of admiration. Because shovelling in food without tasting it is not eating, but swallowing. Here we don’t only use five senses. We also have a sixth sense. And it comes from a combination of all five. Hence, while eating lunch, we are already discussing where we’ll have dinner. This doesn’t mean that we don’t appreciate what’s in front of us, but that one aroma leads to another and a flavour prompts ideas. So don’t be surprised if, while eating, someone proceeds to organise your meals for the next week. Just go with the flow. Starting with a day of ‘pintxos’.

‘P

intxos’ in the Basque Country represent an alternative to the conventional menu. In the past they were eaten standing at the bar. And that’s more suited to our pub-crawling spirit. But it has become customary for tables to be available for greater comfort. There is as much variety is there are bars and restaurants. We even have one adopted as the ‘Gilda’, with its guindilla pepper, anchovy and olive, which was born in honour of Rita Hayworth in the neighbouring city of San Sebastián and has stayed in Bilbao until becoming a true ‘botxera’. And other local varieties that are rarely found today, such as the ‘grillo’, made with boiled potato, lettuce and spring onion. They used to be served to accompany the rounds of the ‘txakolis’. A ‘txakoli’ was a place where, unlike a tavern or inn, food was served with wine of the same name, made with the grapes from their vines. Years ago, this typical Basque wine was rather sharp flavoured and low in alcohol; today, however it is up there with the other fine whites and its flavour and bouquet are unique. It goes well with fish, particularly with the ‘antxoa’ and with all sorts of ‘pintxos’. By the way, if you have ever been told that it is a Basque tradition to save your cocktail sticks as proof of how many ‘pintxos’ you have eaten, you have been duped. Never has such a thing existed. Here we trust you, just as you trust us.

The ‘carolina’ requires skill and time. It was created by a pastry chef from Bilbao. He named it after his daughter, who loved meringue Nor do we serve ‘txakoli’ as if it were cider, splashing into the glass from a height. In Bizkaia, at least, it is served with the corresponding ceremony. And it doesn’t always have to be white. There is a red variety. Although white is more common. Another star dish is squid rings. These are calamari in a special batter of flour and egg; the way they are sliced and cooked is what sets these calamari apart from other similar dishes. We could talk of more outstanding delicacies such as fish, meat and other products, but it’s a much better idea for you to set out to investigate for yourselves and to ask people as you go. We’ll be delighted to answer. We love talking about food. And that includes cakes.

To prove it, let’s make our way back to the mid-19th century. In the Siete Calles, confectioner’s and baker’s shops were so common that the pavements still smack of elegant cafés. Given that Bilbao was a trading port, the required ingredients were never lacking. Such as milk and local eggs, along with flour and spices from far-off lands. Antonio Trueba, illustrious chronicler, said that we already had famous cafés at the start of that century. They were usually run by Swiss, Italian and French citizens who disembarked in Bilbao. Like Rovina, who opened one in the Calle del Correo. That was before the War of Independence. In 1814 the lease for the place was taken over by a Swiss man called Bélti, who in turn passed it on to two of his fellow countrymen, who re-named it ‘Café Suizo’. While it is true that they didn’t go to any great effort with the name, they did use their heads to create one of the star products of gastronomy ‘Bilbaina’ style, ‘el bollo de mantequilla’: the butter bun.

A bun with history

Bernardo Pedro Franconi and Francesco Matossi, the Swiss men of our tale, decided to make a ‘Bilbaina’ version of the milk buns made in their homeland with flour, egg yolk, butter, milk and sugar. In addition to being spongy and delicious, it had a fine sugar coating. And you can still find it today in our bakeries. But one fine morning they came up with the idea of slitting open a bun and spreading it lightly with butter. And what a success that was! As we have already said, while they were original when creating businesses or making cakes, the same did not apply to their naming skills, hence the invention became the «butter bun». And that’s how you should order this local speciality: ‘bollo de mantequilla’. You won’t find it outside of Bilbao. And that’s rather strange given that these gentlemen opened around a hundred franchises in cities like Madrid, Pamplona, Santander and Burgos. Which makes it a mystery that they decided to keep it here to become a legend. But it’s not the only one. What about the rice cake? Some call it the lying cake because in fact it contains no rice, despite its name. And the reason is to be found in its origin. They say it was made with leftover rice pudding, which was turned into a cream and cooked like a little tart. Another theory is that the flour used centuries ago was rice flour, and that the material changed but not the name. There are even those who point towards a Philippine recipe, brought here by seamen. Whatever the case,

it contains butter, milk, sugar, egg and pastry that must be perfectly cooked to contrast with the cream. Both this pastry and the bun are perfect with a coffee or cup of chocolate. They are served equally for breakfast, afternoon tea or a light evening meal. However, the ‘carolina’ requires skill and time. Its origin is as famous as the name of its creator is unknown. A mysterious ‘Bilbaino’ pastry chef named it in honour of his daughter. A girl who loved meringue. We know it’s not easy to eat without making a mess of yourself. That’s why he came up with the idea of a pastry basket to contain a large meringue tower. But it was too simple, so he added a few strokes of chocolate and another few of egg to make it more attractive while improving its flavour and consistency. It is a cake as delicious as it is impressive. Which explains why it has even featured on fiesta posters, in famous bets, and continues to pass down from generation to generation. Watch out when eating it that someone doesn’t stick your nose into it! But it’s not the only pastry that demands skill with the hands and mouth. Have you heard of our ‘Russian cake’? Yes, we know that this is a pastry known across the world and that it was the Empress of France, Eugenia de Montijo, from Granada who, having married the Emperor, Napoleon III, had Spanish chefs among her retinue. On the occasion of the Universal Exposition in Paris 1855, a banquet was thrown with a guest of honour, his highness the Tsar of all Russia, Alexander II. And as a dessert, the Empress chose this cake. On tasting it the Tsar was fascinated and asked for the recipe. And since then, it has been known as the Russian Imperial Cake. We recommend that you try it in Bilbao. It is the deepest and spongiest. And while you’re at it, try the ‘santiaguitos’, ‘bilbainitos’, ‘jesuitas’, ‘cristinas’ and truffles. Or the toffees made in the same way as those taken on board the ‘Titanic’ by a man called Arteagaveytia, and which now rest on the bottom of the sea. Make the most of your visit to look for marzipan, or mazapán, and nougat, or turrón. Particularly the one called ‘sokonusko’, which has three different chocolate flavours and is one of those delicacies of unknown origin that came by sea to become ‘Bilbainos’. Just like yourselves if you try our gastronomy. At the end of the day, there’s no better way to understand a people than to eat its food. And don’t worry if there’s no more space in your suitcase. The best way to preserve a fine wine or a great dish is in the corners of your memory.