Phantom Burning

There is an immediate transition when crossing the border between France and Spain. Suddenly people stop looking and speaking French, and turn Spanish...imagine that! It was, however, surprising to find that nobody could even speak Spanish in Biarritz, even though its mere minutes from the border. A tiny multi-leveled bookstore surfaced in mirrors, red leather, and books. As a beach town in winter, there are old people and hardcore surfers everywhere. Spend a whole day barefoot, in the sun, on the beach. Fantastic! One last crepe before heading to Spain.

Two nights in San Sebastian, also a small vacationers town on the Atlantic. It reminds me of Austin a little: instead of the Biarritz flare and casinos, there were dive bars and head shops. Also like a scaled down Vancouver with the city center sandwiched on two sides by water, and a park peninsula jutting off. Quality wandering time here. Also went for a run (its been a while) barefoot on the beach, followed by a swim in the bay. I say swim, but really I just sprinted in, dunked under, thrashed around, and sprinted back out. It was the kind of cold where you balls go painfully numb, as if removed and replaced by phantom effects of burning, and most of you muscles immediately contract in a spasm. MUCH colder than Barton Springs. The second time in the water is longer and more enjoyable. Laid back surfers running the hostel.

Quick train to Bilibao to see the Guggenheim (http://www.guggenheim-bilbao.es/caste/home.htm). It seems like the entire city is under construction, half of it brand spanking new, and they wont stop until its entirely remade. I guess by that time they'll have to start all over again, remaking the museum that started it all. Amongst all the urban renewal is a distinct sense that architecture really is considered and appreciated, perhaps because it has been so lucrative for them. The Guggenheim itself is smaller than I thought it would be. It is better than the Experience Music Project in Seattle, and some of the exhibition spaces do work really well. One cant help but take lots and lots of pictures. Yves Klien sculpture in front of the building.

The citizens of Bilbao have no qualms about starring. Im not sure if it was the arctic mountain man hat, the hippie man purse, or the sporadic and unruly beard, but people starred at me as if I had an axe sticking out of my head. Kept checking my reflection in shop mirrors to make sure this was not the case. I thought I was passable enough as a Spaniard, but apparently not a Bilboanian.

After spending the day in Bilibao, it was time to take a sleeper train to Barcelona to meet up with Wan Fa the next day. A failed attempt at making my own dinner in the Bilbao train station of bread, sausage, and gnarly cheese spread resulted in a biscuit-sized double jalapeno cheese burger, fries, and a coke from Burger King. What fleeting satisfaction!

Tomorrow, Ill catch up on the happenings of Barcelona...