Bilbao's charm shone through the tears of saying farewell to Bridget and Luke. Everywhere you looked exquisite buildings lined the skyline. There was a strong sense of culture, vibrancy and food. After we left Bridget and Luke we walked along the river. You have probably only smelt this much weed in Amsterdam, everyone was sitting around enjoying the sunshine at dusk, and getting high. Y know. We were planning on getting more kms on the odometer, but decided to stay one or maybe two nights to soak up the beauty of Bilbao. was too depressed to take any pics so let's move on with the story.
I dreamt of storms, and when we woke up, the rain had truly set in. It was bitterly cold, even the locals were all rugged up and bustling around with umbrellas. We forfeited our plans of doing a self guided walking tour through the streets and decided to quickly smash the Guggenheim then head south.
Karl was marvelling at the building structure of The Guggenheim, sheet metal fixed direct to a steel skeleton, with no concrete reinforcement. Not to mention all the whack curves and angles. Personally I think it's pretty ugly, but I admit it's a masterpiece.
We sought refuge from the rain in a cosy little cafe and ate croissants and coffee. Matisse made friends with an Italian man who told us his life story over breakfast. He was cool. Two Spanish women at the bar, spoke not a word of English but were determined to let me know that my jacket was buttoned in the wrong button hole. Lots of language barriers, gesturing and confusion later, one just reached over and rebuttoned it for me. Such kindness, heaven forbid I looked scruffy in public. I wish one of them did my hair for me... It had been a while.
Matisses personality so getting stronger by the day. Even her Italian bestie in the cafe that morning was commenting on the strength of her character and saying she would be controlling everything, maybe even the country.
The final thing we did before strapping ourselves in for a drive south, was change Matisse's nappy. This is nortoriously a challenging task, with her squirming and trying to crawl away. More times than not, Karl and I enlist each other to help, one wrangles Matisse whilst the other whips on the nappy. This time, Karl was tackling this task single handededly on the backseat of the car. Not only did she succeed at avoiding the nappy being put on, but she seized the moment to wee all over the seat, her blankets, and the clothes she was wearing, which consisted of practically everything she owned to keep her warm enough. We had to unpack the car, get out all new clothes and redress her. She thought it was awesome being naked in the cold, dark car park, and was giggling hysterically the whole time. I sense a seriously cheeky girl in the making.
By the way, this post was called Bilbao and quickly beyond, because we quickly went beyond. But the truth is, we spent 45 mins driving around in circles before we even got on the right freeway out of town. Our GPS was oblivious to the massive motorways weaving across the city and kept directing us into construction sights, old roads that were being converted to buildings by the looks of things. Later that day I was planning a route on the GPS when it prompted me to update the system, as the maps were.. 36 MONtHS OLD... Adding wound to injury, we were already paying $15 euro a day or something astronomical for the privilege of being misdirected. Euro car you piece of shit. AND. I also discovered that the roads are written in basque, which is why NONE OF THE ROADS EXIST.