A People-First Traveler's first weeks of acculturation to Bilbao

Normally in Bilbao, it’s dreary and it rains almost every day. For the past few weeks, it’s been sunny and when it rains, it drizzles, unlike the downpours back in Raleigh. Bilbao is in the north of Spain, in a region called the Basque country. There are two parts of the city that is split by the river: the old town (Casco Viejo) and the new town. The old town has narrow, pedestrian streets where people can get packed together on weekends and at peak hours of the night. The new town has more space for cars to drive easily and it looks a lot more modern than the old town.

The first week I was here, a local festival was happening: Aste Nagusia, which lasts for nine days starting the Saturday after August 15th. Surprisingly, the moment I stepped in my new apartment for the next four months, I met my roommates and they dragged me to the festivities not two hours later. The city was packed with people near the river and around the city centers, with several different stages hosting a local band or artist, and food stands selling churros, sandwiches with thin meats, or ice cream. Almost everyone had a blue and white bandana with a flower design that’s iconic for Bilbao. 

 

We walked through thralls of festival-goers to the park near the old town and climbed the side of the very steep mountain of a hill. Having settled onto a blanket on the hill, we waited until 10:30 pm when the fireworks light up the city. Behind us was a small carnival and the lights from various carnival rides lit up the rest of the hill while people milled up to the hill for a spot to watch the fireworks. When 10:30 rolls around, there’s three ear-popping booms that indicate that the fireworks are about to start. Each night, a different city or country is in charge of coordinating the fireworks and the country’s display I saw was Italy. Because the Basque country’s flag colors are red, white, and green, the sky started filling up with those colors and more colors eventually got added.

 

The nights the rest of that week were similar, with my roommates and I leaving for the hill to watch the fireworks. And almost every night, after the fireworks, we ventured to a different park to have a drink typical of the Basque region called Kalimotxo (pronounced cal-li-mo-cho). It’s an equal mix of Coca-Cola and cheap red wine. Everywhere I looked in that park were young people having a drink and just reveling in the festival atmosphere until the early hours of the morning.

My days, however, were a contrast when I had my Spanish class at Instituto Hemingway. For four hours of each morning, I am learning Spanish with other students of my level who are around my age to someone who was 54. The class is inclusive and my teacher makes it fun to learn with activities and games that test our memories. Every day, the school has a cultural activity where students discover what is typical in Bilbao and in the nearby cities that stretch to the beach 40 minutes away on train. During the festival, I went to watch a bull fight in the city’s bull ring. Other activities that didn’t depend on the festival are going as well such as, going to a “floating bridge”, a wine tasting, and every Friday night, everyone in the school goes to have a meal and mingles while having dinner.

 

When class is over, the sun is hot enough that there are several stores that close to take a siesta. There are a good number of stores that don’t close and I was told the reason is because the Spanish economy is bad enough to cause many shops and restaurants to remain open. A couple days in the week, I went out to have lunch with my classmates to discover the many typical dishes and foods of Bilbao and Basque country. Pintxos (pronounced pin-chos) were the Basque country’s version of tapas in the south of Spain and I was surprised that I can eat three small portions for less than 7 euros. As I continue to eat pintxos, I realize I’m getting spoiled with good, culturally meaningful food for cheap here in Bilbao and this will be one of the things I’ll miss when I leave for NC.

The bittersweet moments I have experienced at Instituto Hemingway are that students come and leave every week. Because there’s no time restriction for students to be at the school, people can attend class for a week or for four months in Spain like me. Even though every Friday I see one or more of my friends leave, every Monday, a new student arrives and I get to make new friends. It’s a cycle that will continue for me as long as I’m here and it doesn’t get any easier.

Next week, I start my internship and while I’m worried that my Spanish isn’t as proficient as I’d like it to be. It is the best way, I’m told, to immerse myself in the language which forces me to get better. Perhaps the next time I write, I’ll be able to report that my Spanish has improved.

By: Alix Vo, 
       People-First Traveler Extraordinaire