24 March 2019 ― Not many years ago, Bilbao was the heartland of Basque independence, a no-go zone where few outsiders dared to venture.
ETA, the independence movement, killed hundreds of people in its fight for a Basque homeland and was particularly active under the authoritarian Franco regime. But when Franco died, it was time for peace and the Basque country was given a reprieve, plenty of privileges, a certain level of autonomy - and the population was tired of bombs. So over the years, with stops and starts, ETA moved away from violence.
Today, in the thriving and lively streets of Bilbao, you'd never know this society had been torn apart by its roots just a few short years ago.
I love Madrid. I was brought up there. It's my favorite city in Spain. But...
I was literally blown away by Bilbao, because of its warmth and architecture and food of course but also because landing at the seaside airport is a bit like taking a blind run at a wall, bouncing off it sideways, and then slipping on an oil slick. It is known as a windy airstrip but on that particular day even local spectators admitted they could see the plane rock at a distance.
But it was worth it.
There are so many things to see in Bilbao, the Guggenheim Bilbao being possibly the first but by no means the only sight. On the contrary, the best way to take a bite out of Bilbao is to walk its streets, particularly rewarding if you catch the city on a bright spring day.
I should be heading straight for Bilbao's stunning architecture but the city's food is so superb I can only sample all those extraordinary buildings once I've satisfied my taste buds.
Bilbao, the Basque country's largest city, has some of the best food and products in the world. The region is famous for exporting chefs, and scratch a Michelin restaurant in any country and you'll find plenty of Basques. Whether it's the freshness of the produce or the peculiar quality of the rain-fed grass (it rains plenty), food has a deep, resounding taste.
I managed to eat two extraordinary meals in Bilbao (not bad considering I was there under 48 hours).
The first meal was at Victor Montes Restaurant in the old town and predictably, my first course was an array of pintxos (pronounced pin-choes), similar to Spanish tapas. The word comes from the verb pinchar or pinched, because of the toothpick that often holds the garnish to the thin slice of Spanish-style baguette underneath.
What are some typical Basque pintxos?
Any type of cod. Baby eel. Seafood. Anchovies. Iberian ham. Sometimes both together. Salmon, egg, prawn and anchovy. Individually or combined. Red peppers, tuna salad and mushrooms. In other words there's very little you can't put on a pintxo. The flavors have to marry well, and it has to look pretty. I'd say they're a type of art form.
A last word about pintxos: they're not usually eaten at a sit-down meal, as I did. This is finger food at the bar. Usually you push your way through the crowd and order - or in many places you just help yourself and settle up later. Better yet, gang up with a bunch of friends and head off for a txikiteo, the pintxo version of a pub crawl, from bar to bar, stopping off in each for a specialty (and a little drink). And to think that some people sit down for dinner after this extravaganza.
Oh, I did. I had thought of ordering something light, fish perhaps, but the waiter's glare put me immediately in place by pointing to the house specialty: an amazing cut of beef so rich it felt like a pat of butter sliding down my throat.
Next day, still overwhelmed by the previous evening's meal, I was confronted with the Bistró Guggenheim Bilbao, whose more formal sister restaurant, Nerua, has a Michelin star but whose kitchen is also run by Nerua's chef, Joseán Martínez Alija, who has quite an extraordinary story.
I ordered roast boned lamb and here's what arrived.
In panic I almost sent it back, thinking they'd forgotten my main meal and brought me a dessert brownie instead. False alarm. This was pressed deboned lamb, possibly one of the most exquisite lamb dishes I've ever tasted. And those lovely nutlike sprinkles on top are chickpeas.
Sometimes you have to be brave and jump in.
With this kind of eating activity going on, walking is the only antidote and this is a great walking city.
There's something about Bilbao, a certain contemporary nonchalance that casually throws out ultramodern structures into the midst of classical monuments. And it works. Bilbao is one of the most visually stimulating cities I've visited in Spain, not because of its utter beauty - it is more attractive than beautiful - but because of the contrasts and the corners.
Despite its cultural and culinary wealth, most tourists come to Bilbao for one reason: the hyper-modern Bilbao Guggenheim Museum. The relatively recent (1997) structure was designed by noted (and sometimes controversial) architect Frank Gehry. It is certainly a striking building, surrounding by exhibitions of modern art and plenty of interesting viewpoints.
Just as glorious in my opinion are the vestiges of Art Nouveau, much of which was left untouched by the bombings of the Spanish Civil War which destroyed the city's bridges in 1937. What damage did take place was repaired and the city retains a pristine feel.
What's in a name, you ask?
Everything, it seems.
Guernica is the Spanish name of a small Basque village. And Gernika is how the Basques themselves spell it. The two reflect radically different realities and how you spell the town says a lot about how you view its history.
It is a perfect day trip from Bilbao, a pleasant one-hour train journey, a peaceful and friendly place in which people go about their business.
There is little to remind anyone that the village was leveled by the Nazis in 1937, even before World War II began. The Spanish Civil War, on the other hand, was in full swing
It was a sunny Monday during the Spanish Civil War, 26 April 1937 to be exact. It would have been market day in Gernika, the town's population swollen by shoppers and farmers from other villages, the atmosphere tense from the sound of distant aircraft and the taste of fear, palpable after the recent bombing of a nearby village.
The battlefront was inching closer.
At midday the church bells sounded an alarm, a sound so common few people heeded the warning. By mid-afternoon, Nazi bombers were strafing the streets and by evening, the thriving little riverside town had been carpet-bombed into rubble, killing hundreds, possibly as many as 1600, wounding many more.
As soon as the Spanish Civil War began, Adolf Hitler proclaimed his support for the Nationalist cause of General Francisco Franco, and sent him tanks and planes: the Condor Legion. Gernika would be the Nazi stepping stone to World War II, a practice session, a prelude.
So when Franco asked Germany's Luftwaffe, or air force, to bomb Gernika, they obliged. The bombs and bombers were German, but the order came from Spain, a fact some Basques never forgot.
No one really knows what the bombing was designed to achieve: the destruction of a strategic bridge (unlikely, since the bridge stayed standing), the repulsion of advancing Republicans, the testing by Germany of new carpet bombing tactics, or the simple desire to spread terror.
Whatever the reasons, the destruction of Gernika eventually reached the ears of Picasso, then living in Paris. Outraged, the usually apolitical Spanish artist put his brushes to work.
The result was one of the world's most famous paintings, Guernica, a cry of anguish about war.
The Spanish Civil War ended in 1939 with a victory for Franco and although pro-Nazi, Spain would not officially fight in World War II; it was busy nursing its own wounds.
Franco's government would last until his death in 1975 and his rule would be marked by a cycle of Basque aggression, repression and oppression. Under him, the Basque language was banned, Basque intellectuals and politicians detained and tortured. The nascent Basque terrorist group, ETA, sowed fear into Spanish hearts and killed hundreds of people, many of them police and army officials, before renouncing violence in 2011.
ETA left a deep mark on Spain's psyche and for decades the entire Basque population would be thought of as closet terrorists not only by Spaniards but by people outside the country too.
As a Basque friend told me, "I had to make excuses whenever I traveled and told people I was Basque. They looked at me with alarm and I actually had to explain to them I wasn't a terrorist." Today, the future is bright for the region: it has regained a measure of autonomy, and is one of the richest regions in an otherwise financially battered country.
During my own youth in Spain, the only time Basques were ever mentioned was when there was a terrorist attack. As children we were kept dreadfully ignorant and the 'Basque province' was a no-go zone so it was with some trepidation that I finally visited Bilbao and tried to understand the region's story.
While history may be a bit discreet these days, it is anything but forgotten.
The Museum of Peace, at the left of the handsome central square, tells the story of war by reconstructing sights and sounds of that April night.
As I sat in a darkened room, I heard the church bells, the sounds of bombing and the warning sirens. I tried to imagine what it might have been like to gather my children or elderly parents in fear and rush into a shelter, not knowing if I would ever leave it, the buildings all around me crashing to the ground.
No, I couldn't even begin to imagine that, even though my heart beat faster.
And that may be what the museum is trying to do - remind us that some horrors are unimaginable and that peace is always a better alternative than war.
One symbol that survived the bombing is the Tree of Gernika, possibly the most important Basque symbol of freedom. This is where Basque leaders traditionally gathered to make important decisions and pass the laws of Biscay province.
The tree itself isn't the original but a descendant, the member of a dynasty. The original tree lasted 450 years and the withered trunk of the second, which survived through the 19th century, is showcased in a stone gazebo on the grounds of the Assembly Hall, headquarters of the Biscay parliament.
Today's tree, the fourth, is a sapling, its slim, pliant branches waving as much towards the future as towards the past.
In Gernika, the past is never far from the collective consciousness. Here, Picasso is revered, a main street named after him.
His painting, Guernica, is at the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid.
However that's not to everyone's liking.
"That is indeed where the painting is," said a local lady with whom I chatted over a coffee. "But that's not where it should be. We want it here."
Guernica, or Gernika, for so long a reminder of war, has now become an emblem of peace.
And Bilbao is the perfect jumping off point for this major history lesson.