… bombing la galleria
Train from Llanes to Bilbao, from Asturia to Basque country, is well worth the 7 euros. Beautiful country, lucsious green greymajestic cliffs jutting out. Relaxed warm and dry and enjoying the view. Arrival … Bilbao station, an interesting old building, and Bilbao … seems to be in absolute fucking chaos … there are about 10 circuses going on at once.
I’ve randomly arrived in a sleepy town on the first day of their one big week of party, the grande semasa, 24/7 party … an improvised bar on every corner, each with a dodgy sound system playing cheesy spanish disco and party music. Big stages with annoying rock bands, a disco in one of the squares, a big stall with chocolate coated spanish donuts, plenty of fast food at inflated prices. Too much to take in, I find a bar for a decent coffee, and tourist info for a small map, some clues, and the possible whereabouts of a music store.
Tourist info has the ubiquitous small tourist maps, and there is a music shop in town. We locate it on google, and she marks it on the map. Great. This is my first stop. A long and confused walk through the inner city with all my stuff on my back. A few loops, and I’m in front of … a music shop with plenty of saxes, probably mouthpieces, and a sign saying ‘closed for the next two weeks’. Crap.Well there are plenty of people, plenty of buskers, and its a good excuse to practice clari. Pass one guy playing cheezy light classical with a string backing. Don’t like the music, but he has a great sound, and I throw a few coins his way. Rain is threatening, it’s windy, so I find a spot in a doorway with shelter, cranking out latin and whatever jazz i can translate to the clari quickly. Not great money, but I’m having fun. The other clari player pops by to say bueno, has a few good words about my playing, and suggestions about good locations to play … he throws me back the coins I’d thrown him.
Accomodation is not going to be possible … though there’s a campground on the edge of town. Maybe I’ll sort it out later. And it’s an all nite party … maybe it won’t be necessary. But its raining, and I’ve got this fat pack. Chain it under its raincoat in an underpass, wander a bit check the location of the station onwards, grab a warm meal which I stuff with the gratis cheese in the small pack, then return to the dry underpass to hang out for a few hours, listening to a crew busking african beats on djembes. A few guys wander past strummin guitars. Small crews of teenagers passing around cartons of Sangria and bottles of cheap wine. Nice scene … after a few hours I decide to wander out … the rain is fading and I’ve got a lot of work to do if I’m going to afford a mouthpiece on my zero sum budget.
I find a doorway with plenty of room, drop the big bag, and pull out the clarinet. Slow going with so much party going on, but I’m in a great mood … the music here is average but the street party vibe is wondrous … I play on anyway. At some stage, a local girl with an ecuadoran friend pop past … distract me for a while, fill me full of too much vodka and orange, light up a joint, leave a few cigarettes, some coins and I’m off. From here the busking is really working. I’m having a hoot, have an earphone in so I miss any negative crap thrown my way (not much of this anyway) … anybody with anything positive will leave coins booze cigarettes or nice words. It’s a fantastic night. Two guys that I’d seen earlier with a guitar pop by, and then Hayley and Adi, cross back and forth. Adi plays clarinet … multitalented, and a trained clarinettist … she has a few hints to correct some of the flaws in my pseudo sax … I’ve taken a lot of this on, and am really glad for that connection. We keep going all night, and towards dawn part agreeing to meet the next night. I think the guys are a touch pissed with me as they thought to go home with the girls, and the 5 way interconnect and all night party foiled their plans. But what the fuck it’s all a great vibe a great party.
I’d been told the Bilbao guggenheim was worth a visit just for the architecture … a nice place for breakfast before finding a quiet place to crash. Walk there past the human wreckage of the first big night of the big week … swatted barflies flattened in the corner of 30 or 40 small bars and cafe’s. And the Bilbao guggenheim an amazing building … well worth a look. I have a baguette behind it, in the shelter of one of the utility entrances. Have a look at my the info in my pequeno mapo. This is the home of Jeff Koon’s Puppy. Wow. Legendary. I have to see this. I chain the big saco to a rail and have an explore.
A wonderfully twisted non linear building with a big spider of Louise Bourgeios in one corner … and yes, over there is the big floral puppy. Hysterical. About the only work of Jeff Koons that I like. Still unslept, I spend a good half an hour wandering around it occaisionally rolling round with laughter. Its great. The museum cafe is open. A loo break and a proper coffee. Things are crazy and hazy from sleep deprivation back around the building … and something is very missing. AAAAAArgh. I’m in a panic. There’s the chain. Where’s the fucking big pack? I run around in circles panicking a few minutes. OK so I have most important stuff in the laptop case. I see one of the garbo’s fumble a few questions in my malo espanol. ‘un grande saco aqui un medi ora?’ ‘donde’. He knows. The guggenheim security have spotted it on the video, and assumed it’s a bomb. The police have come around to deal with it. Some phone calls. He tells me where the main police station is. I’m off, stressed rushing and chain smoking. I’ve got to get there before they put it in a concrete pit and blow it up, or however they deal with possible bombs in this crazy town.
Half an hour later, I’m at the main police station … my mind is full of what would be even the least damage done how they’ve damaged the pack to remove it from the rails … all the questions … why was it there, what was I doing … this is going to be messy. Reception seem to know the story and direct me to lost and found. The crew in lost and found think it’s hysterical … doesnt seem like they’ve taken it even half seriously as a bomb threat. It’s intact, and they pulled it off the rails by undoing the straps (incompetent terrorist!). They’ve clipped one of the locks to get id, find a few personal things, a saxo, and they’ve left it intact. I sign tell my story, and we all have a great laugh. One of the cops pulls an umbrella from the hallazdo cosas and gives it to me as I leave. A vino in a nearby bar and I’m on the train to an outer suburb to find some place to camp. Stick up a tent behind a gas station, and get 5 well earned and solid hours of rest.
Back to festival zone late afternoon, charge the phone in a friendly cafe over the local mixed drink (iced wine and coke) and set up in the same spot. Busking was great the last night, and tonight will be even better. Hayley pops past, but Adi is in no mood as she’s had a bag stolen. The guitar guys are elsewhere … but the playing is good and the dinero is more than enough. Play all through the night, and say goodbye to Bilbao in the morning … crash out on the station for a few hours … then I’m on the train to San Sebastian.
