Bilbao and the Googleheimer

I do this whole blog-update thing best when I make a list. So here goes.

(1) On Friday morning our bus left at 10:30am. I missed my alarm so Val, my sis, woke me up. We kissed and hugged good-bye because she was leaving the next day for a three-week holiday, so it was the last time I will ever see her. She armed me with a giant sandwich and fruit and I left.

(2) Nicole and I boarded our bus to Bilbao. On our bus there were three girls from our abroad group (Kim, Tiffany and Ava). We also encountered Ieva, a 25 year old Lithuanian gal who is studying architecture in London. She doesn´t speak any Spanish and we were the first people that spoke English that she had spoken to in a few days. The bus ride was about 5.5 hours, so we arrived in Bilbao around 4pm.

(3) At the Bilbao bus station, we went to the information booth where the info-man explained that we would need to catch a train to get to our hostel, as it is not in the downtown area of Bilbao but rather in a suburb-type vicinity. We were super irritated because we assumed we would at least be within walking distance of the heart of downtown. We took an escalator underground and the train guy explained which stop to get off at.

(4) The train was only 1,30€. We were on the train a matter of 5 minutes before we reached our stop! This was exciting. We didn´t have a map of the Zorroza area but the train station was literally right around the corner from our hostel. Whew. Not bad at all. Less irritated now, we were buzzed in, ascended a sketchy flight of unlit stairs, and reached a door that identified the floor as the Hostal Don Claudio. A young Spaniard motioned us in the door ... dun dun dun. We went in, registered, and got our room keys. The hostel is one level of a large apartment-esque building, consisting of a common room, two super clean shared bathrooms, and around 12 rooms. Once we saw our room, I was impressed. For 34€ each, we basically got a 2-night stay in a non-traditional hotel! We had a private room with a sink, television set, two comfortable twin beds equipped with clean sheets (we hope) and pillows, and a giant window overlooking the alley next door to the train station. At this point, I was very glad that my first hostel experience didn´t involve cockroaches or bedbugs. It was very comfortable, and there was even free internet we could use at any hour of the day! The building was very secure - we had a key to get ourselves in the main door, a key to open the Hostal Don Claudio door, and then a key for our private room.

(5) We had previously planned to meet Ieva, the Lithuanian girl, in front of the Museo Guggenheim and go from there. While Nicole and I were waiting for her, we ran into two of the boys from our group who were also in Bilbao last weekend, Tyler and Mark. They weren´t able to get into our hostel for Friday night so they booked a hotel in the heart of the city for Friday, and had already booked a room in Don Claudio for Saturday night. Pretty soon Ieva showed up and we decided to eat doner kebaps London-style and try to find the 0,90€ funicular (funky licker, as we called it) that goes to a scenic point overlooking the city. We thought the funicular stopped running at 11pm so we hung out for awhile, only to return to a closed station. We were advised to take a bus down to the city because the walk down would be rought, so 1,50€ and 45 minutes later we found ourselves back in the heart of the city. Ieva took off for her hostel, and Nicole and I went to Tyler and Mark´s hotel to hang out for a bit. We ordered a bottle of wine from the front desk and watched some old Spanish-dubbed American movie for awhile. Then we found sandwiches and headed home via taxi around 2:30am.

(6) The other girls had arrived in town at 11pm that night, so the next morning we all woke up around 8:30am and made plans to meet at the Guggenheim later in the afternoon so we could tour it together. For the better part of the morning and early afternoon, Nicole and I searched in vain for an outdoor fresh produce and fish market, but wound up getting lunch at a panaderia (bread shop). Baguettes in our backpacks, we met the girls at the Guggenheim and obtained 5€ student ticket for the exhibits instead of the advertised 12,50€.

(7) The Guggenheim was amazing. The art wasn´t dull paintings in a boring, quiet museum - it was super contemporary art, like film installations, a giant army of clay Asians, a big room full of stuffed wolves (not real), and the atrium had about 10 cars in various positions mid-air, full of lights that looked like explosions - all of this inside a building that is a work of art itself. It took us about 3 hours to get through. I was captivated most by an installment piece called the Doppleganger Trilogy by Slater Bradley. From the Guggenheim website:

Slater Bradley's Doppelganger Trilogy (2001–04) conjures up three pop icons from the collective unconscious of our mass-mediated culture. All fallen heroes—two by suicide and one by a protracted descent into disrepute—these figures are perceived through the distancing lens of desire and memory. Each of the three videos is fashioned as a recording of a faux concert performance, using a technique reminiscent of what would have been employed to capture the event when it purportedly took place.Factory Archives imagines Ian Curtis, lead singer of the short-lived punk band Joy Division, through the grainy haze of aging video stock. As if retrieved from the vaults of Factory Records, this fragment depicts an elusive performer just before the dawn of MTV, when the choreographed music video would forever change how culture consumes its rock 'n' roll. Phantom Release rehearses this cultural phenomenon as well as the ubiquitousness of the personal camcorder, offering an ersatz, "amateur" recording of Kurt Cobain playing the guitar. Its studied casualness and raw ambience evoke the countless bootleg videos that can be downloaded from any number of Web sites devoted to all things Nirvana. In Recorded Yesterday Michael Jackson is seen performing his signature dance moves on an otherwise empty stage. The black-and-white, Super-8 film footage of this lone figure appears to be disintegrating as it plays, creating a ghostly, retro atmosphere that reflects the melancholic reality of a once brilliant career spiraling out of control. Each chapter of the trilogy appears worn and overexposed, as if distorted by age. The effect is one of a vaguely remembered image, a dream dimly recalled at the break of day.

Bradley's "restagings" of these imagined performances reference specific moments in his own life when he first encountered the work of Joy Division, Nirvana, and Michael Jackson, and through them, the seduction of abandonment, the lure of celebrity, and the erotics of fan worship. His trilogy—and its related photographs and collages—compellingly complicates the autobiographical element by the involvement of the artist's "doppelganger." Since 1999 Bradley has been collaborating with Benjamin Brock, his veritable double, in a series of works that explore the psychologically charged space between one's self and mirror image. In myth and literature, the doppelganger is an apparition that portends one's own death, but its form has mutated over time to include the notion of double identity. In the trilogy Brock performs as Bradley playing the roles of Curtis, Cobain, and Jackson. Transformed by costume and posture, and further masked by the deteriorating stock on which he is seen, the doppelganger is at once everyone and no one. What emerges is a triangulation of reflections, an endless hall of mirrors that leads nowhere but to the recesses of the unconscious mind.

My favorite of the three (even though it´s one piece of art, this part was my favorite) was the ¨footage¨of Ian Curtis. It was just breathtaking. The perfect song was used to create the desired output, when you are so impacted by a piece of artwork that it makes you want to cry, you know it´s good.

(8) After the Guggenheim, we decided to wander around for a bit before returning to our hostel. We decided to stay in our little Bilbao suburb of Zorroza for the night, and I gave Ieva directions to find us. At 10pm, she arrived with little paper cups and a bottle of Spanish champagne. The 6 of us girls sat in my and Nicole´s private room, three on each bed, sipping wine for awhile. We got the boys (now stationed comfortably next door to our room) and found a cafeteria/bar around the corner. Let me just take a moment to comment on the hideous amount of outdated American pop culture that is present in Spain. We listened to everything from ABBA to Green Day in the restaurant, which is actually kind of cool, because it seems like I always find a little bit of home wherever I go here. The 8 of us hung out for awhile and finally went home at 1:30am, hung out in the common room for awhile, and then a couple of us hung out on my window sill (not far from the ground, actually) enjoying the fresh air. The next morning we woke early to take the train to town and buy bus tickets for the ride home.

(9) I would like to say that the adventures ended there. They didn´t. Nicole and I bought tickets for the 2:30pm Eurobus, so we had some time to kill. We decided to wander around, and despite having a pretty good map of the city, we managed to get lost. Fed up with walking, we found a train station and bought a ticket, only we found that the next train to our station would come at 2:14pm. That´s not enough time to feel comfortable about getting on the bus to Oviedo on time, and we didn´t want to spend more money for new tickets if we missed the bus. So we hailed a taxi (actually, we walked right up to him and asked for a ride, there´s no ¨hailing¨process here) and made it to the station with plenty of time to spare. We bought sandwiches at the station cafeteria para llevar (to go) and sat on a bus bench near Mark and Tyler, who were on our same bus back. The Eurobus, can I just say, is WAY better than the regular ALSA bus, which in my experience is dominated by the overpowering stench of body odor, sweaty balls, and an inability to move your feet more than a foot or so in front of you. It was so comfy that we all managed to squeeze in a siesta before we arrived in Oviedo.

(10) When I arrived home and unpacked, I´m pretty sure my mom was saying she was going out and wasn´t preparing dinner for herself. She asked if I wanted dinner (cena) and I told her I´d probably eat out, which is actually fine, because I feel bad about having her cook for me all the time, especially if she´s not going to eat. I wasn´t actually hungry anyway, so it was cool. She told me there was a very important football game at 8pm (again, you know Spaniards and football!) and I told her I´d go watch it at a cafeteria. I took my blank flashcards and homework with me and sipped cafe con leche (coffee with milk) while I prepared for my exam this Thursday. I also bought a chicken kebap from the Estanbul Express restaurant on the corner by my house. The guy that runs it is really cool ... he lived in New York for 13 years so he speaks English wonderfully, he´s from Pakistan, but for some reason he lives in Spain. And, just for the record, he likes English way better than Spanish. I tend to agree, but I´m a little biased. Annnnyway, watching sports is boring, so it´s a good thing I had coffee.

The weekend was a blast and we were sad to realize that school is over in 12 days. At least Nicole and I have 8 extra days to explore parts of Spain, but it´s so hard to believe that we have been here for so long. Time has flown by. I want to write my sister a letter to thank her for helping me with my Spanish and being so inviting to me. To my host momma, too, of course.

The curious cultural thing about Spain is that they aren´t very open with their homes. I don´t blame them - a home is a comfortable zone for people that shouldn´t be violated by strangers, but it´s kind of ¨the thing¨to do in America, you know, invite people over, just because. In fact, a few days into our classes here, a girl invited a couple other classmates over to her apartment and her host mom flipped out, apparently calling our head professor angrily. Or something. That´s just what I hear, I don´t know the details, but it just goes to show how private the Spanish culture is regarding their home. So, really, when you look at it, it´s really an HONOR for them to have invited me warmly into their home, treated me like family, been patient with my Spanish speaking skills or lackthereof, fed me, and not flipped out at me for anything. I know I would be extremely uncomfortable giving a complete stranger a key to my home! I wonder if anyone else in our group has recognized how rare their experience is.

So the next two weeks, it´s just me, Muffy, and my Spanish momma. Money is tight with upcoming preparations for Madrid and Barcelona, but I really want to buy my host momma a present before I go. Who knows.

Oh, and next Saturday our class excursion is to a place called Covadonga, where we will be rafting down a river (nothing hardcore or anything) for 25€. Cool!

I´m kinda bummed to leave my host family though. Even for 8 days. It´s nice to come home to familiar faces, washed laundry, cooked food, a made bed, and conversation. Marbel and Val will always have a special place in my heart, as cheesy as that sounds. It would be cool to come back to Oviedo once I´ve completed my minor and wow them with my amazing Spanish skills, maybe take them to dinner or something. I am also going to miss the amazing coffee in Spain. Sheesh.

I´m done boobing now. As soon as my camera is charged, I´ll get Bilbao/Zorroza pictures posted on here. Pretty soon I´ll have some pictures of me in Spain, too... none of them are on my camera, but they´re coming!

Love to everybody. See you in 20 days. Except for you, Ma, so you better be calling me a lot.