Really BIG Art in a Time Warp

Giant spider heads for nest in large bent tin can

I made for the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, an hour and a half west, parking in a lot near the museum: I don’t know what the surface of this underground lot was, but it made the most peculiar squealing sound under tires. I suspect people enjoyed this, because several drivers drove in circles round the lot, squealing madly.

The Guggenheim was impressive—the beautiful building, completed in 1997, revitalized the former industrial port of Bilbao and initiated a modern building revolution that’s a treat for the eyes. This museum holds extra-large artwork, including pieces from one of my favorite series, “The Matter of Time” by Richard Serra. The Serra works are monumental, as big as two-story houses, made of structural steel curving into ovals and other shapes, inviting the viewer to walk through and experience the changing light--i saw other pieces from this series in upstate New York and had the same amazed, spacey-visceral reaction. 

Light patterns inside one of Serra's works

The Guggenheim is all about monumental works, including a Jeff Koons 15-foot-tall “Puppy” covered in seasonal plants out front.

On to the village of Puente Viesge and El Castillo cave--the GPS went weird here, and I turned off Beauty, tired of her political persuasions (“Turn left ahead. Why left? Left is better! Ask the communists!”), and moved on to bland Susan. I was led down a series of dead-end roads--at one point, I had to back up 500 feet on a narrow roadway, only to come to a complete block--a one-ton granite block in fact--at the other end. There was a metal post standing upright on one side of the road, and faced with the prospect of backing up again for a quarter mile, I got out of the car, uprooted the post, laid it by the side of the road and pulled around the granite block. I didn't replace the post—take that, powers of darkness! I figured the block would discourage the less-disgusted just fine.

Flag mannikins pump their arm up and down
along the roads to warn of hazards

 Got back to the main road, and into the village of Vargas, once again resorting to the ask-a-human method.  I stopped at Bar Charles (named for the singer Charles Aznavour) at the crossroads of N634 and N623, and the very pretty bartender took me outside and indicated the direction I was to go in with her perfectly lacquered red nails. It was all so uncomplicated, I cursed the GPS and shut it off. Early for my tour time of the cave, I had a bocadilla at a nearby tavern.  This bocadilla, a baguette sandwich made with various fillings, was the size of a small raft; the filling consisted of a layer of potato pancake a half-inch thick covered with my beloved Serrano ham. I downed some of it, then rushed up the hill to park, and walked the remaining few hundred feet to the ticket office for my tour. It was then I found I was an hour late. I had been relying on the car clock, which was set in the previous time zone where I had picked it up. Modern machines failed me.

I returned to Vargas and tried to buy a map in several places with no luck. I followed the road back to Santander and finally found a gas station with a hideously expensive (priceless to me) Michelin map of Catalan, this part of Spain. Everything became clear, and I backtracked east to the hotel I had booked.

The Hostería El Laurel (Barrio Solegrario, 26, Hoz de Anero) is REALLY in the country, set amidst verdant farms. The area is beautiful and peaceful, and the clouds are fantastic. If you want to get away from it all, finish your novel, or spend some quiet time, this is the place. The "hotel" is really a home-stay, and an unmarked one at that. There is no address--I drove around for half an hour trying to locate "Barrio Solegrario" (this is not a street, but a small group of houses on unmarked roads, two meters west of Hoz de Anero, a crossroads), and another half hour quizzing locals as to the house (no number). Once you find it, it's easy--it's the big white driveway door, second house west past the road marked "vente marin". Finally, I reached the gate and was let in to be greeted by a large black dog, a nervous chihuahua, a pony and her foal, and the lady who  lived there. I was led into the office--the smell of mold was so strong I got dizzy--and hauled my suitcase up a flight of stairs. The room itself was modern and pleasant, with a private balcony that looked over the peaceful fields. There are no restaurants or any other services nearby--this place is only reachable by car. My biggest difficulty was the musty smell that permeated the entire house (this part of Spain is extremely humid—almost Hawaii-like tropical during the day and chilly at night). Though the guest rooms were completely modern and very clean, the rest of the house has spent decades in the damp climate of that part of Spain--not for folks with respiratory challenges. The isolation was also a problem--not ideal for the solo traveler. The owners couldn't have been more gracious, however.

I took my shower n the cold bathroom (during the day, the humidity was so high I sweat through everything--at night it was windy and cool) and went to bed early after finishing the remains of my bocadilla (glad I saved it!). A few hours later I awoke to the most god-awful smell of mold. It was everywhere: in the mattress, in the room; it had seeped up from the office below, and soaked into everything. I opened the door, and felt relieved enough to fall asleep until the door closed and the odor woke me up again. I was finding it hard to breathe. I knew I couldn't spend another night there--the smell was the worst, and I was so far from everything I wanted to see. The sheer beauty of the place-so green it hurt your eyes, shrouded in magnificent clouds--wasn't enough. I explained through my iPhone translator that I would be sick if I stayed the next night as I planned and payed them an extra five euros for their trouble. The husband kindly wanted to make sure I had complete directions into Santander and the hotel I had researched as a possible option that we sat in his office for 15 minutes while he drew me diagrams and printed maps out. It was really quite sweet.

Clouds near Hoz de Anero