Bilbao

Now for some contemporaneous reporting, my trip to Bilbao turns out to mean spending a large part of the day on a very slow train. At one point, a guy on a bicycle actually passed us. In fairness to the train, it happened during one of our inexplicable slow downs in the middle of nowhere that seem to take place randomly just before we start to speed up again for no reason I can discern. If you think this is boring to read, try living it sometime.

The British guy across the aisle from me on the train is limping around a lot and I heard him refer to a “bicycle accident” when he was talking to his friend. I don’t know more and I don’t want to know more.

In other news, no one has yet complimented my beard although I think it’s coming in nicely. It’s currently somewhere between terrorista and English professor at a small New England liberal arts college. But looking on the bright side, I also got no comments when I spilled most of a cup of coffee all over myself on the train, so maybe it’s a net positive that people mostly mind their own business around here.






And finalmente, the Bilbao station. I only spent two days here one other time in my life, but somehow I feel nostalgic walking around, feeling like it was just yesterday.












Hasta luego to the shrimp-shaped metro stations and the cherry-red Bilbobuses.

Adios to the attractive crowds at the tapas bars.

I have some riding to do.