Gone Basque-ing

I open my umbrella against the rain as I walk through Casco Viejo to meet friends for pintxos one evening in October.

Bilbao is best known as an urban collage of cutting-edge architecture and old gems from its heyday during the industrial age. However, Casco Viejo is the original heart of the city. In the year 1300, the Lord of Biscay, Don Miguel Lopez de Haro V, recognized the potential of a muddy fishing village on the banks of the Ría Nervión. He ordered the construction of the first bridge, the first church, and the first seven streets that would become the city of Bilbao. While none of them bear much resemblance to their medieval origin, the winding labyrinth of Casco Viejo’s narrow cobbled roads reminds you that Bilbao has a much longer history than it’s local steel mines or modern marvels may attest.

I duck into Elkar, a local bookshop specializing in Basque literature, just to get out of the rain. I pass a small family. The woman adjusts her bonnet, while her husband, dressed in breeches and donning a traditional txapela, or beret, teases their baby in its stroller. I smile at the little Basque family as I shake out my umbrella and step onto the street again. Clusters of people in traditional Basque dress walk past. I hear drumming just a little ways off. It isn’t long until a procession crosses my path.

A man carrying the processional banner is flanked by to drummers. I squash against the side of the bookshop to make space for the throng to pass through the narrow street. However, they stop just where I stand. The man with the banner turns to the crowd and addresses them in Basque. I don’t understand a word, but I imagine it is a tribute to the reason for their pilgrimage that night.

The next day will be la festividad de Begoña, the day set aside for Bilbao’s patron saint, Nuestra Señora de Begoña. The celebration is also known as el Día de la Amatxu, as “amatxu” means “mother” in Basque. It is believed that the Virgin Mary appeared at the Basilica of Begoña in the 16^th Century. The Basques continue to cherish their saint; the mayor of Bilbao, Inaki Azkuna, prayed to Our Lady of Begoña this August to ask for help and guidance through Spain’s financial crisis.

The procession begins their climb of several hundred steps to the Basilica of Begoña, which sits on the top of a hill overlooking Bilbao. They are going to pray to Our Lady of Begoña on the eve of her feast day, October 11. I watch as the crowd makes its way, disappearing beneath a sea of umbrellas.

Our Lady of Begoña holds cultural as well as religious importance for the Basques. Those who do not make the pilgrimage to mass that night gather in la Plaza Nueva to partake in another distinctly Basque ritual – pintxos.

The Plaza Nueva in Casco Viejo is the best spot in Bilbao for pintxos. It’s no surprise that the restaurants and pintxo bars are typically crowded. But that night, you could barely make your way around the square for want of a space to stand.

In the corner between Victor Montes and Café Bar Bilbao, a traditional Basque folk band plays the pipes as a little girl and her brother dance along. Their parents, friends, and countless others stand in the doorways, around barrels set outside, and in every possible space spilling onto the laneway. I stop into Victor Montes for a glass of mosto and a pintxo.

Victor Montes is an old favorite. It’s a hot spot for tourists, but I’ve come across its doors closed for a private party of locals on more than one occasion. They have an impressive spread of pintxos, from classic jamón iberico to foie con queso and countless other combinations that seem too simple to taste so good.

I resist heading over to Gure Toki across the plaza. Gure Toki has a modern take on traditional Basque pintxos, which I love. The gourmets of Bizkaya must agree with me; the establishment’s back wall is covered with Txapelak de oro, or Gold Berets, the annual award for the best pintxos in Bilbao. This year’s winner is Gure Toki’s pintxo of Idiazabal soup with egg, cheese, and wild mushrooms.I know. I really don’t see a way that anyone would dislike this dish. It takes a bit of self-control to wait until my friends join me to continue on my pintxo crawl. I throw one last thought to stepping next-door for a plate of my favorite rabas at Café Bar Bilbao, but I’m truly itching to meet my friends and show them what they’ve been missing.

I catch Whitney and Tanisha by la boca of the metro in Plaza de Miguel de Unamuno. By now, the rain has picked up again. We watch the parade of umbrellas return down the steps from the Basilica of Begoña. It’s quite a sight as we sit outside a café sipping our cafes con leche. I tell them about the procession, the musicians, and all the rest I had seen. Whitney and I decide to try to find the source of the music we’ve heard coming from somewhere down one of the winding streets.

It doesn’t take long for us to find ourselves in the middle of another procession. The banner has been replaced by a chalkboard, on which a man writes a number for everyone around to see. The drummers are joined by musicians like those I saw earlier in Plaza Nueva. Whitney and I are more than happy to walk along with the crowd, although we are not sure where they are going, or what they are doing, for that matter.

We reach a crossroads, and the musicians stop their march to finish off their tune. The man with the chalkboard wipes it clean to write a new number. The musicians start again, and everyone begins to sing. We are a little startled at first. What is it they are singing, and how do they all know the words so well? Naturally, the crowd is singing in Basque. Whitney notices that everyone has his or her own little red book, which I relate to something of a hymnal. Of course, we can’t distinguish a single word, so there is little we can do but stand and smile and attempt to pick up the tune.

The Basques have a strong singing tradition. Basque history and tradition has been carried through the ages by ballads. It is quite common for groups to gather in the streets to sing these ballads together following feast day celebrations, much like those that Whitney and I join on the eve of la festividad de Begoña. However, you’ll find even more people singing in the streets on Christmas Eve to celebrate Olentzero, who is something of a Basque Santa Clause.

I couldn’t help but smile as I listened to the melody of Basque verse travel through Casco Viejo. I know very well that this is far from a typical scene in Basque Country, nor is it a way in which even most Basques identify with their national culture. However, I couldn’t have asked for a better vignette of Basque culture than la festividad de Begoña.