Casco Viejo Leon

Our first hurdle however, was parking the large SUV in the hotel’s subterranean parking garage, from a very narrow alleyway. We first had to load the SUV onto an elevator that provided less than 4 inches of clearance on either side of the car. It took at least six attempts before we could drive the behemoth into that confined space. It’s a good thing we laugh a lot!

Tiny Hotel car elevator

León turned out to be a nicel city to wind down.

After dropping off our luggage, we headed toward the old city and wandered through el Barrio Húmedo, a maze of narrow streets and little plazas that makes up León’s traditional tapas / Pintxos district.

Plaza Mayor

Eventually we found our way to Plaza Mayor, where we stopped for dinner at one of the nearby restaurants. It was a perfect introduction to the city—people filling the outdoor tables, glasses of wine being poured, and that wonderfully Spanish habit of letting dinner unfold without anyone appearing to be in much of a hurry. After dinner we strolled back to the hotel and settled in for a well deserved night’s rest.

What makes León especially interesting is just how much history lies underneath its everyday life.

The city actually began as a Roman military camp. The Roman Legion established its permanent base here in the first century AD, and even the name León evolved from Latin, meaning “legion.” Parts of the Roman walls survive today, and remarkably, some of the streets we walked follow the basic layout of the old Roman encampment.

After Rome disappeared, León eventually became one of the most important Christian cities of medieval Spain — and the capital of the Kingdom of León. During the Middle Ages it played an important role in the development of the kingdoms that would eventually become modern Spain. It also became an important stopping point on the Camino de Santiago. As they do today, pilgrims have been walking through the streets of León on their way to Santiago de Compostela for more than a thousand years.

Gaudi’s Casa Botines

This morning we again set out on foot until we reached Casa Botines, one of the most unusual buildings in León. It was designed by Antoni Gaudí (who also designed Sagrada Familia in Barcelona), and surprisingly, it is one of only three buildings Gaudí constructed outside Catalonia. Gaudí designed it in the early 1890s for two prosperous León textile merchants who wanted commercial space, warehouses and apartments all incorporated into one building.

From the outside, Casa Botines looks like a small medieval castle, with its gray stone walls, pointed towers and Gothic influence. Yet inside, Gaudí was experimenting with surprisingly modern ideas, including an open commercial floor supported by cast-iron columns rather than conventional load-bearing walls. Even the windows were influenced by our next destination—the Cathedral of León.

From Casa Botines we walked to the magnificent León Cathedral.

León Cathedral

The cathedral dominates the old city, but what really makes it extraordinary is the light. The Gothic builders replaced enormous portions of the walls with stained glass, so when the sun comes through, the interior seems to glow. Standing inside, it is difficult to imagine that people were capable of creating something so delicate and ambitious hundreds of years before modern engineering.

Papones or KKK?

Walking around León we also encountered one of the city’s Holy Week sculptures depicting hooded papones, members of León’s religious brotherhoods. To American eyes, the tall pointed hoods immediately—and rather alarmingly—resemble the Ku Klux Klan. In reality, the Spanish capirote is part of a Catholic tradition that predates the KKK by centuries.

Papones

Once we understood what we were looking at, what initially seemed bizarre and shocking, became another fascinating glimpse into León’s deeply rooted traditions.

In barely a day and a half, we’ve already seen several different versions of León layered on top of one another: Roman military outpost, medieval royal capital, pilgrimage city, Gothic masterpiece, Gaudí architecture, and modern Spanish city.

And perhaps the best part is that León doesn’t feel like a museum. People are still living, eating, drinking and socializing among all those centuries of history.

After spending the afternoon exploring León and visiting the remarkable Casa Botines, we made our way back to the hotel for a little downtime. We had something very special planned for the evening, and a few hours of relaxation seemed like a good idea before heading back out.

niMu Azotea (rooftop)

That night we walked the short distance from our hotel to niMÚ Azotea, a rooftop restaurant and bar just a block and a half away. A private event had been arranged there for the evening’s total solar eclipse, giving us an unobstructed view from high above the rooftops of León.

The atmosphere couldn’t have been better—light, jovial, relaxed, and filled with that wonderful sense of anticipation that comes when a group of strangers realizes they’re about to experience something extraordinary together. There were a handful of Americans, but most of the guests were Europeans and a smattering of people from León and the surrounding area.

Anticipating the Eclipse

And then came the eclipse.

Watching daylight slowly disappear from a rooftop in Spain was almost surreal. Conversations quieted as totality approached and, for those few remarkable moments, everyone seemed completely absorbed by what was happening above us. It was one of those rare experiences when you know, even while you’re living it, that you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.

As the evening continued, we found ourselves spending time with a lovely couple and their university-age daughter. He worked in finance and his wife was a high-school English teacher. Their daughter, who appeared to be of Asian heritage, had shown absolutely no interest in learning English growing up. Now that she was at the university, however, English had suddenly become considerably more interesting, and spoke nothing but English all evening.

This created a rather amusing problem for me. Whenever I attempted to practice my Spanish, they immediately answered me in English. Apparently, my plans for international linguistic greatness were going nowhere that night.

They especially enjoyed talking with Mary. The husband became Mary’s unofficial guardian for the evening—making sure she had enough food and drink, finding her a chair whenever she needed one, and generally fussing over her with tremendous kindness and attention. It was charming, funny, and one of those spontaneous connections with strangers that can become as memorable as the destination itself. Interestingly, he spoke no English and as we all know, Mayi speaks no Spanish, but they were like two kindred spirits.

Eventually, the evening came to an end. Between the eclipse, the rooftop, the food, the drinks, the laughter, and our new acquaintances, it had turned into something far more memorable than we ever could have planned.

We left niMÚ and made our way back toward the hotel—half walking and half stumbling, which probably tells you something about just how relaxed the evening had become.

We crawled into bed thoroughly exhausted.

A rooftop in León. New friends from another part of the world. A little too much food and drink. And above us, a total eclipse.

It was an amazing evening and, without question, a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Official Addidas Store León

After breakfast at Hotel My Palace, we packed the car and said goodbye to León. We had only been there a short time, but we’d managed to get a wonderful taste of the city—from the lively streets of Barrio Húmedo and Plaza Mayor to Gaudí’s Casa Botines and the magnificent León Cathedral. A little after 10:00 AM, we were back on the road.

Our first mission was considerably less cultural: finding official Spain World Cup soccer shirts. We found a store along the way hoping to find some Spanish national team shirts, but unfortunately came up empty-handed. Apparently, acquiring a Spain soccer shirt in Spain is more difficult than one might imagine. Unfortunately, every plaza and side alley in León had African’s selling cheap knockoffs. We we’re tempted to buy one, but we’re afraid they would disintegrate in the rain.

Santander

From there, we continued north toward Santander, and the scenery became increasingly more beautiful as we approached Spain’s northern coast.

Santander immediately impressed us. Sitting on the Bay of Biscay, the city has been a port for centuries, but during the 19th century it also became a fashionable seaside destination for Spain’s wealthy and eventually the Spanish royal family. Today, its long stretches of golden sand, elegant waterfront and beautiful blue-green water give it the feeling of a sophisticated European beach resort.

The beaches were absolutely gorgeous. Parking, however, was another matter. We drove around seemingly forever trying to find somewhere—anywhere—to leave the car. Not finding anything we gave up and headed out. In the tunnel underneath the city we finally discovered an underground parking garage. Victory! We parked and walked toward the local area and the waterfront.

About a block up from the beach, we found a very cozy little restaurant and stopped for lunch. Mary had a bocadillo con jamon Iberico (oh please!! Although Mary doesn’t eat ham, It’s a fancy ham sandwich), while I had an avocado stuffed with shrimp. After spending so much of the morning in the car, sitting near the beach with a good lunch and a cold glass of wine felt pretty wonderful.

Cozy Restaurant with African selling wares

Shrimp and Avocado

On our walk back to the parking garage, we stumbled across something completely unexpected: a carousel. Mary’s Mom & Dad had one of their first dates at the Bushnell Park carousel, naturally, we rode it.

Carousel Ride

For a few minutes, we forgot about driving, parking garages and itineraries and simply felt like kids again. Sometimes the completely unplanned moments end up being the ones you remember best.

Back in the car, we continued east along Spain’s spectacular northern coastline and eventually found ourselves in the picturesque little seaside town of Castro Urdiales. And what a discovery it was.

Castro with Church in the background

The town has a wonderfully dramatic setting, with its old harbor surrounded by colorful buildings and a rocky promontory rising above the water. At the top sits the imposing Gothic Church of Santa María de la Asunción, begun in the 13th century, alongside the medieval Castle of Santa Ana. Together they give the waterfront the appearance of something out of another century.

Kids Diving and Swiming in the Bay

Below us, kids were jumping from the rocks into the incredibly clear blue water. The whole scene—the old stone church, the fortifications, the harbor and that beautiful water—was spectacular.

Church of Santa Maria

At the church on top of the hill, we also came across an art installation featuring beautiful works of art, including a piece that resembled Mary’s new canasta group. It was another one of those things we hadn’t planned on seeing and probably wouldn’t have discovered had we simply driven straight through.

Mary’s Canasta Group

Eventually we got back into the car and continued east toward Bilbao, finally arriving at around 8:00 PM.

View of Castro from Santa Maria

By then, we were exhausted. We ate dinner at the hotel restaurant and managed only a short stroll around the block afterward before calling it a night.

What was supposed to be a travel day had turned into an adventure of its own—beautiful beaches, impossible parking, Iberian ham, shrimp-stuffed avocado, a carousel ride, medieval churches, kids diving into the Bay of Biscay, unexpected artwork and mile after mile of northern Spain.

By the end of it, we had been traveling and exploring for more than ten hours.

We were tired. But it had been one great day.

Views of the Guggenheim from our Hotel

We started the morning with breakfast on the terrace of the Artist Hotel in Bilbao, overlooking the Guggenheim Museum. It’s hard to imagine a better breakfast view—the titanium curves of the museum practically right across the street.

Town Square Bermeo

After breakfast, we headed north along the Basque coast to Bermeo, where we were catching our shuttle to San Juan de Gaztelugatxe, better known to Game of Thrones fans as the Dragonstone.

Bermeo was quite a contrast to Bilbao. It felt gritty, weathered, and very much like a working town, with people who seemed a little rough around the edges. But that character makes sense when you understand its history. Bermeo was once one of the most important fishing and whaling ports in the Basque Country, and for centuries its people made their living from the often-dangerous waters of the Bay of Biscay. Fishing, shipbuilding, storms, and hard physical work shaped the town and generations of the people who lived there. It isn’t polished for tourists—and that’s part of its charm. Bermeo feels like a place that has earned every wrinkle.

Even the monuments in Bermeo look downtrodden.

Then came Gaztelugatxe. The name roughly translates from Basque as “castle rock,” and it certainly looks the part: a dramatic rocky island rising out of the sea, connected to the mainland by a stone bridge and that long, winding staircase leading to the little hermitage of San Juan at the top. Game of Thrones transformed the location into Dragonstone, but standing there, it hardly needs Hollywood’s help.

Geztelugatxe or Dragonstone.

The Dragonstone steps were absolutely phenomenal—and absolutely exhausting.

We hiked down toward the island, crossed the bridge, and then began the climb up the stone steps to the Hermitage of San Juan de Gaztelugatxe. The views of the rugged Basque coastline and the blue-green Atlantic below were spectacular. Reaching the little church at the summit made every step worthwhile.

Inside the Church of San Juan

Of course, what goes down must eventually go back up. After coming down from Gaztelugatxe, we still had the long climb back toward the shuttle and parking area. It was extremely strenuous. By the time we finished, I was completely covered in sweat and looked as though someone had thrown me into the Bay of Biscay.

More water on the Shirt than in the bottle

But here’s the part worth remembering: Mary at 65 and me at 70—we did it. We climbed the Dragonstone Steps, made the trek back, and still arrived at the bus with plenty of time to spare. Not too shabby for a couple of old dragons.

Back in Bermeo, we walked from the shuttle drop-off toward the free arenal parking area where we’d left the car. Along the way, we stumbled upon a little Pintxos bar, exactly the sort of place you find when you’re not really looking for anything. We stopped, had something to eat and something cold to drink, rested our very tired legs, and congratulated ourselves on surviving the day’s adventure.

Pintxos in Bermeo

Then it was back to Bilbao and The Artist Grand Hotel of Art.

We spent the late afternoon walking around the city, doing some shopping and sightseeing before returning to the hotel. That evening thanks to wobbly legs, we decided there was no reason to go very far—the terrace had been pretty spectacular at breakfast, so why not finish the day there as well?

Dinner on the terrace was fabulous. We sat outside beneath some cloud cover, looking out over Bilbao and the Guggenheim. After the hiking, climbing, sweating, shopping, and wandering, it was wonderful simply to sit there with Mary, have dinner, and enjoy the evening.

Beautiful fountain in the center of town.

A beautiful ending to a very full day—and one I’m pretty sure our legs will remember tomorrow morning.

After breakfast at the Artist Hotel in Bilbao, we packed our bags and left them with the hotel while we headed across the street for our 10:00 AM tour of the Guggenheim Museum.

Lobby Clock at the Artist Hotel, watch to the end

We had booked a 90-minute semi-private tour, which turned out to be a very good decision. When we arrived, the line of people waiting for the museum to open stretched nearly all the way to the street. Our tour allowed us to bypass the ticket line, and at 10:00 sharp the doors opened and we met our guide, Nora.

Nora was a very proud Basque, and spending the morning with her gave us an interesting perspective not only on the museum but on the Basque people themselves. She wasn’t hostile toward Spain in any way, but she made it very clear that the Basques value their autonomy and keep a watchful eye on Madrid. She explained the unusual degree of fiscal independence enjoyed by the Basque Country and contrasted it with Catalonia, where the question of greater autonomy remains far more contentious. According to Nora, granting Catalonia the same financial arrangement enjoyed by the Basques would create enormous problems for the Spanish government. Whether every detail of her political analysis would survive a Madrid accountant with a calculator is another question, but there was absolutely no mistaking her Basque pride.

Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum

The Guggenheim itself is as fascinating architecturally as anything hanging inside it. Designed by Frank Gehry and built between 1993 and 1997 on what had been an industrial waterfront, the museum became the centerpiece of Bilbao’s remarkable transformation from a declining industrial city into an international destination for architecture, art and tourism. Gehry used aerospace-design software to make the building’s seemingly impossible curves actually buildable. Its exterior is covered with roughly 33,000 extraordinarily thin sheets of titanium, along with limestone and glass, creating a surface that seems to change color depending upon the light, clouds and weather.

Nora also told us a story about Gehry obtaining titanium inexpensively from Russia during the economic turmoil following the collapse of the Soviet Union, helping the project come in on time and on budget. Then she added one of the more politically incorrect observations of our trip. Gehry was born Frank Goldberg and later changed his family name to Gehry. Nora pointed out his Jewish heritage and, with a wink and a smile, attributed his supposed financial shrewdness to the old stereotype about Jews and money: “You know how Jews are with money.” It was certainly an unexpected comment from a museum guide—and one of those little moments that probably says as much about the person giving the tour as it does about the subject of the tour.

After finishing at the Guggenheim, we crossed to the opposite side of the Nervión River so we could photograph the museum from across the water. From there we retrieved the car and headed east along the Basque coast toward Zumaia.

Lunch at Idoia in Zumaia

Zumaia is a lovely little coastal town tucked between dramatic green hills and the sea, best known for the extraordinary flysch rock formations along its coastline—millions of years of geological history exposed in great tilted layers of stone. The town itself feels much smaller and quieter than Bilbao, centered around its harbor and the Urola River as it reaches the sea.

The Urola River Canal

We stopped for lunch at Idoia, a pintxos bar along the canal. The food was excellent, but just as memorable was the atmosphere—busy, casual and wonderfully local. It was exactly the sort of place we had hoped to stumble across while traveling through the Basque Country. Eventually we continued on to San Sebastián.

Upon arriving at the Zenit Convento San Martín, we once again faced the challenge of maneuvering our behemoth of a car into a European underground parking garage. By this point, squeezing that thing into basement parking had become something of a recurring event on the trip.

Zenit Convent Lobby

The hotel itself is fascinating. It occupies a former convent that closed in 2014, and rather than erase the building’s history, the renovation incorporated much of it. The former chapel now serves as the lobby and bar, with the stained glass and Catholic iconography still surrounding you. It’s an unusual combination—part boutique hotel, part church—and it works beautifully.

We were only about a block and a half from La Concha Beach, so after unpacking we walked down to the promenade. There was clearly something going on. Music equipment was being set up, chairs were appearing on the beach, and the city had the unmistakable feeling that a celebration was underway.

Lobby Bar and Confessional

The hotel itself is fascinating. It occupies a former convent that closed in 2014, and rather than erase the building’s history, the renovation incorporated much of it. The former chapel now serves as the lobby and bar, with the stained glass and Catholic iconography still surrounding you. It’s an unusual combination—part boutique hotel, part church—and it works beautifully.

We were only about a block and a half from La Concha Beach, so after unpacking we walked down to the promenade. There was clearly something going on. Music equipment was being set up, chairs were appearing on the beach, and the city had the unmistakable feeling that a celebration was underway.

Spectators waiting for Fireworks

We soon discovered that we had arrived on the final night of Semana Grande—Aste Nagusia—the enormous weeklong festival that takes over San Sebastián every August. The celebration includes concerts, traditional Basque events, street performances and, most famously, the International Fireworks Competition over La Concha Bay.

The final fireworks were scheduled for 10:45 p.m. That was a little ambitious for Mary and me after another very full day, so rather than join the crowds along the beach, we headed back to the hotel and settled onto our balcony.

It turned out we didn’t need to be on the beach at all. Although our view of the fireworks was partially obscured, we could still see much of the display—and we could certainly hear it. They were quite possibly the loudest fireworks either of us had ever experienced. The explosions reverberated around the bay and through the city, providing a spectacular soundtrack to our first night in San Sebastián.

Fireworks from our Balcony

Sitting together on the balcony, watching the flashes over the city and listening to the booming finale of Semana Grande, seemed like a pretty wonderful way to end another spectacular day in northern Spain.

View of San Sebastian from Monte Igueldo

Today was one of those days when we really didn’t have much of a plan—and somehow, the entire day disappeared. After a leisurely breakfast at the hotel, we grabbed a cab and headed for Monte Igueldo, the mountain that rises above the western end of La Concha Bay and offers one of the classic panoramic views of San Sebastián. Getting to the top is half the fun. We rode the wonderful old Monte Igueldo Funicular, which opened on August 25, 1912. Remarkably, it still operates with essentially the same equipment and wooden-bodied cars it used when it first opened more than a century ago. It was originally built to carry visitors up to the fashionable recreational complex on the mountain, which over the years included a casino, an elegant ballroom and eventually the wonderfully old-fashioned amusement park that remains there today. (Parque de Atracciones Monte Igueldo⁠)

Funicular Monte Iguelo

There is something delightfully quirky about Monte Igueldo. It isn’t a slick modern theme park and doesn’t pretend to be. Much of its charm comes from the fact that it feels as though someone stopped the clock decades ago. And then there is the view: from the top, La Concha Bay, Santa Clara Island, the beaches and San Sebastián spread out below in one spectacular panorama. (Parque de Atracciones Monte Igueldo⁠) Of course, once at the top, we had to ride the obligatory flume.

We suspect that at one time this was primarily a children’s ride. Apparently, nobody bothered to tell the adults. There were considerably more grown-ups than children waiting in the ridiculously long line—including us. It was silly, nostalgic and completely worth doing once. After wandering around Monte Igueldo for a while and taking in the views, we rode the funicular back down and began walking along the promenade toward the Old Town. It is difficult to imagine a prettier city walk. La Concha Bay stayed beside us as we made our way along the waterfront, with the beach on one side and the elegant buildings of San Sebastián on the other. Along the way we witnessed foot volleyball (yes, it’s a thing), regular volleyball and sand rake designs: absolutely fascinating.

Football Volleyball, they never used their hands.

By the time we reached the Old Town, it was well past lunchtime, which in Spain probably meant we were right on schedule.

Done with a rake, just a memory at high tide

We ducked in and out of several pintxo bars, inspecting what was laid out on the counters before finally settling on one that had both a great selection and the right atmosphere. We ordered several wonderful pintxos, accompanied by some equally wonderful wine, and simply enjoyed being there.

Pintxos Bar

With absolutely nowhere we needed to be, we spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the narrow streets of the Old Town. This has become one of our favorite parts of traveling—those stretches of a day when we’re not really sightseeing anymore. We’re just wandering. Eventually, we started making our way back toward the hotel, but not before discovering a shop specializing in jamón ibérico. Passing a shop filled with Spanish ham without buying something would have shown remarkable self-control. Fortunately, we showed none. We picked up a couple of jamón ibérico sandwiches and a bottle of wine and brought our provisions back to the hotel. We spent a little downtime reading, relaxing and catching up on the journal before deciding that our sandwiches deserved a better dining room than our hotel room. Around 7:00, we grabbed some beach towels, our bottle of wine and the sandwiches and headed down to La Concha Beach.

Dinner on the Beach

It turned out to be the perfect dinner. We sat on the beach eating jamón ibérico sandwiches and drinking wine while watching the evening unfold around us. Our only problem was a squadron of increasingly aggressive seagulls who apparently believed our sandwiches were part of some sort of Basque all-inclusive package. We successfully defended dinner, although they clearly considered the matter unresolved. Afterward, we walked down to the water and dipped our toes into the Cantabrian Sea. There was no grand finale, no elaborate dinner reservation and no carefully planned evening—just the two of us, the beach, a bottle of wine, a couple of sandwiches and San Sebastián around us. We titled today’s entry “The Day That Got Away From Us,” because that is exactly what happened. We started the morning with very little on the agenda and somehow filled an entire day with a century-old funicular, an old-fashioned flume ride, a long walk beside one of Europe’s most beautiful bays, pintxos, wine, wandering streets, jamón ibérico sandwiches, hungry seagulls and our toes in the ocean. Sometimes the days that get away from you are the ones you end up remembering best.

Artist Rendition of Marquez de Riscal

We left San Sebastián around 11:30 this morning, trading the beaches and bustle of the coast for the vineyards and rolling countryside of Rioja Alavesa. The drive was pleasantly uneventful, and we made only one stop along the way—but it was certainly worth making.

Ysios Winery

Just outside the medieval hill town of Laguardia, we stopped at Bodegas Ysios, primarily to admire its extraordinary architecture. The winery was designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava and opened in 2001. Sitting directly beneath the Sierra de Cantabria, it looks almost as though the mountains themselves have spilled down into the vineyards. Its long, undulating aluminum roof rises and falls in waves, while the warm cedar façade was designed to suggest a row of wine barrels. Calatrava intended the building to be both a functioning winery and a piece of sculpture that would become part of the landscape. It succeeds spectacularly—the building seems to change shape depending on where you stand and how the sunlight strikes the roof.

Naturally, admiring the architecture wasn’t quite enough. We bought some wine and continued on toward Elciego and the place we had really been looking forward to: Marqués de Riscal.

Finding the hotel entrance, however, turned out to be our first adventure.

Somehow, our navigation deposited us in the tiny alleyways in the center of Elciego. “Tiny” may actually be generous. A few were so narrow that our SUV simply would not fit through them. This resulted in the always-enjoyable European driving experience of realizing halfway down an ancient alley that the only possible direction is backward. After some careful reversing, backtracking, turning around and probably entertaining a few locals, we finally found the main entrance. And once we arrived, it was worth every wrong turn.

Gehry’s Marquez de Riscal

Mary and I have wanted to stay at the Hotel Marqués de Riscal ever since the first time we saw it advertised. There are buildings that photograph beautifully but disappoint slightly when you finally see them in person. This is exactly the opposite. It is far more spectacular in person than photographs can possibly convey.

Marqués de Riscal itself dates to 1858, when Guillermo Hurtado de Amézaga founded the winery and helped introduce Bordeaux winemaking techniques into Rioja. By 1862, Riscal was bottling its wines—an important innovation in the region—and in 1895 it became the first non-French wine to receive the Diploma of Honor at the Bordeaux Exhibition. More than a century and a half later, the winery still manages the interesting trick of being deeply rooted in tradition while enthusiastically embracing the new.

Nothing illustrates that better than the building now sitting above those historic cellars.

The Hotel Marqués de Riscal, designed by Frank Gehry, opened in 2006 as the centerpiece of what the winery calls its City of Wine. Gehry placed his unmistakably modern creation among vineyards, nineteenth-century winery buildings and the medieval village of Elciego. Its great ribbons of titanium and stainless steel seem to explode outward from the building, colored pinkish-purple to evoke red wine, gold to represent the traditional gold mesh wrapped around Riscal bottles, and silver to recall the foil around a bottle’s neck.

Views of Elciego from hotel terrace

Having now seen several Gehry buildings ourselves, it was impossible not to make comparisons. There is clearly some Guggenheim Bilbao in Marqués de Riscal—the same shimmering titanium, sweeping curves and almost impossible-looking sheets of metal that seem to move as you walk around them. But there is also something reminiscent of Gehry’s Biomuseo in Panama, which Mary and I have also seen. Panama is brighter, more playful and tropical, with wildly colored geometric roofs reflecting the biodiversity it celebrates. Bilbao is monumental and almost muscular. Marqués de Riscal feels like a marriage of the two: the metallic movement and sophistication of Bilbao combined with some of Panama’s exuberance and color, all dropped unexpectedly into a sea of grapevines. The result is unmistakably Gehry, yet somehow perfectly suited to Rioja.

The property itself is expansive without feeling enormous. The futuristic hotel rises above the much older winery buildings, surrounded by vineyards with the little town of Elciego just beyond. There is something wonderful about the contrast: wine has been made here since the nineteenth century, yet floating above it all is a building that still looks as though it arrived from the future.

After checking in, we wandered around the property for a while, getting our bearings and taking everything in, eventually making our way to the spa to make reservations.

Dinner at 1860 Tradición

Because it was Monday, most of the property’s restaurants were closed, leaving 1860 Tradición as our dinner choice. “Leaving” probably isn’t the right word, because dinner was wonderful. The food was excellent and the staff remarkable—warm, attentive and polished without being stuffy.

We were surprised by how busy the restaurant was for a Monday evening. It was an interesting international crowd, including quite a few men from Dubai dining with Western-looking women. Between the architecture, the wine, the food and the mix of people, it felt very much like the destination Hotel Marqués de Riscal has become.

After dinner, Mary and I returned to our room and sat out on our patio for a game of QWIXX.

It was a wonderfully ordinary ending to a rather extraordinary day: sitting on a patio, playing dice after dinner, surrounded by vineyards, sleeping inside a Frank Gehry sculpture we had been talking about visiting for years.

And this time, thankfully, we knew where the entrance was.

Church in Elciego

August 18 — One Last Day in Wine Country

Sans an early-morning agenda, we seized the opportunity to sleep in a little. We had a wine tour scheduled for 3:30 and a couples spa treatment at 5:30, so for once there was absolutely no reason to rush.

After breakfast, we strolled into the lifeless town of Elciego. A few brave souls ventured out to the scorching heat of the plaza, but most stayed in door avoiding the morning heat: no wonder they have dinner at 10:00P. After returning to the hotel, we headed down to the hotel pool where we spent the late morning and early afternoon doing very little; it actually felt pretty damn good. Eventually, it was time to trade the pool for the vineyard and begin our tour of Marqués de Riscal.

The winery tour and tasting were, in many ways, similar to tours we’ve taken in France, Italy and Sonoma: vineyards, barrels, cellars, winemaking techniques and, naturally, the reward at the end—a tasting. But what distinguished Marqués de Riscal was its remarkable history.

The winery was founded in 1858 by Guillermo Hurtado de Amézaga, the Marqués de Riscal, and its first wines were bottled in 1862. In fact, that 1862 vintage is considered the first bottled Rioja wine. Within just a few years, the wines were already receiving international recognition. Then, in 1895, Marqués de Riscal became the first non-French wine to receive the prestigious Diploma of Honor at the Bordeaux Exhibition—quite an achievement at a time when France considered itself, with some justification, the center of the wine universe.

Perhaps the most fascinating part of the tour was La Botellería, the historic bottle cellar inside the original winery. More than 130,000 bottles are stored there, representing vintages stretching all the way back to that first bottling in 1862. Several bottles of the original vintage still remain—priceless little time capsules sleeping beneath the winery.

We had been told that seven bottles from that original vintage remain and that there had once been eight, with one opened for the hotel’s inauguration. We haven’t been able to confirm that particular detail, but the truth is impressive enough: bottles from 1862 really do remain in the cellar, alongside an extraordinary collection of virtually every vintage produced since.

We also learned more about the spectacular Frank Gehry building towering above the old winery. The story we’d heard—that it had originally been intended as part of the winery or a warehouse before someone realized it was too beautiful not to become a hotel—turns out to be more legend than fact. The building was deliberately conceived as the centerpiece of Marqués de Riscal’s ambitious City of Wine, with Gehry commissioned to create something radically modern amid the traditional vineyards and 19th-century stone buildings.

The result was the Hotel Marqués de Riscal, inaugurated on October 10, 2006. Its flowing ribbons of titanium and steel were intended from the beginning to house a luxury hotel and serve as an architectural symbol of the winery’s leap into the 21st century.

There is, however, a wonderful wine story associated with Gehry. When Marqués de Riscal was courting him for the project, he was reportedly served a bottle from 1929—Gehry’s birth year. Apparently, if you’re trying to persuade Frank Gehry to design you a hotel, a really good bottle of his birth-year Rioja doesn’t hurt.

The inauguration itself did indeed have royal credentials. King Juan Carlos I of Spain attended the opening, toured the historic cellar and the new Gehry building, and unveiled a commemorative plaque.

History lesson completed, it was time for something entirely different: our couples spa treatment.

The experience was…intriguing, and definitely interesting. It started with a 15 minute barrel bath, like a small hot tub in a large oak wine barrel. The massages were Lucious, and as we have discovered from massages outside of the US, they are not constrained by our quasi puritanical rules. The end result is a relaxing and enjoyable experience. Apparently, staying at a vineyards, relaxation inevitably involves grapes and wine.

Afterward, thoroughly relaxed—and perhaps slightly amused—we took our books up to the bistro. There, overlooking the vineyards, we ordered a nice glass of wine, settled into our chairs and quietly brought our final full day in Spanish wine country to a close.

It seemed appropriate.

August 19 — Back to Madrid

We were up early, packed and on the road toward Madrid by 10:00 a.m.

The drive was nearly four hours, but with the occasional rest stop and the comfort of our vehicle, the miles slipped by effortlessly. By 1:35 p.m., we were back in Madrid.

After checking into the hotel and dropping off our luggage, there was really only one logical destination: Mercado de San Miguel.

When we were last in Madrid in 2020 (just before the world locked down), we went to Mercado de San Miguel nearly every day. It had become one of our favorite places in the city—a bustling collection of seafood, jamón, cheeses, pastries, great wines and just about every kind of tapa imaginable.

Six years later, it has certainly become more touristy, but enough of its old personality remains. The place still buzzes with conversation and clinking glasses, while counters overflow with things that make it nearly impossible to simply walk past without ordering something. And so, naturally, we didn’t.

On the way back to the hotel, we darted in to El Corte Inglés, a huge shopping complex, we’d heard carried official Adidas World Cup merchandise. Sure enough, we scored a couple of official FIFA shirts for our friends Mary and Chris, both of whom have Spanish roots. Mission accomplished.

That evening, rather than embark on one last culinary expedition, we stayed close to home and had a relaxing dinner at the hotel’s Peruvian restaurant. After all the driving, the eclipse, sightseeing, pintxos, wine, museums, beaches, vineyards, mountains and tiny Spanish roads we’d squeezed an SUV through, a quiet dinner seemed like exactly the right way to end the trip.

Inevitably, we began talking about our favorite parts of the trip. We both agreed that, after the eclipse, San Juan de Gaztelugatxe—the “Dragonstone” of Game of Thrones—was one of the unquestionable highlights. The climb, the scenery, the coastline and the sheer drama of the place made it unforgettable.

Then there was the food.

San Sebastián routinely makes an extraordinary claim to culinary fame: depending upon exactly how the geography and restaurants are counted, it is described as having either the highest or one of the highest concentrations of Michelin stars per capita in the world. Even official Basque tourism sources have described it as number one, while others have ranked it second only to Kyoto. Whatever statistical measuring stick you choose, the point remains the same: for such a small city, San Sebastián’s concentration of extraordinary restaurants is almost absurd.

And yet, with all those Michelin stars surrounding us, our favorite meal wasn’t in one of those famous restaurants, It was Idoia, the little restaurant we stumbled upon in Zumaia.

Maybe that’s the best explanation of this entire trip. When we think back on our Spanish road trip, experiencing the eclipse, Madrid, León, Bilbao, San Sebastián and Elciego will certainly stand out. So will the Guggenheim, Gaztelugatxe, Marqués de Riscal, the beaches, the pintxo bars and all those wonderful glasses of Rioja.

But strangely, the destinations themselves weren’t always the highlights. It was what happened between them.

Sunset at Marquez de Riscal

It was stopping at a tiny coastal town because it looked interesting. It was getting lost on roads barely wide enough for our behemoth SUV. It was finding a restaurant we hadn’t planned on visiting and discovering our favorite meal of the trip. It was seeing kids jumping from the rocks into impossibly blue water, stopping at wineries simply because the architecture caught our eye, wandering through old towns, riding funiculars and carousels, eating sandwiches on the beach and watching northern Spain unfold through the windshield.

That’s the thing about a road trip.

You begin by drawing a line between destinations on a map and assuming those places are the reason you’re going.

Then somewhere along the way, you realize the line itself was the best part.

And we guess that’s the joy of a road trip.