Athletic Club Bilbao and the rest

14.3. Dune of Pilat

Started early from Santiago, the campsite was still closed, so I opened the gate myself. Dreamy route along the coast of the Basque Country. The Bay of Biscay. We're talking about rugged coasts with pristine sandy beaches in between, and then it goes straight up. These are the foothills of the Pyrenees. The bush fought hard in the eternal climbs, but I have a new trick. When the temperature needle rises too much, I turn on the rear heating to the fullest, then the oil temperature settles nicely at 80 degrees. Amazing.

After 5 hours of driving, Bilbao was not far away. I had ordered the same hotel for 2 days as the guys, but it turned out to be impossible to find a parking space for the Rallafornia. Luckily, in Bilboa there is probably the most beautiful camper parking lot of all. You are practically standing upright on a mountain overlooking the city, with a view down to the two temples of the city, the Guggenheim Museum and the San Mames Stadium.

We took care of both cult sites equally.

The daring architecture and the vibrant spirit of the times made our hearts beat faster, plus the contemporary animations and installations, the balanced play of light, art, and the power of life were tangible. Helpless and overwhelmed by the aura and power of the present, we left the football stadium, unfortunately lost 1-0. Damn, then we went to the Guggenheim. That was interesting too.

Another short funny experience. Bus number 58 goes from the center all the way up to the camper site. Up here is a different world. When I arrived early the day before yesterday, all the employees armed with scrubbers and brooms were trying to drive away some cows from the facility. And when I came up last night, there was a horse in the parking lot. So I took a picture of it. Only then did I notice that in the car behind it, a couple was startled.

After 3 days in Bilbao, I come to the conclusion that the Basques are extremely nice people. Proud, honest, and open.

This morning I tried to avoid toll roads again, and head further north. In the beginning, everything was still good, could refuel for 1.80 euros, and wanted to do some shopping at a big Mercadona. But northern Basque Country is not manageable without a highway. The Spaniards know that too. Out of desperation, I ended up on the highway and paid almost 20 euros in tolls until the French border.

In France, it quickly becomes relatively flat, but they are still Basques. Lowland Basques. And it takes at least an hour until the first one has their tricolor on the windowsill.

The goal for today was the Dune of Pilat. And I have to say, it's impressive. There is now a fine yellow sandy dune in front of me, the dimensions of which you can't imagine. Just a dune.

But it is 3 km long, 150 m wide, and 100 meters high. It moves 5 meters towards the inland every year, and I'm almost the only one around. In summer, it's a tourist magnet, now nothing. So I'm standing right by the sea, a bit lonelier than I would like. I took a picture earlier, but they are all gone. As a consolation, I cooked in the bus. Paella, made from French products from Carrefour. With Bordeaux wine. But my heart is still in Bilbao.