The day spent in Bilbao, the city of culture, economy, beautiful people and top-notch cocktails. It’s a quite unusual Spanish landscape shaped by a museum – the iconic Guggenheim. To enter the museum, one should use a key, a password A.R.T. typed on a keyboard. That’s all what’s missing. If you ask me, skipping this wonder would be a real shame. It was opened on October 18, 1997, and it was a proper challenge for the Canadian-American architect Frank Gehry. The museum was built within the deadline and it cost €84 million. The foundation itself cost a hell of a lot more. The first modern art collection was €38 million; the cost of actually opening the thing was €25 million. “Flying high!” But it didn’t take long for them to realize the investment really pays off. The first year brought €136 million to their treasure chest, the entrance fee being 16 euros. The museum really gives you the bang for your buck. You easily walk five kilometers in almost four hours. If you lack slapping, it’s the place for you.
I can’t say anything nice about the Path leading out of the city, though. You “take a walk” through its history dominated by the steel industry and shipbuilding. The path drags on the main road like hell. The only interesting things was a ferry that takes you to the other side of the river. And it’s not a ferry of water variety, but the one on a wire.
We were on time that day. “Congratulations, the difficulty level moved from 5 to 9.” Naturally, we forgot to book a place for that night, so bad tidings waited for us in the city. That meant extra 6 kilometers just to get some rest. Time for a traveler’s siesta! Time for a beer, or two, or three. The amount of beer usually depended on our mood; or the Constant that follows you on the Path – the diabolically scorching Sun. It tends to turn two beers into “weird” ideas. So we realized we have some weed left and let’s be frank, you don’t really have to put a gun to our heads to persuade us. We ended up on the last bench thinking that part of the road was bound to be boring and that we needed to shake things up a bit.
The joint was only half smoked when the laughter therapy kicked in and a couple went by and remarked:
Girl: “I smell marihuana.”
Guy: “Nah, it’s just Lucky Strike.”
If you ever a therapy of that sort, you know the exchange was a great start. We kept “rolling” forward in that gear while the beauty of the Path blew our minds. Positively surprised. It’s a lovely walk on a five-kilometer paved road by the cliffs with a slowly coming sunset. That was my favorite segment of the Path for all the laughter, madness and beauty around me.
We all know a joke or two, so it was joking time for us. But since Massimo is Italian and his only other language is Spanish; and Camilla is also Italian, and she speaks both English and Spanish; with me only speaking English and un poco Spanish, the jokes were particularly funny and in need of instant translation. There was always someone laughing with a delay. It’s like watching a football match knowing the result, but not its course. What’s even funnier is when you forget what you were explaining just a second ago, and remember it after ten minutes, but you have to start the story from the beginning, because the other two already forgot what we were laughing about.
Let’s focus on some of the jokes:
A Chinese guy stays in a hotel and calls the administrator from his room: “Tu-ti-tu tu-tu-tu.” The administrator doesn’t understand him, so he hangs up. The Chinese guy calls again. “Tu-ti-tu tu-tu-tu.” The administrator thinks it’s a prank, so he hangs up again. The Chinese guy gets angry and calls again. “Which part don’t you understand?! Bring me two tea to room two-two.” The room service answers: “Parampampam.”
Did you hear about the Italian chef that died? He pasta way.
Life is like a box of chocolates. It doesn’t last long if you are fat.
What do you call a pig that knows karate? A pork chop.
You know why you sometimes get tiny bull testicles in the restaurant? Because the matador doesn’t win every time.
What did one plate say to the other? “The dinner is on me!”
What do you call a can opener that doesn’t work? A can’t opener.
What do you call a cow on a trampoline? A milk shake.
There you go, six kilometers took us two hours. When I checked my watch, I thought we walked at least three kilometers, but I was very wrong. The watch told me we made 500 meters, but in all directions, so we were the last to reach the albergo.
Sometimes I’m walking fast, sometimes I’m walking slow.
What was our dinner in the albergo like under the influence of certain substances and what followed, you ask? Mum’s the word.