When anticipation has been building for so long, it is nearly impossible to control emotions and feelings. The train ride here was similar to a kid in a candy store; only it was difficult for me to be confined to my seat without jumping out the window. Euzkadi is beautiful. the mountains are magical, and the houses tell stories of centuries past.
Euzkadi is not Spain. Euzkadi is Euzkadi. The feeling is totally different than that of Spain. It is understandable how people feel so strong about creating there own state to identify their nation. Today, Basque Country is still just a nation; not a country. Their is a feeling of displacement while traveling here. It is like a whole new culture shock. It is so difficult to get here from proper Spain. Nearly unwelcoming to those in the south. The mountains enclose the whole region as a natural barrier and defense against the cultural genocide that is known as foreign invasion. No wonder why the land has never been conquered. The weather is dark and depressing. And, the language is tongue-twistingly difficult. The antiquity of Euskera gives one a feeling of confusion and timidness. It seems so much more superior in thinking of how far language imperialism has gone to destroy such languages, yet this one has still be preserved through all of the strife under Romans, Moors, and Fascists.
We are currently with Cristina at her house in Bilbó. It is the largest city in the Basque Country, and the fifth largest in all of Spain. It became highly industrialized in the beginning of Spain´s Industrial Revolution. In fact, the Basque Country and Catalonia were the first regions in Spain to go the industrial route, and thus have become the most wealthy regions in the country. However, they also have a very strong working class population which gives explanation for the strong Anarcho-Syndicalist (CNT) presence as well as the infamous punk scenes. Euzkadi is known for its punk music. Much because of the insistance to sing in Euskera, as well as the fact that many of the bands favor Basque autonomy.
We were fortunate enough to catch a punk show here in a squat called Izar Beltz. The first band was from Grenoble, France. It consisted of all girl members who had this strange artsy mask-punk feel alongside riot girl. Their set consisted of usage of drums, bass, sax, cielo, sitar, and violin. They are called Ze Revengers. You can download their tracks! Next played a band from Guipuzkoa. They were some typical Basque D-beat called Karkaba. That is probably the most typical form of punk played here. The final band was called Asfixia. They are another local band, but they are pretty big in the neocurst thing. It´s a vegan band similar to Ekkai, but with femal vocals. Way gnarly.
Last night, we went out with Cristina to eat pintxos. They are the Basque version of tapas. In my opinion, they are way better because they have more of a complex recipe and take far longer to make. They are also bigger. We went to an area that is typical for students to hang out. All of the bars and restaurants play punk music and there is graffiti and stickers everywhere. Imagine eating a wonderful dinner in the Gilman project. It is perfect. We also went to a traditional meal the other day out on the countryside. It was an all you can eat lunch that consisted of 7 different courses including all drinks too. They had homemade wines and beers that are all from their own crops on the countryside. the place was called Fika.
Yesterday, we stopped by a wedding in Cristina´s neighborhood. She told us that it is very typical for old women to stop by the wedding in order to gossip about the parties getting married. Everyone wants to know whats going on in the neighborhood love-life. We fit right in with all the viejitas because we weren´t really supposed to be there either. However, they are a bit too old to be wedding crashing compared to us. We went because the wedding had a traditional dance after. Cristina used to do this dance when she was younger at the community festivals and events.
Today, we travel further north to the coast.
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