Bilbao? - Bil-WOW! (Did I really just say that?)

Its not often I turn down a cruise… to be honest I am singularly the worlds worst person at saying no. I set my stall out at the beginning of every working year.

“Thats it I’m working two weeks on two weeks off all year” and then my agent says.. “what about this its only 2 days “  or “we shouldn’t really be burning any bridges” 

Then I think about how hard I have had to work to get myself into this position and how incredibly privileged I am to be doing it at all and inevitably I relent. 

But this time I had said no. And i was really upset about it.

I was asked to perform on the inaugural voyage of a brand new state of the art cruise ship. All of the head office would be there… anyone who’s anyone. I was to my knowledge the only female in the inaugural cruise guest entertainer line up and I had said no. Why? Well I had been away for 45 days prior to this and initially the offer for the job had coincided with 3 days during which steve was away from home anyway so I had accepted. But when the dates were changed to later that week and the realisation of yet more time away from Steve rose steeply in my mind, I made the decision to turn the offer down. As much as I knew it was a great opportunity for my career, it was not a great opportunity for my marriage. Any relationship is tough under the best of circumstances and it has taken Steve and I years to try and work out the formula for relative success. We can cope with being apart but for how long was reasonable? At what point do you have to put your life before your job?

The situation arose whilst I was still away across the atlantic on the beautiful Celebrity Constellation.

I spoke to steve

"You don’t seem yourself." He said. “Is there something wrong?”

“I turned down the inaugural voyage today” I moaned. “They changed the dates and I absolutely cannot bear for us to spend anymore time apart after what we have just done throughout this winter”

“I agree” He added. “What are the new dates?”

I told him.

“If I can move some things around and get some help with my teaching commitments why don’t I come with you? Jayne this is a really big opportunity for you. We said we were going to take a mini break together in April and whilst I know this isn’t a holiday for you its quality time together isn’t it?” 

“You would do that for me?” I asked “Seriously? At this time of year?”

“Yes Jayne. I will sacrifice a weekend of standing on a freezing cold driving range to come on a state of the art brand new cruise ship with you in Spain. It will be tough, but I will do that for you"

I smiled. How had he managed to make me feel like he was doing me a favour? His cheeky, seraphic smile emerged across his freckled face. That inimitable guise that meant no one could reasonably ever be mad at him.I reneged on my frustration at once again being conned by the ginger ninja and I allowed myself to become excited about the prospect of our trip together. This would be an adventure.

Before joining the Ship in Spain we would need to overnight there as no flights would get us into the port on time to catch the ship on the day of embarkation. So we headed out a day early to Bilbao. I had been here before as a port of call some years previous. It has a Guggenheim museum that I had made the mistake of going to with some other crew members who did not in anyway have an appreciation for modern art. It was one of the reasons I was so eager to go to MoMA when I was in New York (see previous blog) as my trip to the Guggenheim had been cut short by my party moaning they wanted to leave and that it was ‘boring’.

Other than that I had very little experience of Bilbao and to be honest pretty low expectations.

We were fortunate enough to be staying in a hotel right in the centre of the city.  Silken Indautxu Hotel on the Plaza Bombero was a good hotel with friendly and helpful staff but most importantly was walking distance from what appeared to be the Centre of the bar and restaurant district. After a broken conversation with the taxi driver and some advice from reception of the hotel we decided to quickly change and head out down the hill and just see what happened.

Steve is jammier than a jar of preserve at the best of times but for some unbeknownst reason to me when we travel together he always seems to have the super cool experiences in ports that I don’t when I’m on my own. More often than not my futile attempts to find something to do on these hotel overnights result in me eating a kebab in my hotel room watching re runs yet steve always seems to land on his feet in this respect.

Bilbao was no exception. It was unlike any other Spanish town I had stayed overnight in before. Most of the others were predominantly tourist resorts and usually I had been there in the mid week but this was Saturday night and all the locals were out in force. And by all, I mean just that. Families, couples, groups of older people in their smartest attire, students in huddles hanging out in the streets or sitting cross-legged on the pavement sharing giant bags of snacks. This really was a universal experience and we were pleasantly surprised. Though neither Steve nor I have any Spanish to speak of we could recognise things from the menu and ended up with two large beers and an enormous plate of Iberico Ham and Manchego cheese, a slice of Tortilla Espanol (a Potato Spanish Omelette)  with as much crusty bread as we could eat for less than €20. 

Steve waited outside the first bar at an upturned barrel posing as a table for me to bring out the goodies. As I presented him with the food he said

“We’ll never eat all that!!!” as he dropped the first curling winding slice of ham into his mouth. His eyes widened as he chewed, “mmmmm-ed” and swallowed..

…”Maybe we will” he laughed.

The street we had stumbled on was a pedestrianised side street and adults stood and conversed loudly and enthusiastically whilst their children sat happily in prams or played with other children in their midst. There was no music.. none at all just the increasing buzz of people collecting each others stories and sharing the news of the week. 

After a really good go at finishing our tapas we moved on, peering in the windows of the bars we passed.

“Come on…” said Steve “this is only the first street. We should go and see what else is going on”

As we rounded the corner it became apparent that the street we had previously visited was but a warm up for what lay ahead of us. The evening was balmy and pleasant and as the sun gave up over the horizon people were teaming in the streets with glasses of wine and small plates of food. 

“We are going to eat and drink our way around this town tonight Jayne” steve protested.

“I concur” I said and we smiled and headed in to the thick of the crowd. 

The first bar we entered was called “Cork”. The bottles of wine were all displayed on the shelves with their prices written on the side in white pen. There was a notice board with drinks suggestions but I think the general gist was just to point at what you wanted. I liked the concept as it was incredibly helpful considering my lack of the local lingo.

I attempted to order and the bar tender immediately realised we were English.

“May I make a suggestion?” he said. “try something local. These wines are only produced in a region very close to here and you will usually only find them in Bilbao. One of the vineyards is very close to the town” 

He handed me a botte and I looked at it, pretending to know what I was talking about and nodded in agreement. I like my wines as many of you who have travelled with me will attest and I thoroughly love to learn more about what I do and don’t enjoy. This however was a compete shot in the dark for me. I wasn’t too worried though. At €1.60 a glass it wasn’t going to break the bank if I didn’t enjoy it. Steve chose a red and I a white and we were more than pleasantly surprised. We shared the glasses and bravely attempted an octopus skewer seemingly soaked in olive oil. It didn’t offend me and I didn’t love it… but I’d tried it. So we moved on.

As we followed the street we observed the locals. They were pretty much all drinking wine. All in the exact same style glasses regardless of the place so each bar we went to we asked for one white and one red and repeated the routine. We were lucky enough to find ourselves in a bar called Zintzoa on the corner of Calle Licenciado Posa (this main street we were traversing) in which we had a slice of the best Spanish omelette we had ever tasted. I could see the cogs turning in Steve’s mind. The conversation quickly progressed from “I wonder how he made this, we must try when we get home” to “I think we should open a tapas bar near us called Little Bilbao” I nodded placatingly.

We were thoroughly enjoying our night and a 90 degree left turn onto another side street found us in a region of bars which seemed to sell more seafood. This made us happy as a lot of the tapas so far that night had involved some kind of bread too yummy to refuse and we felt ourselves starting to expand internally. A plateful of small shrimp and a wet wipe later we were again on our way. I realised at this point why it was that Steve was having so much fun. It wasn’t so much the great food and wine, the incredibly reasonable price of the night out (we spent less than €50 between us all night) or even my sterling and witty company. It was the fact that we were moving on every ten mins and Steve didn’t have a chance to get bored.

Even though we were quite probably the only non local people in the area that night and our  attempts at speaking Spanish were ridiculous at best, we were welcomed most warmly everywhere we went and felt like we’d discovered some kind of secret food and wine haven that no one had heard about.

Though we were unsure whether or not we had got lucky with the fact it was a Saturday or it could maybe even have been a public holiday, Steve and I promised we would most definitely return to Bilbao for a more extended visit. There was a lot more we wanted to see and do… I doubt I’ll get him to the Guggenheim though.

As we were packing at home to come away on this trip Steve announced he was only taking hand luggage. I scowled. Steve regularly leaves it to the last minute to pack and rarely a trip goes by where we don’t spend hours running around shopping for the things he has forgotten.

“I’m not packing any trainers (sneakers) I’m going to buy some new ones whilst I’m away” he announced. "I need a new pair anyway"

“Theres no sports store in Terminal 3 at Manchester airport that I know of and I’ve never been to Terminal 1 at Heathrow.”

“Don’t worry it’ll be fine” He said. I just ignored him and carried on packing. My experience denotes the inevitable outcome and stressing about it makes no odds.

There was no sports store at Terminal 3 in Manchester

There was no sports store at Terminal 1 at Heathrow. 

On arrival in Bilbao I offered him a shopping trip and he said no we’ll leave it till tomorrow .

‘Tomorrow’ was Sunday and everything was closed.

So every morning on the ship Steve went to the buffet in his shorts and dress shoes.

I stayed in bed ;-)

 some of the local wines we tried at "Cork"

      

This is the main street where everything seems to happen on a Saturday.

 People just hanging out in the streets. No trouble, no animosity, every section of society just having a drink and a chat. I wish we had some of this "tapas bar" culture in the UK

 after a few drinks I couldn't really feel my face. This was a shredded ham and cheese kind of mix on a baguette. Yummy. I'm wearing more than I'm eating!!!

Chapter Two (back to the USA) Don't think just do it!!!!

In the United Kingdom we do not discern the concept of 'Spring Break’ other than to witness its representation in American movies. Yes, at a similar time of year those involved in academia at every level take some sort of vacation of sorts for a week or two and in that time they might take a holiday. But the apparent consensus that is evident in the USA that spring break equals universal fun fuelled abject chaos for those in their late teen/early twenties is something that I have experienced first hand for the first time this year. Because the ship I was performing on was based out of Florida and therefore one of if not the warmest place in the USA at that time of year, hundreds possibly thousands of people from all over the country flock there to vacation in some form or other during this period that spans a month or so depending on your schools schedule. The first week of March 900 of them joined us on the Celebrity Constellation for a five day voyage which consisted in the most part of lots of drinks with lots of alcohol not so many clothes with not so much material. I felt old, ugly and terminally uncool. 

I was scheduled to be virtually resident on the Celebrity Constellation for the best part of 45 days. However, as I am not classed as a crew member and haven’t therefore acquired the relevant medicals or safety training I have to disembark the ship every 10 days or so as if you are onboard in my capacity for longer than 21 days you must therefore be signed on as such. I knew this before I came to join the vessel. Every 10 days I leave the ship for one four day cruise and then return. What I didn’t know is that the cost of accommodation would sky rocket so extortionately in Florida at this time, due obviously to the fact it was Spring Break that even the most basic of accommodations that I would not usually consider as a woman travelling on my own were to cost me the best part of $800 dollars for the duration of my time there. This came as quite the shock. 

I spoke to steve about it

“ I had no idea that this was the situation when I agreed to this deal… I feel pretty stupid. I should have known”                I lamented. The thought of having to pay for the privilege of having my self esteem surreptitiously shredded at the sight of all those pert bosoms and tiny bottoms made me shudder, literally.

“Can’t you fly home?” he asked 

“Its going to cost me almost a thousand pounds to do that and for all of two free days, one of which you will be working and the other I will be jet lagged. Its not worth it.” I replied.

“Is there no where else you can go? Its not that expensive to get about in the States is it?” He suggested.

That set the cogs turning. Why not take a little trip somewhere? If staying in Florida would cost me so much, to do in essence what I have done every other time I have overnighted there, then why not go and see something else? I think I was partly inspired by the impromptu trip to Philadelphia I had made on my layover en route here (see previous blog) and maybe by the values instilled in me by my parents growing up that getting value for money was as important as the price of something. I don’t mind spending money at all if I think its worth it. But all that money for a 2 star hotel on the outskirts of Fort Lauderdale??? It just didn’t sit right with me.

I spent an hour or two on the internet in Key West in the days running up to the break and after weighing up all my options I called Steve.

“Darling? I’m going to New York”

Just like that.

During the days that followed my excitement grew and as I queued to pass though immigration on the day of disembarkation, every passenger in the terminal had been privy to my tale of my impending adventure as I’d bounced and boasted my way around the ship all cruise long. They all wished me well and off to the airport I went.

Flying with a budget airline that even charged for carry-on I had micro packed a capsule wardrobe into a small backpack taking only the bare essentials and anticipating the need to at least buy a coat on my arrival as I was leaving behind 30 degrees of sunshine and heading north into one of the coldest winters on record in the US. It was the longest two hour flight of my life as I waited eagerly for the decent into La Guardia airport. As the world famous skyline came into view I became profoundly aware in my excitement that although I was indeed doing this alone and impromptu and clearly I’d have longed to have shared this experience with Steve or with a pal, this crazy roller-coaster of a career path I have wended my way around this last 12 years enabling the privilege of this last minute madness. I am going to NNEEWWW YYYOORRKK.

I have been to the big apple before but only for 36 hours and this time I had three nights reserved at the Millennium Hotel Times Square and the intention to spend my time doing exactly the things that no one else would want to do if they were with me in New York. I wasn’t going off shopping and lunching like I would with a girlfriend or to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building like I would with Steve. I was going to indulge my passion for art, I was going to take my time over what ever it was a chose to do. And I was going to walk. A lot.

Quite co incidentally a good friend and fellow guest entertainer hypnotist Christopher Carress was staying overnight in times square too so I immediately checked into my hotel, and headed out for a quick coffee with him. We bump into each other all over the world. Other than being an amazing entertainer and all round good guy the best thing about getting to see Chris is that he too shares the same wonderment that I do… the feeling that we were both brought up in small working class towns in the North of England by loving and supportive parents but were not inordinately wealthy as kids and therefore we still giggle and pinch ourselves when we bump into each other in an exotic location… so incredibly grateful for these incidents of fate that our chosen careers have provided for us. 

That night I met up with yet another of my guest entertainer friends that I have been fortunate enough to meet on Celebrity Cruises… very funny lady Michele Balan. She travels as much as I do so her being home in Manhattan when I was visiting was a real bonus and she took me to this amazing downstairs cabaret bar on restaurant row called ‘Don’t Tell Mama’

Michele and I had so much to catch up on having not seen each other for a good while and the wine and conversation flowed as easily as the music from the in-house piano entertainer and the chicken wings we'd ordered. We sang along and laughed and joked having a whale of a time. I don’t know if it was the unexpectedly large glasses of Chardonnay, the intoxicating hold that being in New York City had recently impressed upon me or my new found penchant for adventure but before I knew it I was up singing with the piano player. Me. Singing. In NEW YORK!! 

‘What the heck’ I thought to myself. I’ll never see any of these people again. (With the exception of Michele and I’m sure I can take her in a fight if I have to)… I giggled to myself. 

Blasting out my best if somewhat inebriated Whitney, I was so excited at the sheer novelty of the occasion that I just went for it hammer and tongs. What fun. What a great gal Michele is. What a great great day.

The next day I rose early, filled with anticipation and revelry. Today I was going to MoMA. The Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. Somewhere I had always wanted to go after buying a book in their store at JFK one day in transit through the states. The best thing about it? I was going to take as long as I liked. I was not going to look at my watch and if I wanted to sit and look at something for a while… I would. 

I wore out three iPod audio guides during the 6 hours I spent in the museum. I kept having to go back for a new one as I marvelled and pondered, took pictures (the iPods have cameras and they send the shots to your email address!!!) and got as close as I could to the works. Looking at brush strokes and patterns, the materials and textures. What a geek. This was heaven for me. Getting to be ‘off the clock’ literally… where I had no ‘all aboard’ or flight time to make for three days was blissful in itself.

The highlight of the day for me was undoubtedly getting to see ‘Waterlilies” by Claude Monet. Ever since being a young teenager and first becoming aware of art I have loved the French impressionists and in particular this piece. Its huge. Really huge. And I took a minute to sit and marvel at its proportions and its beauty. I called my mum discreetly.

“Mum? I’m at MoMA. And I’m looking at ‘Waterlilies’. Yes the Monet. I was just thinking about Nana and how she would buy me his calendar and notelet sets every year at christmas. What would she think if she could see me here?”

I’m not going to lie, I had a little minute to myself but in the best possible way, emotional but thrilled at this experience afforded to me. After a spectacular but far too large portion of Pork and Fennel pasta in the museum cafe I felt I could honestly say I left the museum satisfied. Not before I bought Steve a ravioli maker from the gift shop. Random I know.

The next day was wet and windy and I opted for the hop on hop off bus from Times Square. After about 45 minutes of straining to see out of dirty windows, missing the skyline completely because the upstairs roof was leaking and we were confined to the lower deck, the icing on the cake was the vegan tour guide who spent more time extolling the virtues of a meat and dairy free diet than telling us anything of worth. So I “hopped off” bought an umbrella and found myself unexpectedly on the end of “Bleeker” which is a street featured quite prominently in the series ‘Sex and the City’ of which virtually every 30 something British female like myself is a fan. I began to realise lots happened about this part of town in the series so I began to explore the side streets and take in the bohemian feel of the Lower West Side. After perusing rather pricey vintage stores and walking for blocks and blocks through Soho and Tribeca I hopped on the subway to the site of the 9/11 memorial and took a minute to reflect on how a city seemingly so sprawling and strong was at times as vulnerable in essence as just little ol' me travelling on my own.

I hailed a cab and with the help of my iPhone map I managed to locate a recommended eatery that a friend had told me I was crazy not to try.

‘Vanessas Dumpling House’ is as inconspicuous as it sounds. It could quite easily be just that if it wasn’t for the clatter of the kitchen and the incessant shouting of order numbers as people tussled for a seat. Its aesthetically bland and primitive to say the least but the oodles of pots of bubbling steaming freshly made dumplings, giant sandwiches of home baked sesame bread and the queue out of the door alerted me to the fact I was about to have a once in a lifetime culinary experience. The menu was SO cheap I thought I would order as many things as took my fancy so I could try as much as I liked.

“Next please” the lady bawled as I untangled myself from my umbrella and took my place in line.

“the mixed dim sum ten selection, the pak choi in oyster sauce and a carton of sweetcorn soup please”

“Is that for two?” she barked, rifling through the box for the plastic cutlery

“erm no… just me” I whispered

She looked up but didn’t reply. Her eyebrows spoke a thousand words. 

I managed to perch myself on the end of a bench by the door but utterly undetered by the constant flow of human traffic in and out I waited patiently for my order number to be called.

All I can say is that there wasn’t much waste. And that my favourite scarf and my chin were now plastered in Soy Sauce. 

Google it. Its a must.

I tried unsuccessfully to walk to see the Brooklyn Bridge (not realising it was well over a mile away) and on arriving at the shoreline realised only then that the spectacle was completely obscured by low cloud. So I walked back. And then continued into Little Italy and beyond before finally having to relent and take the subway back to the hotel as my feel were crying out to be released from my boots. 

Sleep when your dead I thought and after a quick soak in the tub at the hotel I headed back out to whence I came and to Little Italy to sample their wares for my dinner.

After a decent meal at “Bread” I decided once again to take to the streets and walk as far as my legs would take me. It was raining heavily but there was certainly something romantic about that, my funky “I’m trying to pretend I am a New York fashionista” hat I had acquired whilst shopping at eleven thirty at night the previous day, and the umbrella that protected both me and the hat from the elements whilst affording me the ability to gaze up whenever I chose at the expanding grandiose and unmistakeable New York skyline. I was truly in love.

After over 25 blocks my legs were joining my feet in protest and I hailed a cab for the remainder of the trip.

Sad to be leaving this city I was infatuated with but glad to going back to work for a rest, I knew I had the mental fuel to carry me through the subsequent impending weeks away from my loved ones until my return to the UK some four weeks away.

I’m so glad I listened to my gut and just went for it. 

Now, wheres next on Jayne’s crazy list of unexpected impulsive random adventures?

Look out times square... I can shop at 11.30pm!!!

Fullfilling a lifelong ambition

The view descending into La Guardia... excited much???

Some of the sculptures in the garden at Moma (I'd given my audio guide back at this point so I was taking pictures "old style" on my camera)

Crazy kitchen at 'Vanessa's dumpling house' in China town. Best $10 I ever spent.