Living Large
Today was the sixth day of our Viva Espana tour and the fourth riding day. It was our transition day out of the dramatic Pyrenees Mountains and into the north-central part of the country. Normally we would have probably gone to Pamplona whether the bulls were running or not, since it is a well-known spot. But our tour director, Kaz, does not settle for the ordinary very often and he found us a much better transition destination. The draw is the Hotel Marquis de Riscal, which is a hotel that was designed by the starchitect, Frank Gehry, who is considered the most impactful contemporary architect of his age and came to international fame through his Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain (which we will be touring on Sunday). One would not be wrong in saying that his iconic structure there put Bilbao on the global map. This hotel was built in 2006, almost ten years after the Bilbao Guggenheim opened. I’m sure the success of the Bilbao design led to the commissioning of this hotel. The spot where it is built, in the village of Elciego is just a dot on the map that looks to be of no significance just as I’m sure Napa looks on the map of California.
As we left Bielsa with the frost almost on the pumpkin this morning, we all suited up for cold and rainy weather as best we each could. I never bother to wear a rain suit, which is sometimes my undoing, but I always figure that GoreTex is more or less waterproof anyway even though it really isn’t. And the riding pants are particularly challenging for me since I brought the highly vented ones since they fit best and don’t overheat me. The gap between my riding underwear and my riding high socks is just enough to send a chill up my spine if it dips below 50 F. Skip asked why I didn’t pack some long underwear and I explained that was worse than a rain suit for discomfort and furthermore, vented pants would allow them to get soaking wet and truly make matters worse. So, I was counting on either less cold or less rain to get me through. I have ten pairs of gloves with me so I had my hands covered for any occasion, but still turned on the heated grips since they feel so good. I found them a pleasant addition this morning. As for the temperature, it hovered between 50 and 60 for most of the day, so it wasn’t too bad. And the rain came on in only light sprinkles, enough to wet my helmet visor, but not enough to get my gloves wet. It really wasn’t an altogether unpleasant riding day.
The shift in the scenery was very dramatic. We went from steep alpine hillsides, craggy cliffs and deep distant valleys of the Pyrenees to rolling hills of wheat, dotted with the occasional stand of green trees, a farmhouse or even a small village or two on the higher ground. I was trying to remember what the scenery reminded me of. It was close to Tuscan in its look. But different. Then it hit me. These were the wheat-filled rolling hills of the farm owned by Maximus in Gladiator. Russel Crowe walking with his hands touching the grain stalks on his Spanish farm is a great bit of cinematography and a perfect match for the scenery we were driving through.
After a confusing lunch stop at a small restaurant where the owner’s Spanish was some weird combination of Spanish, French and Catalan and where we just ate whatever he brought us, we headed for the town of Olite. This nondescript village south of Pamplona and decidedly off the between trail, was much less obscure back in the Fourteenth Century. That was when the castle in Olite, known as the Palacio Real, was the seat of the king of Navarre, most notably Charles III, who most notably brought peace to both Spain and France by conceding to and mollifying his French brethren. His Palace is quite castle-like and shows the years of Moorish and Saracen influence on the architecture and lifestyle of Spain. This Kingdom of Navarre history is a likely contrast to what we will find in the Basque Country. From what I have heard of the Basques, mollification and concession as not so likely in their playbook. After that brief stop and photo opportunity, we mounted up and headed for our last leg to Elciego.
I know I am sounding like a broken record by now, but I really must comment on the fantastic condition of the roads here in Spain. The only place where we can say they were not perfect was on the two mile stretch back in the Pyrenees where we encountered a shepherd and his large mixed flock of sheep and goats. He seemed to use that stretch of road like it was his own runway between pastures. The result was a road surface sprinkled with sheep urine and droppings. As we followed the flock for what seemed like an interminable time, our boots and tires got covered in sheep shit. What had seemed charming the day before seems a lot less charming under a coating of that foul-smelling green stuff. This shepherd has some kinda deal with the local government because everyone from local truck drivers to merchants along the way seemed to play ball with him and not complain. Either his brother is the mayor or local laws protect his shepherding rights…or perhaps he is paid to do just what he does to improve the ambiance, which it surely does in moderated quantities. Other than that, the roads were perfect again today.
As we approached Elciego there was a marked change in topography and dead giveaway was the roadsign that designated this as the Wine Trail. Yes, we had shifted from fields of wheat to rolling hills of grapes. There were wineries at every turn suddenly and we had gone in a day from the Adirondacks to the plains of Kansas and now to moderate climes of Napa and Sonoma. And there, on one hill set amongst the vines was a magnificent and shiny structure in silver and purple (presumably to extol the virtues of the vine). Our hotel is a marvel. It is not only beautiful to look at from a distance, but also beautifully appointed in mid-century style that makes you think Bridget Bardot will come out to play if you want her to. After getting into our room, Kim and I declared this hotel to be the winner of the Viva Espana Hospitality Excellence trophy, beating out the Mandarin Oriental hands down and even topping the two lovely Paradores we stayed in through the Pyrenees (both of which very much suited their environments).
Kim went off with the crowd for a tour of a 160-year-old wine cellar and vineyard that surrounded the hotel while I relaxed in the room and relished the warmth after a long day of cool riding. Tomorrow we head up to see a 500 year-old salt mine, which should give us a fascinating glimpse into an unusually critical and interesting necessity of human and mammalian existence. Some might think that is more the province of wheat or wine, but the cognoscenti of history know it is all about salt. We are living large and ready to hold our heads up as we enter the much anticipated Basque Country tomorrow.