It’s surprising that Portuguese trains aren’t more international than they are. An overnight sleeper express leaves Lisbon for Madrid, and another leaves Lisbon across northern Spain headed for France. No local trains cross over to Spain, not in the south, not in the east. However, months ago I had located the one that goes north to Spain, twice a day; once inconveniently in the evening, and once conveniently out of Viana do Castelo in the morning, which is the one I took. It makes me think why the only local trains leaving Portugal go north, and I can’t help thinking it’s that bond to Galicia.

It wasn’t far on the Portuguese train into Spain to Vigo (BI.go), its last stop, where I connected to the Renfe train starting in Vigo headed north to La Coruña/A Coruña, with my stop of Santiago de Compostela on the way. Just this previous sentence requires two explanations.

In Galicia, all signs are in Gallego (Galician), about which I have minimal knowledge. Yet every sign in Gallego is perfectly recognizable if you know Spanish (Castellano)—or Portuguese. The city which was the last stop of the train is indicative of Gallego, which, as you can see, uses “A” instead of “La”, just like Portuguese does. Yet I would have to guess that Portuguese SPELLS the city A Corunha, yet Gallego uses the Spanish Ñ in A Coruña, so in just this one name we see similarities to Portuguese, yet indications of the area being in Spain for centuries. I was speaking in Spanish to this tour guide we were given in Santiago, and asked her if she spoke Gallego. She looked at me as though I were crazy; of course she did. Everybody there did. When I asked her to compare it to Portuguese, she said it was very similar—just that Gallego didn’t have all those funny nasal sounds. I did manage to refrain from strangling her.

Renfe stands for REd Nacional de Ferrocarriles Españoles, the National Network of Spanish Railroads, but even that requires additional explanation. All Portuguese trains (Comboios Portugueses) and all Renfe routes (which are the majority of routes) in Spain are broad gauge, with tracks further apart than standard gauge tracks. This is the same situation as in all the ex-Soviet Union countries. Therefore, all trains leaving Iberia have a problem with the standard gauge tracks across the border in France. I’ve never crossed that border, but I understand that sometimes they change the wheel carriages and the train goes through and sometimes you change trains at the border.

But now the plot thickens. Spain also has considerable trackage that is not broad gauge, and, ironically, it’s not standard gauge either, it’s narrow gauge, narrower than the usual tracks one is used to seeing. This system runs across northern Spain, occasionally abutting next to Renfe tracks. This is the largest narrow-gauge system in Europe, run by Feve (FE.be, each syllable rhyming with café), which stands for Ferrocarriles Españoles de Vía Estrecha, or Narrow-Gauge Spanish Railways. This is the system I’d be riding.

It might be worth summarizing again the difference in track gauges. Gauge is the inside measurement of the distance between two tracks. When Stephenson invented railroading, he adopted the gauge that by chance had been used for carts in mines, which was the odd measurement of 4 feet 8 ½ inches, or 1435 millimeters (1500 millimeters would be a meter and a half). 60% of the rails worldwide are standard gauge.

Some railroads built to wider gauges, usually because a wider train would give a more comfortable ride, but supposedly to establish deliberate incompatibility to avoid enemy invasion. This is the reason most often cited for Russia’s broad gauge system, the Czar’s fear of invasion by rail. “Russian” broad gauge remains today in all the countries that had been in the Russian Empire, including those in Central Asia, the Ukraine, and the Baltics. When Finland became independent, it considered changing to standard gauge, but that got nowhere, since most of the routes (today all the routes) connected only with Russia anyway. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania are in negotiations with the European Union they recently joined to help them change their gauge to standard, for greater commerce with the EU. “Russian” broad gauge, established with the help of American engineers, is an even 5 feet, or 1524 millimeters, in other words, just over a meter and a half. This is more than 6% wider than standard.

19C Spain was fearful of France and established its broad gauge to establish deliberate incompatibility, which Portugal essentially had to follow. Spain now regrets that decision and is considering making changes toward standardization. But Iberian broad gauge of 1668 millimeters is even broader than Russia’s by 144 millimeters, and is not 6% but over 16% wider than standard. However, it should be noted that all high-speed trains everywhere, including in Spain, is being built at standard gauge. Also, Spain is investigating building a rail tunnel under the Mediterranean to Morocco; this, too, would be at standard gauge.

The reason narrow-gauge railroads are built is because they navigate mountainous routes more easily, and are also cheaper, just by being smaller in size. Switzerland has some, for example, and some were built in the US West. In August/September I’ll be riding the Durango & Silverton in Colorado and the Cumbres & Toltec in New Mexico/Colorado, both remnants of a narrow-gauge railroad.

Feve was built to meter-gauge. This is only about 70% of standard gauge, while Renfe’s is 116% of standard. Feve’s gauge is about normal for narrow-gauge rail, but since it vies with the largest wide-gauge rail in service, the difference is startling: Feve’s width is only 60% of Renfe’s. Some cities are served by both Feve and Renfe. In León they have two different stations; in some (Bilbao, Santander) they have immediately adjacent stations. Only in Oviedo did I see them literally share a station, and, since I had a few moments, I went to check them out. There was an overhead walkway above giving access to all the tracks, the first four for Renfe, then four for Feve. When the trains had left the adjacent contrasting tracks, you could look down and compare the narrow and broad tracks next to each other, and the difference was startling, like Baby Bear next to Papa Bear, standard-gauge Mama Bear being nowhere in sight.

Santiago de Compostela   You can’t talk of Santiago without discussing the Camino de Santiago, the Way of Saint James. In the middle ages, after what was considered to be the body of Saint James was discovered in Santiago (remember, Tiago is the old form of Diego, or James), from the 11C on, Santiago de Compostela became the third most important city of Christian pilgrimage (actually all Catholic, then) after Jerusalem and Rome. French, English, German, even Scandinavian pilgrims walked the route, usually through France, and across northern Spain to Santiago in the northwest. Hospitals and hospices developed along the way, and the route was marked, although over time it did vary. The pilgrim uniform was a heavy cape, an 8-foot/2.4-meter staff with a gourd attached for water, sandals, and a broad-brimmed felt hat turned up in front with 3-4 scallop shells attached, the symbol of Saint James.

Although going on a pilgrimage was a religious act in nature, it was also a travel experience. In 1130 the Pilgrim Guide was written, which was essentially the first tourist guide ever. It described people and customs, and the most interesting routes and sights, since the pilgrims were in no hurry and often added weeks or months to the trip because of detours. Many churches and towns benefited from this “tourist” traffic. Each year between one-half million and two million people took this pilgrimage. Pilgrims’ stopping places often became villages, and some ended up being settled by pilgrims who decided not to go home. The English, Normans, and Bretons, though, often came by boat, such as from Plymouth to A Coruña. The Saint James relics were lost in 1589 and the pilgrimages were abandoned for almost three centuries, but when they were found again in 1879, pilgrims started coming again, some today in cars, some on bicycle. The center of Santiago was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985, as was the entire Camino de Santiago across northern Spain in 1993.

I had my usual 20-minute hike from the station to the edge of the old city of Santiago, then strolled down the first of a number of pleasant old streets with medieval mansions and arcades to the main square, the most spectacular and most impressive area in town, called the Praça do Obradoiro (note the similarity of Gallego to Portuguese). There were impressive buildings in period styles on all four sides; behind me on the south, a college; to the west, a building that today is the town hall; to the east, the cathedral (more on that shortly), and in front of me, to the north across this vast square, the place I was going to spend the night, the Parador Hostal dos Reis Católicos, or in Spanish, Parador Hostal de los Reyes Católicos. For Reis/Reyes understand “King-and-Queen”, Católicos does mean Catholic, but this reference is really Christian, as opposed to Muslim, since Fernando e Isabel (Ferdinand & Isabella) were the ones who, in 1492, just before they financed Columbus, accepted the keys to Granada, the last liberated area of Spain in the Reconquest, from the departing Moors (Arabs).

A few years later, in 1499, they financed this Royal Hospital for Pilgrims (for Hostal or Hospital/Hospice, don’t understand the modern meanings of those words, just understand resting place or inn). While the Portuguese Pousada system started in 1942, the Spanish Parador system started in 1928 (a point both groups proudly make), so we have the Parador Hostal de los Reyes Católicos, which, dating from 1499, makes it the oldest hotel in the world. It therefore surpasses the inn I stayed in the night before in Viana do Castelo, which is a decade younger, merely dating from 1509. Michelin gives this Parador the top five roofs-red, and yes, they have a doorman, and I also had to stop a bellman from wresting my wheeled bag out of my hand so I could find my own way, but the place was nice.

This historic building is laid out as a square of three stories with a cross in the middle, which leaves four beautiful internal courtyards, so you to imagine the size of the building. The restaurant was in a barrel-vaulted room in the cellars. Knowing the building’s layout, I was curious where my room would face, so on check-in I asked. She said “Da a la plaza”, and I couldn’t believe my luck. I was on the middle floor abutting on the main entrance, and had a bird’s-eye view of EVERYTHING. During the night I kept looking at the illuminated buildings outside my window.

I will mention now that when she said “plaza” it was PLA.tha, so I was back in the realm of Castilian Spanish. In fairness, if you consider that I went shushing through Portugal, you’d have to say that I went thuthing through Spain, but loving every minute of it. To review this thuthing with all possible spellings, let’s say that Cecilia saw a zarzuela (musical comedy) in Zaragoza.

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking around the square, especially at the cathedral, whose two towers are a famous sight from the distance, famously viewed historically by arriving pilgrims. Most of the building is 11C-12C-13C, but you’d never guess that from the flamingly Baroque façade and towers, which give an entirely different impression. On entering, but before reaching the nave, you’re at the Pórtico de la Gloria, a wonderfully spectacular 12C inner doorway of carved columns. The central pillar beneath the figure of Saint James has a most impressive (no pun intended) set of finger marks well into the stone. It’s the spot where, for centuries, pilgrims would rest their hand as a token of safe arrival, and over time, the finger marks wore into the stone. In 1985 both Beverly and I put our hands here, but I couldn’t do it this time, since there was a barrier around the pillar, so you couldn’t approach. They say it’s for preservation, but it isn’t clear if the barrier will remain there permanently.

The Transcantábrico   The week’s “train” trip on the Transcantábrico was planned as the centerpiece of this entire trip. Once that week was in place with a reservation (but see below), I planned the time in Portugal before, and England to be after, to then connect to the QM2. As it turned out, it wasn’t a love-hate relationship I had with this “train” trip, it was more between grudging acceptance and mild dislike. They had totally overplanned this standard trip on the Transcantábrico and were apparently intent on killing the passengers with kindness. There are so many good things about this trip on the Transcántabrico that it’s a terrible shame that they overdo, overdo, overdo to the point of exhaustion, so that in sum, I regretfully have to say that I will refrain from an unconditional recommendation, and give one with major caveats. Remember, I’m the one who takes seven-hour city walks, in the last year alone through Copenhagen, Mexico City, and Lisbon, and more, and if I keep falling asleep between stops on the bus it means they’re overdoing it and overfeeding you.

Let me first set the background. The Feve system runs across the north of Spain. They’ve taken a lemon and made lemonade out of it, which I admire from a business point of view. Their regular trains serve many small, and rather uninteresting places, plus a number of very interesting ones. What they’ve done, starting some two decades ago, is set up a special pair of touring trains running in opposite directions from one Saturday to the next along the Feve route between Santiago (supposedly) and León. Although I knew the route in advance, I couldn’t get any detailed map of the entire Feve system for a few days after I asked for one. Lack of rail information is one of the complaints I have about the entire so-called “rail” trip. But, once I got the map of the entire system, I could see that, except for a number of small branch lines, we were running along just about the entire Feve system.

Picture the hands of a clock superimposed on northern Spain, hands that are pointing to a quarter to eight. In the west, the minute hand pointing at “9” starts in (uninteresting) El Ferrol, then runs through Oviedo, Santillana del Mar/Altamira, and Santander, to Bilbao in the east, in the center of the “clock”. At Bilbao, the hour hand meets this minute hand at a sharp angle, and goes a shorter distance southwest toward the “8”, which is León. With the exception of El Ferrol, these are all interesting places, with nothing much of interest in between. You will notice Feve does not service Santiago (Renfe does, which is how I arrived there).

I admire Feve’s business acumen, and also the attractiveness of their product. Every one of their stations, large or small, is attractive and beautifully kept-up. Bright canary-yellow is a sign that you’re looking at a Feve station, platform, or even bench. Their trains have a yellow-blue-and white livery and are very attractive, usually the regular ones as well.

However, if the tracks are narrow-gauge, that means that the coaches are narrower, too. In some ways, it’s like riding an oversized toy train. The three lounge cars are cutely petite, with a single row on each side of two chairs at a table. All the paneling and woodwork throughout the train is impressive, and the cars are new, with construction dates I saw of 2000 and 2004. But it’s when you go into the sleeping cars that you know why you’ve never heard of a narrow-gauge railway having sleeping cars before.

Each compartment is a suite with a large, complete bathroom as large as the bedroom area. It has a modern shower with three shower heads coming from different directions that I wouldn’t mind having at home. The non-bed area of the main room is reasonably sized, and the double bed fills the rest of the area, and you sleep perpendicular to the window. What could be wrong here? It’s not really a problem, just bothersome. When you stand in the narrow corridor outside your room, if you’re outside a bathroom or non-bed area, your shoulders touch the wood paneling on either side. But the bed area protrudes even further into the hall, to the point that only a torso and one arm can get by if you face forward. So you twist to get by, which means when walking down the corridor it’s either twist, straight, twist, straight, or you give up and walk the length of the train staying in a twisted position. In any case, you get bruised shoulders on both sides. Still, that’s not a complaint, because you have to accommodate to a narrow-gauge train. Nor is the bumpy ride on a narrow-gauge route a complaint, since that comes with the territory. Also, the train spends nights in stations so you can sleep better.

So, other than lack of rail information to people wanting a rail trip, what’s the problem? There are three: sightseeing, dining, buses.

Sightseeing: The Feve “quarter-to-eight” route could probably be run non-stop in 24 hours--not less, since narrow-gauge trains don’t go all that fast. If they stopped only at interesting places, the Transcantábrico could comfortably cover the route in three days, four tops.

But these clever businessmen at Feve want to stretch it out to a full week, so the train rarely runs more than 1 ½ to two hours before stopping, unfortunately often at insignificant places of only local interest at best, a fishing village here, a Romanesque church there, the odd view here, just because they’re on the Feve route. Only after one understands this does one realize he should start to skip going out to visit these time-filler stops.

Dining: I’ve never been on any train trip before where you don’t eat on the train, but that’s the case with the Transcantábrico, except for a small breakfast buffet. I had misread the original announcement, which one can easily do. When they said “night spent in X”, I knew that meant on the train; when it said “lunch in Y” or “dinner in Z”, I took that to mean lunch ON THE TRAIN while in Y or dinner ON THE TRAIN while in Z. They also said we’d experience a variety of gastronomy. Well, to me that means the train has a pretty good chef. But with the exception of one catered lunch we never ate lunch or dinner on the train. We went only to restaurants. I will grant that the restaurants were very good, and I do like to go to restaurants, but it was just too much. Each of these meals was about a 2 ½ hour session, and twice a day at that. There were many courses, with wine or beer, and after-dinner drinks. Any one of the meals would be the type most people try rarely, or maybe once a week at the most. These people foisted two-a-day on us, for a whole week. There was a lot of griping: too much, too much.

Buses: The lowest level of Hell (just ask Dante) is reserved for parking passenger planes. Right above that, the second-lowest level of Hell is for parking tour buses. However, nowadays all tour buses are those huge-windowed, bathroomed “ultra-comfortable” behemoths, so I need to modify that last statement. The second-lowest level of Hell is reserved for luxury tour buses.

The trip I took was in the direction from Santiago to León. Feve doesn’t serve Santiago, and El Ferrol is a full 1 ¼ hours away, so after they gave us a tour with a guide of the Santiago cathedral (most of us had already seen it), the jaws of Hell opened and one of these Luxury Tour Buses from Hell (LTBfHell) rose up from that second level and committed a sacrilege just by appearing on that beautiful square in front of that beautiful Parador. We all got aboard, and off we went to start our “train” trip on a LTBfHell. But that would be the end of that, right?

Wrong. They would be needing a LTBfHell at each of the local stops along the way for all those time-wasting visits, and for the few good ones, to say nothing about all those two-a-day restaurants. If the next train stop is only 1 ½ hours away, it would be foolish for Feve to hire a new bus so often. So, Feve made a good business decision, but one that to me is mind-bogglingly wrong. The LTBfHell followed the train like a nursemaid, to meet us at the next stop. Can you imagine a more EMASCULATING situation than that for a so-called “train” trip? It’s bad enough that this beautiful train isn’t really there for transportation, just for sightseeing, which is a bad enough decimation of its authenticity, but then this bus flexes its muscle everywhere to boot. I suppose it’s a Faust/Mephistopheles situation: the Faust train has sold its soul to the devil, the Mephistopheles bus, which keeps tracking the Faust train to make sure it doesn’t lose out on its investment.

I would say that, discounting eight hours of sleeping on the train, as much time was spent on the LTBfHell as enjoying the train itself, and as much time was spent in restaurants for very extended lunches and dinners as was spent on train (excluding the night) and bus combined.

Although the client really is the one paying for all those meals, I know that Feve means well, and is trying to provide the maximum, but it’s an embarras de richesses, an embarrassment of riches. It reminds me of the overindulgent grandma who keeps on stuffing chocolates down the grandkids’ mouths whether they want them or not. “Eat it! It’s Godiva! Have another truffle!” This also goes for the profusion of useless tours. They want to make sure the client gets his money’s worth, so they run him to a frazzle. It was not I who first said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

There are laws that a beverage has to have a certain amount of actual orange juice in it to be called orange juice, otherwise it has to be called orange drink. The same goes for maple syrup as opposed to “syrup”. With so much time spent off the train, can this be actually called a “train trip”? If they’re going to outsource the food service on the Transcantábrico trip to restaurants along the way, why not also outsource the overnights to hotels along the way and let the passengers spend ALL travel time aboard the LTBfHell? But wait a minute—isn’t that called a bus tour?

Another problem was that often a tour would be combined with a meal stop, so if you wanted to skip one, you’d have to skip both. Still, people started skipping a meal here or a tour there, since they just couldn’t take it. Two nights before the end of the trip, I gave up on the dinner and just sat in the lounge on the train writing as it sat quietly in the station, then on Friday, I skipped the entire day’s outing after breakfast, and so did three others. We had a wonderful day either reading or writing. What they had planned was particularly irksome, since on this last full day of the trip the LTBfHell took off after breakfast for tours, lunch, then more tours, while the train went on for miles and miles before the bus met it again in the very late afternoon at a distant station way down the road. That was the first time that a rail segment was actually skipped in favor of the LTBfHell, and a long one at that. However, having skipped dinner the night before as well, I actually got to spend a full 24 hours on the train before going out to dinner that last night.

I am of course not blaming Feve for the fact that, starting that first day in Santiago, it rained every single day of the trip (with occasional sun), and they kept handing out umbrellas. After all, as dry as most of Spain is, this strip running the northern quarter of it is called España verde, Green Spain, for a good reason, and it must get its fair share of rain to keep it that way. I am not blaming Feve for the fact that a landslide, possibly caused by the rain, blocked the track beyond the stop in Luarca (don’t worry, I never heard of Luarca before either, nor did Michelin) and the train spent a second night there, with the LTBfHell shuttling us back and forth to the sites that would have been served out of the next stop. It just made for more lovely time on the bus! Nor was it Feve’s fault that one of the woman attendants fell into a pile of glasses, cut a tendon on her arm, and lost enough blood so that she fainted, before being rushed to the hospital. All this is the luck of the draw and is part of life.

But I do blame Feve that they lost my reservation. When I was checking in at the Parador in Santiago, my name wasn’t on the list. Fortunately, I had my voucher. After a while, she consulted out loud with the train manager and with no further thought, she said she supposed I’d have Suite 1. She came up so easily with that particular number that I jokingly asked if it was a special room, and they said no. She did insist that I “really did” have a reservation, but my name just wasn’t on her list. I asked later if there would be an investigation as to the loss of the reservation, but she implied that, since I now had a room anyway, why bother.

As it turned out, the three lounge cars were in the back of the train, with six sleeping cars in front of them. The closest suite to the lounges was 26, and the furthest was: 1. My room was the same as all the others, but then I noticed that I wasn’t in one of the six sleeping coaches numbered from 6 down to 1. Coach 1 was behind me. I was in coach S-1, which had a door in the hallway separating me from the service personnel. That’s when I realized why she knew Suite 1 was available; it was apparently a catch-all emergency room, which, luckily was available.

I’ve said in the past that I make reservations a full year in advance if possible in order to get the best rooms. I was talking to the people who had rooms 26 and 25, and they booked last fall, as I did. It is perfectly clear to me that I should have been in one of those close rooms, and shouldn’t have had to do the bruised-shoulder twist walking back and forth through all those coaches again and again. If I were king, heads would roll.

There were about 38 passengers. There was of course a large Spanish contingent (apparently mostly local, although there was a couple from Santiago de Chile), and a considerable Portuguese contingent. I got to talk on occasion just a bit with a few of the Spanish speakers, but mostly the groups fell into cliques and the English speakers joined together. There was one Englishwoman, one Australian couple (but he had emigrated from Missouri and she from England), three American couples, and me. It was a pleasant group and we had an enjoyable time. It was striking that there was no one from anywhere else in Europe, not from France, Germany, Italy, or otherwise.

It is very possible that this very local passenger mix is one of the causes of the problems. Most high-level train trips and cruises seek a widespread international clientele. I didn’t get to talk with many of the non-English speakers, but my gut feeling is they, as a group, were not particularly well-traveled, except for the Chilean couple. Perhaps Feve knew that locals really want their money’s worth, and over-catered to their interests. Most of the English speakers were very well-traveled, and could play Travel Poker with ease (“I’ll see your China with one Antarctica, and raise you an Easter Island.”). We had seen on this trip alone plenty of very nice Romanesque churches, to say nothing of elsewhere on earlier travels, and could easily pass by another one that was being shown just because it’s on the Feve route.

I would like to finish by telling about the very enjoyable places we stopped on the Transcantábrico trip, but before I do, I want to state that there were great positives about this trip, but also great negatives, that Feve doesn’t seem to realize. Given the balance, I reluctantly would say that I would only recommend this so-called “train” trip if the individual fully understood the caveats that he would be off-train (and on-bus) most of the time, making it a de facto bus trip (some people like those), that he could, and definitely should, skip any of the excursions that are obvious time-fillers, and should consider skipping a number of the huge meals, but with reluctance, since they’re already paid for, and actually quite good. It’s a shame Feve has to smother you to death and can’t make a better lemonade out of the lemons it’s been given for its route.

That said, there were some very enjoyable and interesting places to see as we traveled across northern Spain. Spain has 50 provinces, divided into 17 autonomous regions, some of which comprise a single province, and some many. We were in the regions of Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria, País Vasco (Basque Country) and Castilla y León. The latter is very large, Galicia is mid-size, the rest mentioned are small. If it doesn’t look as though seeing the following places could fill a week, just remember I’m listing only the enjoyable things.

In Galicia the otherwise uninteresting stop at Ribadeo did include lunch at the Parador de Ribadeo, after Santiago the second Parador of this trip. It was, however, in a contemporary building, so it lacked the patina of age. We stopped at the capital of Asturias, Oviedo, which was quite a pleasant city. On its edge we first visited the church of San Julian de los Prados (= In the Fields, meaning outside the original city walls). It was a 9C Pre-Romanesque church with some rediscovered ancient frescoes intact. In town we walked (in the drizzle) through the pedestrian streets of the old city, with many stone mansions and palaces, and the usual cathedral.

In Cantabria the double stop at Santillana del Mar was of great interest. First we went on the outskirts of town to Altamira, site of the famous prehistoric cave drawings. Beverly and I had been here in 1985, but the cave was closed because of damage due to the humidity involved with sightseers entering and leaving, so we just looked at the museum. This time there was a much more modern and complete museum; the cave itself was still closed (they’re thinking of ways of possibly opening it again), but there was something new—literally. It was the Neocueva, or Neocave. This is a full-size replica of just the interesting and important parts of the original, which a guide brought groups through.

The art work was done in the cave during the time of two different habitations, I believe 17,000 and 15,000 years ago. The mind boggles with such high numbers in the first place, and you tend to feel the two different habitations were back to back, but they were the same 2000 years apart as Roman times are from today. After the second habitation the cave entrance apparently collapsed, and wasn’t rediscovered until the 1870’s.

Except for the fact that you’re not actually seeing the real thing (although it’s just down the road), the Neocueva is probably the better experience. When you enter from the museum, you see the cave’s mouth with natural daylight streaming in. Of course, this being the replica, the opening is actually covered by glass. The people had lived near the opening, to take advantage of daylight, and the first exhibit showing people in the cave at work was startling, because it was a large-sized hologram. As the guide spoke, kids were playing and people were working around the fire, but these were images moving in nothingness. A little further along was the newer set of ceiling paintings, from the second habitation. The artist first had scraped the image, usually of bison, but of the occasional horse, into the stone with a sharp implement, then filled in the outline with black, from charcoal. Finally, a mixture based on iron oxide was used to color the animals, with sort of a rust color. The artist spread the color mixture on his palm and used his palm to spread the color. Even more realism was given by the fact that the artist almost always used natural bulges in the rock to give shape to the animals. A bit further along were the pictures from the first habitation, but these were largely faded (purposely reproduced that way in the replica), possibly because the second habitation had introduced humidity and light to the cave, which set the older ones into a decline. It is also worth noting that the artists had worked lying on their back, since the distance from ceiling to floor was not very much. The floor of the replica, and I believe of the original cave as well, has been lowered, so that you can see the ceiling. These ceiling paintings have been referred to as the Sistine Chapel of prehistoric art.

From Altamira on the edge of Santillana del Mar we went into the town. This is one of two stops in Spain on this trip (the other is Bilbao) that I’d be willing to go back to again before long to spend a little more time in. This medieval (and later) town is one stone palace or mansion with wooden or wrought-iron balconies after the other, with most streets for pedestrian use only. The entrance road forks into a Y to form the two main town streets. Down the longer right-hand road you pass palaces and mansions and end up at the Collegiate Church of the 12C and 13C. You couldn’t want to see a more attractive Romanesque building, including the cloister surrounded by columns, the capital of each telling a different story. Returning to the shorter main street, it ends at the triangular, eye-pleasing Plaza de Ramón Pelayo with a major stone building around it from each century from the 13C to 18C; the variety of styles nevertheless forms a harmonious whole. One of these buildings is the Parador Gil Blas, where we had lunch (3rd Parador of this trip). I would love to come and stay at this Parador, since it is itself a historic building located right on this main square of historic buildings.

Later that day, Santander, the capital of Cantabria, was nice enough, but it’s primarily a 19C resort, with promenades and parks with views of beaches. It, as well as Bilbao, has overnight passenger ships to England (“car ferries”).

The next stop of interest was Bilbao in the País Vasco/Basque Country, but, since I went back there a second time, I’ll discuss it later. Bilbao is at the apex of the “quarter-to-eight” clock hands, so after our day there we turned southwest. That next day was the one I stayed on the train, while those in the bus saw even more Romanesque churches.

The last stop was in León, in the region of Castilla y León. While our luggage was taken to the Parador for later distribution, we had a walking tour. The guide explained that León, the Spanish word for “lion” has nothing to do with lions. León had been a camp for one of the Roman legions, and it’s the word “legion” that lost its middle to shorten to León.

León has masterpieces of Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance architecture. Romanesque San Isidoro, partially built into the Roman walls, was started in the 11C. Standing outside of it I saw storks and more storks flying, some landing on the church, others on nearby buildings. Only one large nest was visible, though. We walked over to the Gothic cathedral, which was, unusually for Spain, built in the French Gothic style. It has the second-best stained-glass windows in Europe, after Chartres. Inside, the vaulted ceiling went all the way up to THERE, and the multicolored windows were everywhere.

The Renaissance masterpiece in León is where we ended the city tour and the Transcantábrico trip, and where I spent the night. It was the Parador Hostal San Marcos, a 12C monastery rebuilt in 1575. It had served pilgrims on the Way of Saint James. It, the fourth Parador on this trip, is five-roof red in Michelin. The interior is nice enough, especially the cloister, but there are only suites in the historic front part; most rooms, including mine, are in a contemporary wing to the back of the building.

But it’s the façade of this building that’s noteworthy. It’s uniformly Renaissance, with statues and niches, friezes and cornices, columns and medallions. A functioning church takes up the right end, with the Parador taking the rest. The entire façade is 100 meters/328 feet long, which is really an incredible distance. I just sat on a park bench and stared at the incredible length of this incredible façade, and then was sure to come out at night to see it illuminated.

The next day I used my Spain/Portugal Railpass for the last time and took Renfe back to Bilbao to take the ship to England. The Renfe route is different from the Feve route, and I enjoyed going to the window at the back of my car, the last car, and watching those broad-gauge rails shooting out behind us from beneath the train.

Bay of Biscay   I want to discuss the Basques and Basque Country separately, so I’m leaving the discussion of the Basque capital of Bilbao to now as well, along with the Bay of Biscay, my route for leaving Iberia for the UK. [It looks like I’m just collecting Bs but that’s largely a coincidence: Basques, Basque Country, Bilbao, Bay of Biscay.]

The land is called Euskadi, and the language is Euskara. The language is referred to as a “language isolate”, since it doesn’t seem to be related to any other language, anywhere. However, genetic tests among the Basque people have reportedly shown links to the Welsh and Irish Celts, but I am unaware of how conclusive that is.

The land is tucked into the corner of the Bay of Biscay where Spain and France meet, and the people are divided between those two countries. In English we use the French name, Basque. I’ve pointed out in the past that in Spanish the name is Vasco, but pronounced BAS.ko, so it’s really quite similar. As so often is the case, it’s just the spellings that mask the reality: Basque and Vasco are really Bask and Basko.

Euskadi has seven provinces. Three are in the autonomous Spanish region known as País Vasco/Basque Country: Álava, Guipúzcoa, Viscaya/Biskaya. I will note here that only one of the seven provinces “looks like” it should be Basque, and that the Spanish spelling of Viscaya with V appears in the Basque spelling Biskaya with the rightful B. The fourth Basque Province is also in Spain, but has its own autonomous government: Navarra. The remaining three provinces lie to the north, in France, within the Départment des Pyrénées Atlantiques: Labourd, Soule, Basse-Navarre (Lower Navarra). These seven provinces in two countries are grouped together in the Basque motto: Zazpiak-bat (The Seven that Make One).

Similar to Welsh, Irish Gaelic, and Scots Gaelic, after centuries of oppression, it will not be surprising that only 20% of Spanish Basques speak Euskara, and even fewer of the French Basques, whose ethnic fervor is far less intense. But for centuries, Spanish kings swore to respect Basque rights in the symbolic heart of Euskadi, the town of Gernika (in Spanish Guernica). This is the town that Franco decimated by bombs in 1937, and whose destruction was depicted by Picasso in his painting “Guernica’”, perhaps the most political painting ever painted, certainly in the 20C. For years, Picasso insisted that the huge mural-painting remain in New York (where Beverly and I saw it in the Museum of Modern Art) until democracy returned to Spain. It was then removed to the Prado in Madrid, and after that to the Reina Sofía Museum nearby, where we saw it again, under very heavy guard and behind bulletproof glass. The building of the new Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao has given a new lease on life to the campaign to bring Picasso’s “Guernica” to the Guggenheim in the Basque capital of Bilbao, and there is a space reserved for it, but the painting’s fragile condition, and even moreso, the political issues involved, have prevailed, and the painting will remain for the foreseeable future at the Reina Sofía.

However, after Franco, regional autonomy arrived in the Basque area as it did in other regions (the Catalan area, Galicia), and Basque is now taught in schools, and there is a Basque TV station, which I watched for a bit (didn’t understand a word) when I came back to Bilbao the second time on this trip.

When we were studying French in Pau in 1971 we drove down to the coast at Biarritz, so we’ve been in the French Basque country (but as I’ve said, we’ve never crossed the border). In 1985 in Spain, we toured the Spanish Basque country extensively, and noticed two things. The béret, considered quintessentially Parisian, was borrowed from the Basques. Jai alai, a very “Spanish” sport, is totally Basque. As we drove through small towns in the Spanish Basque area, there were not only municipal courts to play jai alai in every town, but a frontón would be set up beside a house or in front of a garage in a similar way to how one sees impromptu basketball courts set up next to American houses. Also, Basque immigrants show up in an unusually large number in Idaho and Montana as sheepherders, a traditional profession.

In planning this trip, I wanted to get a sample of Euskara, since this is a language as well as travel website, and where else would you expect to find such a thing? One of the suburban rail services out of Bilbao is called EuskoTren/EuskoTrenek, and I’ve copied some data from their homepage.

On the site, once you choose between Euskara and Castellano (!!), you see either of these headings:

I will say that, everywhere in Bilbao, and presumably in the Spanish part of Euskadi (doubtful in the French part) you see Basque written proudly first, followed by Spanish. You might be able to pick out some of the Spanish words, even with little or no knowledge of Spanish, but Euskara would clearly be a different situation, being totally non-related to, well anything. Yet the last four words in the heading might still be recognizable. How shall we account for that? Clearly because Basque (in Spain) has been under Spanish domination for so long that it’s obviously borrowed Spanish words. Two comments here: first, Basque has taken the Spanish word “virtual” at face value and has a B in “birtuala”. Second, the huge sign outside the museum in Bilbao says very specifically “Guggenheim Museoa”—and nothing else in any other language.

Here’s a bit more from that website, apparently discussing a local holiday:

Although the Basque seems to be shorter, perhaps you can figure out more information from the Spanish version, Spanish being an Indo-European language, and therefore related to English.

Bilbao (bil.BAH.o), in Basque Bilbo, is the Basque and Spanish Pittsburgh, in many parallel ways. Pittsburgh was an industrial, smokestack city that turned itself around into an attractive city, especially via modern architecture (Reflections 2006 Series 12). I remember that, when we were driving in the Basque area in 1985, we chose to avoid Bilbao/Bilbo because of its smokestack reputation including little to nothing to see, and drove around it.

It was years after the beautiful Gare (RR Station) d’Orsay on the south bank of the Seine was recycled into the Musée d’Orsay that I was finally able to take Beverly to see it and its collection (Reflections 2003 Series 13). It was also years after a power substation on the south bank of the Thames was converted into the Tate Modern that we were able to see the building (nice conversion) and its collection (I’ll be polite and reserve judgment). I’d heard about the new Guggenheim in Bilbao for years, and was wondering when I’d see it, and wondered about the interaction of smokestacks and an art museum. Well, this time I’d find out.

Feve allowed for some seven hours in Bilbao, and, except for a late shower, then drizzle, it was a nice, sunny day. We piled into the LTBfHell and first had a drive around the center city. The river is mid-sized, and we drove along its north bank admiring the views of the main district along the south bank, including several very interesting bridges, and then the Guggenheim. Crossing to the south bank we drove down some very attractive boulevards to a main central square with a fountain. So far, even without including the modern architecture, the look of the traditional city was very attractive.

The Guggenheim Foundation has established several museums for modern art. The first and most famous is Frank Lloyd Wright’s spiral on Fifth Avenue in New York. There is a second Guggenheim in Soho in New York, and the Peggy Guggenheim in Venice. I’ve heard there’s also one in Las Vegas. When it was announced in the 1990’s that the newest one would be in Bilbao, many people wondered: Where? And why? The reason is that the Basque government—not the Spanish, the Basque—lobbied strongly to bring to their capital city, whose image they wanted to improve, something of world importance that would “put them on the map”. They had none other than Frank Gehry design the building, which, from its opening just about a decade ago in October, 1997, became the jewel, and icon, of Bilbao.

It is considered one of the great buildings of the late 20C. Its huge titanium shapes look something like multiple bird wings, or perhaps multiple flags. The main part of the building has no straight lines, no formal geometry, no symmetry. Michelin points out that Gehry juxtaposes free forms and creates harmony and gracefully flowing lines out of potential chaos. I walked halfway across an adjacent modern bridge over the river to be able to look back down from above to get my best view.

On entering the museum, the vast open public space takes one aback. At the center is an atrium that soars 65 meters/165 feet above, with suspended walkways connecting rooms on the upper levels. An elevator brings one up to the third floor, and you can work your way down again, often crossing over on those walkways. Visiting this building is an experience, although in my opinion, the art collection doesn’t live up to the building that houses it.

Gehry’s Guggenheim is not the only modern work that the Basques have brought to Bilbao. After the usual marathon lunch that Feve provides, we all went off on our own, and I went back to see and walk over what by far was the most striking bridge we had seen driving by earlier. It is a Pasarela, a footbridge (the river is not all that wide), called Pasarela Zubizuri (Basque for "White Bridge"), and it was designed by none other than the Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, the designer of Oriente Station in Lisbon, and the upcoming rail terminal at Ground Zero in New York. Apparently Calatrava has also done Bilbao’s new airport terminal.

You must visualize what Calatrava has done. I’ll describe it in three parts. First picture a slightly curved pedestrian roadway ahead of you over the river, something like clock hands at 11:35, but gracefully curved into a concave shape to the left. Then picture a huge, rounded, steel arch over the bridge, but this arch is attached to the roadway’s two ends on the RIGHT side, while the arch tilts over the concave open area on the LEFT side. Finally, almost all the cables connecting arch to roadway also descend from upper left toward the lower right. It’s absolutely amazing, extremely graceful and you just can’t stop staring at it.

I also understand that Cesar Pelli is working on a riverfront development and park, but I did see what Sir Norman Foster has done around town. Bilbao recently put in a new metro system, which I rode. As you go around town, you can’t miss many of the unique entrance structures on the sidewalks covering the stairs or escalators. They look like clear sausage casings rising from the ground, with ribs holding them erect. They also remind of those large, ribbed hoses attached to hair dryers, but transparent. These unique entrances, designed by Foster, are known locally as “fosteritos”.

After finishing the Feve trip from Bilbao to León, I took Renfe back to Bilbao (it’s a different route) to spend one night there before sailing from Bilbao to Portsmouth in the UK. This would involve a northbound crossing of the Bay of Biscay, a body of water worthy of discussion.

Over time I have discussed, usually as I traveled the areas, the Caribbean and its formation, Transatlantic sea routes and how they hug the North American coast in a northeast direction, how the Mediterranean was formed, how the English Channel was formed, the North and Norwegian Seas, and how the Baltic was formed from a flooded river basin. As you picture the waters around Europe, I’d missed traveling on and describing one major one, the Bay of Biscay, an exotic-sounding name that has intrigued me since elementary school. It borders two countries, plus having a “neighbor looking in from across the street”. The Bay of Biscay forms the north coast of Spain and the west coast of France, and strictly speaking, those are the two countries of interest. However, in the north, just past France, the Bay of Biscay abuts the English Channel, with the UK on its north side, so in practice, the UK becomes a de facto party of interest in the area. Indeed, when the Spanish Armada sailed to attack England, it was the Bay of Biscay it crossed to reach what was essentially its northern neighbor. Catherine of Aragon also sailed this way to become the first of Henry VIII’s wives.

In the opposite direction, we’ve already mentioned that English pilgrims, plus those from Normandy and Brittany, usually sailed south across the Bay of Biscay to reach Santiago via La Coruña, rather than walk the Way of Saint James. At this point I’ll also mention something I left out earlier. In 1589, Sir Francis Drake came south across the Bay of Biscay and attacked La Coruña; this was the event that caused the bishop in Santiago to remove the relics of Saint James to a hiding place, whose location only he knew, and when he eventually died, the relics were lost for 300 years, effectively stopping the pilgrimages until the relics were recovered in 1879. So, although two countries border the Bay of Biscay, there is nearby a third “neighbor” of interest.

The names of this body of water vary more than with most places. The former French province of Gascony (Gascogne) abuts it, and the French call it the Golfe de Gascogne. This brings up another issue: is it a gulf? It does seem comparable to the Gulf of Mexico, so perhaps.

The Spanish have an entirely different name. Even though the Spanish province of Cantabria (capital: Santander) is only one of several that abut it, such as Galicia and Asturias, in Spanish it’s called the Mar Cantábrico. So thus far we have the Gulf of Gascony and the Cantabrian Sea. But then—is it a sea, like the North or Norwegian seas? Perhaps.

Another name arises if you don’t consider the entire body of water, just the tiny little corner in the “elbow” between France and Spain where the Basques are. You will remember that one of the seven Basque provinces is called Viscaya/Biskaya, and it’s on the Spanish side of the border. This little corner of the entire body of water is called in Spanish the Golfo de Vizcaya and in Basque Bizkaiako Golkoa, which essentially is where “Biscay” comes from.

So now we have the French calling it the Gulf of Gascony, the Spanish calling the entire thing the Cantabrian Sea (after one province), but this little corner the Gulf of Biscay (after one Basque province).

So what did the English do here? They rejected the reference to Gascony. They rejected the reference to Cantabria. They honed in on the tiny Basque province of Biscay in that little elbow and named the entire vast body of water after it in English. Yet to this day, I don’t think many people realize that calling it the Bay of Biscay is a reference to the Basques.

One other problem. This large body of water can certainly be considered a sea, and possibly be considered a gulf. The tiny corner the Spanish call the Gulf of Biscay. Could that small area be a gulf? I would say a small area like that is a bay, so I feel calling that in Spanish a gulf is a misnomer.

But then we come to the huge English misnomer, calling the entire huge sea (or gulf) the Bay of Biscay, as though it were just some tiny bay somewhere. My guess is that English speakers threw logic to the wind and allowed themselves to be carried away poetically by both the rhyme Bay/Biscay, and the alliteration of the B’s. And there we have it, and I now see why the name appealed to me as exotic when I first heard it in elementary school.

One last naming issue. Why does Feve call its train and route the Transcantábrico? It’s certainly not just because its route crosses Cantabria, since it crosses other provinces as well. The reference instead has to be to the Mar Cantábrico and its shoreline across all of northern Spain. The big attractions in Spain, both for locals and visitors, tend to lie in the south and along the Mediterranean coast. España verde/Green Spain in the north tends to be wetter and colder, and has comparatively less to offer. Feve wants to attract people to the north, and its name Transcantábrico, referring to the body of water to the north, is saying that it goes along (trans-) the Bay of Biscay, the north coast, not the southeast one. Possible translations of the train’s name of Transcantábrico could be “Bay of Biscay Special”, “Trans-Biscay Special” or “North Coast Special”. But that’s just to understand the name more fully. Otherwise, let’s just leave it as it is.

I took a suburban train out of Bilbao along the river for 20 minutes to Santurtzi, where the river widened into the port area. Just before the widening, at Portugalete, was the transporter bridge from 1893, often proudly made reference to locally. I had first seen one in the film “Billy Elliot”, then rode one in Newport, Wales, and most recently last summer over the Kiel Canal. It’s called a puente colgante in Spanish and from the train, and also later from the ship before it sailed, you could see the section of roadway hanging from the tower framework as it crossed the waterway with traffic and passengers.

The ship was the Pride of Bilbao (1986) of the P&O Lines, carrying 2500 passengers. P&O chartered it in October 2002 from the same Viking Line that I rode last summer on the Baltic. The ship’s original name was the Olympia. There are apparently enough trucks that ply the route between Spain and the UK that there’s even a Professional Drivers’ Lounge on board. Many UK pleasure drivers use this crossing, and the connection from Plymouth to Santander as well, to reach the warm weather with their car, but with less driving, so in some ways it’s like the AutoTrain in the US taking cars and drivers between the Northeast US and Florida. There are also a lot of people on tours onboard (too many), since tour companies, encouraged by P&O, offer cheap rates for a “mini-cruise”, a round trip to Spain on the English Channel and Bay of Biscay, with just a couple of hours in Spain.

Apparently coming down, the trip had been very, very rough, reaching wind force 10. As we left Bilbao, the captain said that going north, at first we may have wind force 4.2-4.5, but then it would calm down. The trip is scheduled for just over 24 hours, from early afternoon one day to late afternoon the next. It was a bit rough the first evening, but the second full day was calm and with sunshine, and I walked about the decks and enjoyed the view. However, the slower going during the initial rough weather would delay our arrival in Portsmouth by a couple of hours into the early evening.