Big Week

Destination

Bilbao

Spain

Season

August

Durations

9 Days

Big Week /The Aste Nagusia in Basqque, Semana Grande in Spanish

The festival in Bilbao promotes the Basque traditions, but also includes unofficial local customs that you can learn only on the spot. While Marijaia on the balcony danced wildly, people below fought for dear life! Champagne, confetti, flour and eggs flew through the air

As soon as I got on the bus from airport to Bilbao, I knew I was lost. The Basque Country is an autonomous region of Spain with its own official language, Spanish is only the second. And if they really speak only the first one, this is no good for me. I can handle Catalan which is quite understandable, if you speak Spanish; but this?! To give you an idea: a foldable bus door steps are called "igongailua badabil"...

I got out in the centre, but the way to my hotel was very complicated; instead of going to the bridge, I had to go under the bridge; I wouldn't find it by the morning. Fortunately, a nice couple took care of me. They called the hotel and asked for the directions; then took my suitcase, accompanied me to the door, gave me kisses on both cheeks and wished me a good-night. These are supposed to be those feared Basque terrorists?! They couldn't make a better impression... : )

Basque Country is a region in the north of Spain, bordering France. In 1959, they founded a separatist and nationalist organization Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (Basque Country and Freedom), shortly ETA. Until 1975, it fought in particular against the authoritarian regime of General Franco; but quickly changed to a paramilitary group, calling for independence. It is responsible for many bloody terrorist attacks; the last one took place in 2009. In 2014, ETA announced a definitive end to its operation and dissolving of its operational and logistical structures. Since then, there is peace.

The Basque Country has been an autonomous community since 1979; it has its own parliament, police, health service and education. The inhabitants are one of the oldest nations in Europe and their language is unique; it is unrelated to the other languages of the continent. There are many theories about its origin; for example that Basques are descendants of the Cro-Magnons or that it was planted by extraterrestrials.

During Franco's regime, Basque language and culture were banned, that’s why some people don´t speak it, but understand. It is so difficult that in two weeks I learnt only a few words I used to see on the streets: police - ertzainzta, toilets - komunak, discounts – beherapenak, ice cream - izozkiak, thank you - eskerrik asko. But when they speak at you, no chance, you understand absolutely nothing.

Behind the bridge, there is once the poor port district of Abandoibarra situated, today rebuilt into a beautiful, three-kilometre-long promenade: Imagine glass skyscrapers reflecting blue sky and clouds, looking like they blend in with heaven. One old façade, from behind which hyper modern houses peek out. Lots of greenery and high, columnar lamps. The arched, curved, original footbridge by the Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava. In addition, there is fitness equipment along the river – you are sitting on a bench, chatting with a friend while your feet are working on a bike.

I walked to the historic centre, called casco viejo. The narrow, winding streets are full of shops and restaurants - I was especially looking forward to those because Basque cuisine is considered the best of Spain. The first closed men's gastronomic clubs, so-called txokos, were created in San Sebastian already in the 19th century. Their members used to meet, cook and eat together. The women were strictly forbidden to enter, because for Basques, these clubs meant what for the other nations a tavern: escape from the household.

Gastronomic societies gradually spread throughout the region, and even today it is a matter of prestige to be a member of one of them. Here, men chat about the recipes, boast about their culinary skills, and endlessly discuss the preparation of any food; as only southern nations can do. They gather in the kitchen facility, everyone brings something and shares the remaining costs. In some places, women are already admitted as guests, while the others maintain a strictly patriarchal character. The foreigner can only enter the club by invitation.

The main specialty of Basque bars is pintxos – something like small sandwiches. But not so simple; these are multi-storey works of art where nobody was thrifty: there is a huge mountain of divine mayonnaise salad on the baguette, decorated with grated eggs and a few shrimps. Sausages wrapped in a piece of crispy fried bacon and covered with ketchup are poetry. Ham and cheese are complemented by a colourful membrillo, a cube of solid marmalade made from quince; or a red pepper, filled with a fish spread. The taste of goat cheese blends wonderfully with tomato jam. The quail's fried egg lays in a bowl with grey ,,spaghetti” - tiny eels, called gulas. And I was completely mesmerised by the combination of olives, anchovies and pickled chilli pepper of Guindilla de Ibarra on the stick.

Imagine that in every bar, they have a few dozen platters with different sandwiches. You take a plate and put on it whatever you want to try. For pintxos, the Basques would deserve the Nobel Prize! You stuff yourself like a pig, but one glance on the pintxos in the next bar and I can guarantee you will not resist them. Yummy!

A beverage to drink with them is white wine (that is, if you want to sleep well, the locals told me) or cidra, a drink of fermented apple juice (if you´re gonna drink more; because it has less alcohol and will not make you sleepy). A bottle of cider has a special carved cork and the liquid is poured through the gap, from above; and only as much as one can drink per gulp. I preferred wine; a cidra reminded me of pickle juice.

In August, Aste Nagusia (Semana Grande in Spanish), the biggest holiday of the year, is held in Bilbao.

Once upon a time, under Franco's dictatorship, it meant opera, theatre, fireworks, a bit of dance and goodbye; that was all. But in 1977, one radio presenter called on the public to organize a folk festival to promote Basque traditions, music, dance and sports. The proud Basques loved the idea and immediately began to work on it. By summer they had presented a number of projects, with comparsas becoming the main organizers. These are associations of friends or neighbours who prepare competitions, but also have their own street stall, where they sell food and drink and eventually organize concerts.

Just a week before the start, the City hall commissioned painter Mari Puri Herrero to create a holiday symbol. So Marijaia was born, a four-meter-high, laughing puppet with her hands raised in a joyful gesture that everyone immediately fell in love with. Since 1997 she has her own song.

Aste Nagusia in 1978 was opened by the introductory speech of the pregonero (a herald); then the txupinera launched a rocket (that's her official task) and the festivities began. Bilbao was full; people went on holiday in July in order not to miss it. And so it's been every summer since then. Some traditions persist, others are brand new; some are mentioned in the official program, others are not; in such a way they can surprise you a lot .Since 2009, Semana Grande has been included in the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage List.

On Saturday morning there were already stalls on the banks of the Nervion River and the members of the comparsas were making the last adjustments. The children painted Conchita Wurst, the men installed a huge bird on the roof and hung light bulbs. There were plenty of cartoon jokes, especially political ones, but 95 per cent in Basque. If I understood correctly, they were for gender equality, recognition of sexual minorities, socialism and against the royal family.

The festival was in the air; all the crooked streets of the old town were decorated with different light pictures. In the bakery shop window, baked Marijaia stood, in the pastry shop they offered a Marijaia cake and in the souvenir shop Marijaia dolls. The squares were occupied by music bands; I was intrigued by the one who played the "pipes" (one of them looked like a toilet pipe). They told me a trick - it wasn't any original instruments, just fifes, put in different pipes and wrapped with aluminium foil. (Of course, if possible, they played with one hand, holding the beer in the other).

Many people were already dressed in typical blue-white clothes, with scarves on their necks; men also had berets with Marijaia badges attached.

In the afternoon, tired members of the comparsas gathered for a well-deserved lunch. Everyone in the same T-shirts; to make clear where they belong. Together they set up long tables, and together they sat down at them with their families. This is what I like most on Spanish holidays - how they always strengthen people-to-people relationships. Children, the elderly and the sick take part in the festivities, without exception.

Although I wanted to taste some local specialties, it was impossible. As soon as I saw those pintxos bars and a forest of skewers stuck in sandwiches, I knew what I would have for lunch... It was impossible to resist them!

Aste Nagusia should have been officially opened at 7 pm from the balcony of Arriaga Theatre. But when I came to the square at six, it was almost full, so I decided to stay. It was lined with five steps and I sat up on them. The young people were mostly sitting down on the ground, surrounded by food, as if picnicking while waiting. Many had bottles of champagne - they would probably toast afterwards, I thought. But it turned out that even if you have a programme, not all things are in it.

Occasionally; someone threw big balloons into the crowd so we wouldn't get bored. We tossed them from one side to the other. Those standing in front had flags and waved enthusiastically.

At 7 pm, pregonero and txupinera went out on the balcony; he in yellow-black uniform; she in red. Pregonero read the festival proclamation; and being a really great speaker, he created an amazing atmosphere and aroused the crowd to warm applause. Txupinera was just standing and smiling; her time should have come later.

And then Marijaia finally appeared on the balcony; a babushka with a scarf on her head and her arms up; and began to dance. She awakened enthusiasm; the ovations were never-ending!

Suddenly something banged and long white and red paper strips began flying in the air, as if it was snowing. The speakers played a catchy Marijaia´s song, everyone knew it and sang it; even I managed a little. All the time, Granny was shaking a leg like a young woman, revolving around her own axis and dancing with verve, and we were all with her.

But it wasn't all! I wasn't ready for what came next. Other things began to happen; unseen, unheard-of, and especially unexpected things - for me. Well, there are always some unwritten local habits that one learns only on the spot.

Below, the melee started. People were opening wine, champagne ... but also bags of flour and cartons of eggs ... and then threw it at each other! The air filled with white fog and screams, farina was flying everywhere. Occasionally, I noticed a hand in the crowd, spinning a bottle like a mace to let the stream sprinkle fairly in all directions. Others preferred water and spray guns. Luckily, the stairs were an unofficial border. I was only hit with some bubbles and flour, but when I shook it off in the evening, it was enough for a cake. Coloured papers stuck on my wet body, I looked covered with a Band-Aid and felt like a coated cutlet.

So, while Marijaia was shaking her ass and dancing like crazy upstairs on the balcony, people below were fighting! Champagne, confetti, flour and eggs flew in the air. It was absolutely amazing; the best holiday experience and one of the most fantastic in my life! The fight lasted about twenty minutes.

As customary today, after the action everyone made selfies; the dirtier people were, the more they enjoyed it. Some had the yolks running down the face; others were so sprinkled with flour that they looked like mummies. The girls had hair full of egg shells.

Then the grubby crowd began to disperse. Immediately the cleaning crews arrived; cars and people with hoses. They also washed some people, who stretched delightfully in the jets of water. Others jumped into the river; dressed, with shoes; one by one or in groups; the boys silently, the girls with squeals. They hopped into the stream and splashed the water around them; this obviously belongs to tradition too, for the whole city was watching them from the bridge. Several guys jumped off even from that bridge, but only until the police stopped them. For safety, there were some rescue boats on the river.

At 8 pm, the protagonists came out in front of the theatre. Txupinera got a wooden “hanger” with a rocket; pressed a button, fired a rocket and opened the Aste Nagusia. Besides this first bang, her task is to fire another rocket every day of the festival at seven in the morning.

Marijaia went into the city, visiting the stands and officially opening them. Members of the comparsas already waited for her, with plastic cups around their necks - the party would last till the morning, no need to waste carelessly.

Over the next nine days, regional cultural and sporty traditions were celebrated in Bilbao. Just as everyone had participated in the preparation of stalls, everyone was now having fun, enjoying it as a small child. And the schedule was really busy.

Basques like to compete in special disciplines – such as wood chopping, mowing a piece of meadow or heavy burden carrying. In one square they were lifting something like a big, heavy key with which they had to slam into an iron over their heads, while four strict members of the jury were watching them. To my astonishment, a subtle girl banged the iron 84 times!

There were tournaments in playing cards, chess, shooting a slingshot, and throwing coins into an open frog muzzle (when the start was delayed, they tried to convince me that organizers went to catch frogs in the river; but of course, it was a metal frog). : )

A specific sport of Basques is pelota - they wear a special glove that extends into a long pointed curved basket similar to a reaping hook, which becomes their elongated limb. They use it to catch the balls and throw them against a wall. I tried it and believe me; it is not as easy as it looks...

At noon, there was a concert of classical music in front of the Town hall. Later I met a group of maniacal drummers, there were musicians and street performers everywhere; and the disco music boomed from the stalls. There was such a great atmosphere!

I came across bertsolaris, singers of traditional Basque improvised songs. This discipline is very popular, the square was full; people were sitting also on the ground. But the moderator introduced it all in the mysterious local language and I was lost in translation, I didn´t understand a single word. Somehow, subconsciously, I was expecting a display of the old men who came to pass on their wisdom to the audience - and instead, I was surprised by four youngsters. I can't judge the quality of their performance, but the audience laughed and applauded.

A passacalle, a typical Spanish parade couldn´t be missing. The local giants, the Gigantes, were smaller than the Catalan; and the Cabezudos, the Big heads, were armed. They held something like bladder balloons to beat children (and strangers). They hit them, it banged; but it didn't hurt as I found out on my own. Looking at the approaching giant heads, the children began yelling their heads off. The elders already knew the monsters; they ran after them, poked them and provoked them, until the cabezudo started chasing them. They scattered in different directions, but as soon as they got hit on their think-box, they hurried to provoke again.

In the park, there were cooking competitions; different meals were prepared every day. Now it was tortilla, which is actually an omelette of eggs and potatoes; the rest depends on the chef´s fantasy. The teams brought their own tables and cookers and plunged into work together. One peeled potatoes, the second cut them, the third prepared the vegetables; someone was standing, other sitting in Turkish style. One small boy was stirring eggs on the pan which was bigger than him. It was a working day, but everyone seemed to have taken a vacation. As if Bilbao turned into a kindergarten; it was a children's day, hurrah; competitions took place and everyone could participate and play. The whole city smelled of tortilla, I was drooling like a mastiff and had to go to the nearest bar to have something good.

When I returned, all the finished products were already lying on the long tables supervised by Marijaia, txupinera and pregonero. Gradually, the jurors tasted the egg torts; knowingly rolled each morsel around the palate like sommeliers expensive wine; then took a sip of water to clean the taste buds. The visual aspect was not negligible; some omelettes were beautifully decorated with sausage figures, vegetable animals and Mariaija.

The author of the best tortilla won an interesting price and a kiss from txupinera.

The members of comparsas then sat comfortably under the trees, ate their omelettes and drank wine. And instead of television, they watched Brazilian dancers, which suddenly began dancing samba on the waterfront...

At 5 pm, Plaza Nueva was booked for Basque folk dances. It is said there are about four hundred of them; the steps and costumes vary by region, and each has its history and meaning. Don't worry; I'm not going to describe them, I am really not such an expert.

I happened to see a dance from the small province of Zuberoa, considered to be one of the most complicated and beautiful. It has five main characters. Txerrero paves the way for others by sweeping with a horse's tail (kind of a broom). Katusaina, the cat man, clicks with a wooden tool that represents claws. Kantiniersa in a red skirt and blue-white jacket was inspired by the Napoleonic period, entsenaria is a colour bearer. And zamalzaina represents a stallion; men have around the waist something like a table with lace tablecloth. The music sounded a bit Irish and the dance reminded me of ballet; they all gracefully hopped backwards and forwards, but in the finale their jumps during which repeatedly crossed the feet and beat them together, were very high.

The highlight was dancing with small steps around a thick-walled wine glass, tripping closer and closer until they finally jumped on it. Only one guy crushed it, the others correctly distributed their weight and the glass remained intact.

This was a performance for the audience, but later everyone could dance. Although the national costume was not obligatory, many wore it. Their effort to maintain the traditions and to acquaint the young generation with them is admirable. First they all danced together, holding hands; then in pairs or alone. They formed a circle and repeated a pattern of steps; and had fun when they performed different professions. Music played faster and faster until nobody could follow it; and everybody burst out laughing...

There were so many events that it was impossible to see them all. Beer and wine tasting, art and craft market, cooking and fishing school for children, contest for the best cake, best pintxos, the funniest grimace. Competition to see who climbs the oily rod above the river without falling into it. Bolero, flamenco and Caribbean rhythms were danced. The program is really diverse; every year there is something new to choose.

At 8.30 pm, toro de fuego, a “fire bull” ran through the city and chased people - a man who carried on his shoulders a metal frame reminding a bull head, with self-firing rockets like Barcelona's devils use (see the article Festa Mayor de Gracia in Barcelona). It was a fascinating theatre; his eyes glowed scarily and the sparks flew in all directions. But it did not discourage the children; they obviously took it as training for the nearby Pamplona, where one day they will be running with bulls on the streets. When toro de fuego stomped his foot and turned to them, the bravest ones had only bobbed down and a sparkling bull ran over them.

And then they all just ate, drank, sang and the party lasted till dawn. Every midnight there was a firework show, until the last night, when a farewell with Marijaia took place. As always, the old dame was placed in the river and burned with her hands still raised...

If you have time, you can also visit other places in Basque country. The city of Bilbao is well connected by metro to Las Arenas, the neighbourhood of Getxo. The main attraction is an original suspension bridge, connecting the area with Portugalete. Its designer Alberto Palacio, a student of the famous Eiffel, decided for an unconventional solution to allow large cargo ships to sail under the bridge. It was opened in 1893. The impressive 61 meter high construction rises over the roofs. On the crossbeam, there is a hanging cab, which operates every 8 minutes and transports pedestrians and cars.

Celebrated city of San Sebastian, supposedly a European aristocratic resort, is in fact not as interesting as I expected. No monuments or boutiques; what do those people do there and where do they spend their millions? The beach of La Concha is beautiful, if you don't mind that at high tide the sea disappears in the distance and the weather in the Bay of Biscay is mostly horrible; a lot of rain.

After all, I didn't taste much from the famous Basque cuisine; because for a long time I didn't manage to walk through the minefield of pintxos bars and pubs; until finally here. I had a kokotxas de merluza, the throats - triangular sections carved from the chin of the code or hake (they tasted like pieces of meat in nasal mucus). But cheesecake with black currants was delicious. Next time I must try more!

After lunch I went to the end of the beach to see the Comb of the Wind, a metal structure on the rocks in the sea. In windy weather, it was extraordinarily photogenic; waves crashing against the rocks exploded in a million drops; the water splashed to a huge height. I took beautiful pictures, but in my enthusiasm I overlooked one wave. It soaked me through; I poured half a litre of liquid from my purse and had to go change!