Welcome To France
The French train from Hendaye may not have been one of their most modern, but everybody was pleasant and the train trundled along the coast to Biarritz, which was my final destination.
There wasn’t any good map at Biarritz station and as it was now dark, I felt I had better take a taxi.
The driver though, wasn’t the surly individual beloved of British comedians, when talking about France for years, but a clean cut individual, who spoke perfect English and charged me what it said on the meter.
So painlessly, I’d arrived at the Radisson Blu hotel.
From Irun To Hendaya
The girls should obviously be put in charge of tourism in Irun, as their instructions were spot on and I found Irun Colon station from where I was able to get a train for Hendaye.
The only member of staff I met was from a completely different mould to his countryman at Irun station, and he sold me a ticket in a pleasant and professional manner.
After a trip of a few minutes I was in France.
A Warm Welcome In Irun
Michael Portillo’s documentary on travelling by train from Bordeaux to Bilbao gave me the impression that finding your way from the French to Spanish railways systems is easy.
So I went into the station at Irun and asked if I could buy a ticket to France. I didn’t get an answer from the guy in the ticket office, but I heard him swear under his breath. Railwaymen the world over tend to be cherry souls, who are usually willing to help, but this oaf was by a long way the worst I had met. He made the staff at Osnabruck, when I was abandoned by Deutsche Bahn, seem to be some of the best customer service people, I’d ever encountered.
I then looked around for a helpful notice, that might say you took a taxi to the nearest French station and it would cost you so many euros. But there was nothing!
I had noticed taxis outside, but was reluctant to take one, as they would probably charge a British tourist a hundred euros to go a couple of kilometres.
In the end, I walked into the town and asaked a couple of teenage girls, if they could help a lost traveller. After all, I did hope that they had learned some English.
They had and told me to walk to the Metro station with the blue sign, from where I could get a train to Hendaya. I knew that I could get a train from Hendaye, as the French call it, to Biarritz.
Would I Go Back To Bilbao?
I don’t think so, as I found the city, one of the worst for tourists, of those I’d visited in recent years.
Except for the tourist offices and my hotel, it was a city with a total lack of information.
It just didn’t have the feel of a place that wanted tourists. In many places I’ve travelled over the last few years, the locals have been extremely helpful and offer help, even if you don’t ask for it. The only help I got in Bilbao, was from a lady of Far Eastern appearance, whilst I was struggling with the Barik ticketing machine.
If it hadn’t been for the excellent tram and Metro, the visit would have been a total nightmare. As it was I walked far more than I would have liked.
As it was, outside of my hotel, I only bought two coffees in the city. So I don’t think I did much for the local tourism industry!
The Guggenheim Museum was worth a look on the outside, but I’ve never seen an art gallery, that was filled with so much crap!
At least the weather was nice and I got a touch of winter sunshine.
And the transport links from and to the city, don’t seem to be the best.
As it is a city of around a million people, Bilbao probably deserves a lot better.
Leaving On A Coach For Irun
The only way to get sensibly towards France, was to take a coach to Irun. But even the coaches were rather infrequent, with about one every two or three hours or so.
So it was just after two that I caught one from the logically-named Termibus.
It wasn’t a bad journey and by luck I had chosen one of the better seats. But it would have been so much better on a train.
A Trap For The Unwary
Several times in Bilbao, I saw steps that were not easy to spot.
A Trap For The Unwary
In fact, I was first alerted to the problem, when a sensibly-shod middle-aged lady fell sat the bus station.
Many semed to have been designed the way I saw them.
A Virtually Deserted Station
Abando station in Bilbao is the main station fromn where the citry connects to the rest of Spain.
A Virtually Deserted Station
But it seems not very often and as my next destination was Hendaya, it wasn’t any use. So I would have to take a coach to Irun. But the coach would take under two hours, as opposed to an early morning roundabout route by train that would take over six.
It would appear that most of the trains, metros and trams are owned and controlled by the Basque regional government and it looks to me as an outside observer, that they don’t believe in connecting their part of Spain to the rest of the country or for that matter, France. It does seem though, that the whole area could benefit from better train links.
Steps Everywhere At The Guggenheim
The more I walked ariound and looked at trhe Guggenheim Museum, the more I realised that my choice of hotel had been wrong.
My hotel had been close to the hotel and it was on the same level as much of the city. But the Guggenheim Museum and the excellent tram sat below the hotel and steps like this were the only way to get between the two levels.
Steps Everywhere At The Guggenheim
I did find later that a lift was positioned at the next tram stop, but surely a more direct method is needed at the Guggenheim Museum.
As I said earlier, if you have a mobility problem, make sure you stay close to the tram and get one to the museum.
Inside The Guggenheim Museum
I finally went inside the Guggenheim Museum on Tuesday morning.
The building is impressive, even if as I said before the art didn’t move me at all.
The Anonymous Widower 