Back From Bilbao

Over the weekend I took a bit of a lightning trip up to Bilbao, in Spain's northern Basque Country. Traveling through the north is always a wonderful experience for me, since living in a big city can make you think everything is concrete and angry drivers sideswiping pedestrians. It's so lush and green up there that you can't help feeling the tiniest sense of awe; and maybe it was my Dramamine high, but I was amazed at how beautiful Spain can be. Obviously, that's when I was awake and not passed out under the influence of heavy meds.

Friend Ginny threw a much milder bash than last year, cooking up entire colonies of king prawns along with chorizo and cheese and crackers and chips and wine and beer and two GIANT-sized steaks for me and the other seafood-allergic person there. I gorged myself on appetizers so that by the time the steak came I had sort of lost my appetite. This worked out for the better, since I was ultimately shamed into cooking my meat medium-rare by all the Spaniards in attendance, who consider it an obscene crime to cook your meat any longer than that. I ate the poor, bloody cow in silence and before long pronounced myself far too full to possibly be able to take another bite.

And alas, and though we joked about it constantly, there was no repeat of last year's highly interesting incident.