Awkward Pose

Today began bitterly. I felt a thousand years old, everything throbbing, not knowing where we were or when….

We were parked behind the Guggenheim, it was 2pm. So grumpy, so unwilling was I. This is not how I planned on feeling this week.

It was one of our teams birthday today and there was a large scale Spanish meal planned, the promoter here is a serious foodie. We rolled up up above the city. Bilbao is green and lush and mountainous, rather than the beachy party town in my imagination. We arrived at an earthy tavern style place, an impressive wine cellar below and old school dining room above, looking vastly out over the city. I only go into this meal time description because this place made THE BEST FISH I’ve ever had. Bar none. Not exaggerating. (Here it is: Kate Zaharra, Bilbao) Of course the last thing my body wanted was to be eating large upon waking in my current state. But knowing that it’s classic end of tour-itus and it will pass. I will be a good birthday trooper and eat this fish and cherish the memory. 

By the time we got back to the Guggenheim it was 6pm, actually great timing for a 10pm show. Slipped into a backstage coma of not-doing-so-well, all the fish and cortados in the world couldn’t stave off this immuno crash. A bunch of the guys actually entered the museum, but you need a receptive brain for that, not a complaining one, so I did what I do whenever in doubt. GET THE BLOOD MOVING.

Threw on the runners and did a mini tour de Bilbao riverside, getting perspective on how impressive the Guggenheim sits- massive angular titanium sheen. A post modern behemoth in a classy old world. Passed couples making out on benches. Dudes smoking spliffs and old ladies walking slow. I came back shortly to our bus encampment under the bridge behind the museum where I had sorely awaken earlier. With a brighter view on things and some sweat on the brow I pulled out the mat and slapped it on the ground, leaving the bus bay open, just like a campground. I’d never practice like this at length (completely exposed to anyone curious enough to lurk behind the buses) but for a fast fwd asana moment it felt extremely good.  

8:45 and The Walkmen started. Tea in hand, watching the beautifully stripped down band in motion. No extravagant piles of gear necessary for this team of elegant men to explode their songs off stage. One guy in the crowd performed some unhinged music enthusiasm with his whole body. Arms and legs flailing, beer spilt. 

Smoothed out on advil, I found exactly enough energy to carry myself strongly on the stage tonight. Picked up by our epic surroundings and the mixture of serious and joyful faces of the Basque people. It did not rain tonight, but we fought our own fight, the desire to reach out winning over our subtle hurtles  and the music took flight. 

I missed out on the raging outdoor playground episode late night in favour of coddling my immune system. The few of us bus bound wondered at the people out lurking by the bus, indeed where I had been yoga-ing before. There is obviously no harm meant in hanging around a tour bus, but it feels weird nonetheless. It’s our tinted glass mobile home! A little privacy please, there are pajamas and tea in here.