Serendipity in Getxo
I’m in Getxo. It’s my first time in Spain - and in Basque country. This morning, I led a rambunctious corporate meeting in London; now I stand outside in a light drizzle at 10:00 p.m. in Getxo, Spain. It’s a weeknight and laughter fills the air. On the other side of the building across the street, I can hear kids playing, glasses clinking, and music. The rhythm of life is different here.
It’s early the next morning. I set out for what I tell myself will be a “short” walk in Getxo following a gentle stretch of rolling green landscape along the Basque coast. My destination is a solitary windmill, its white form stark against the blue sky. Breathing in the salty sea spray, I rest nearby the windmill atop a cliff that drops sharply into churning water, listening to the sea gulls and the crash of waves. I intend to head back, but a cobblestone lane through a rustic neighborhood takes me in another direction. I end up at the remains of an ancient fort-turned-skateboard-park in a modern day resort. It’s still morning; I have encountered barely a soul.
I wander. Countless twists and turns later, I’m staring up at the four-story brick homes of the industrial-era bourgeois, who built their stately mansions above a seaside “beach” that lost all traces of sand decades ago. Even now, there’s a sense of faded elegance lingering in the air. The ghosts of a bygone era walk with me past hundreds of docked boats through the port. My stomach is rumbling ‘cause it’s past lunch time, but the Vizcaya Bridge - a lofty, skeletal, industrial-era construct - is just ahead. Suspended high above the Nervión River, its gondola glides soundlessly back and forth between Getxo and Portugalete.
I continue along the city’s waterfront, pausing at a war memorial and watching a pair of surfers. Hearing music, I follow the notes up a set of stairs and encounter a fall wine festival. I hand over a few euros, grab a glass, and relax in the park.
When I finally return to my lodging, the sun is hanging low in the sky. My tracker indicates that I’ve walked nearly 13 miles. What was meant to be a short stroll became, instead, a willful surrender to serendipity.
