We’ve pulled into the port of Getxo on a quiet September morning. The nearby beach is sparsely attended, despite the promise of a beautiful 25-degree day. At the entrance to the bay, striking white cliffs rise from the water, giving us our first glimpse of a coastline that already feels different from the Spain many of us imagine.
Getxo is the port closest to Bilbao. One of the highlights of this region are its majestic cliffs, which offer breath-taking panoramic views of the Bay of Biscay and the Cantabrian Sea. The white cliffs are mostly layers of limestone, mudstone and sandstone, stacked on the seabed years ago, and tilted upward by the movement of tectonic plates years later to rise above the sea, where erosion has slowly been taking them down.
Most of my shipmates are heading into the bigger city of Bilbao today. I’m not.
There was a time when I would have been right there with them, backpack ready, itinerary loaded, determined to pack as much as possible into every precious hour. I wanted to see everything, experience everything, and make sure I didn’t miss anything.
Those days are long gone.
These days, one of the greatest luxuries of a vacation is simply not feeling rushed.
And right now, what appeals to me most is a lovely little taverna near the beach, known for its Basque tapas—or pintxos, as they’re called here. I can see fish and olives on the menu, and there’s a croquette that has already caught my attention.
If that is all I do today, it will be lovely.
Because when do I ever spend an afternoon at home sitting in a little taverna by the sea, watching the world go by, tasting unfamiliar food and having absolutely nowhere else I need to be?
Perhaps that is what travel has become for me.
Less about how much I can fit into a day and more about giving myself permission to experience where I am.
Typically, I head back to the ship earlier than some of my fellow travellers. It’s nice to be onboard, and have my pick of what corner I want to nest in with my IPAD. I can already picture myself settled somewhere comfortable, Sudoku in hand, listening to the house band play.
No rushing back at the last minute.
No checklist of things I failed to see.
No feeling that I should have squeezed in one more attraction.
Just a quiet September day in Basque Country, a few interesting things on my plate, music waiting for me back on the ship, and nowhere I need to hurry to.
Same Woman. New Horizons.
Maybe one of the gifts of getting older is realizing that you don’t have to see everything to feel as though you experienced something.
C’est comme ça que je voyage aussi ‘ces dernières années. Pour moi, les courses effrénées n’ont jamais été prioritaires. Le temps de vivre.