Dialogue: Basquing in art in a bubble of lovely

I had so wanted to write less of an effusive, "Oh my god I'm loving it," piece this week and by all rights I should have, having been deposited in Belguim by the Brixton boys, on one of whom I'd developed a bit of a crush. But I managed to depart, dignity intact, having restrained myself from unseemly behaviour.

So it was adios to London, a drive down to Dover and over the sea to Ostend, a night spent in Brussels, farewell to los hombres and into the yonder I strode.

Or sat, actually, on a train for Bordeaux, having decided not to spend time in Paris alone. I was there 20 years ago and am sure I'd prefer to visit, as an adult, with a lover, and who knows when that time will come?

And I was right: everyone in Paris was one of a pair, all of them kissing and cooing and hugging and nuzzling. I could have got lonely or sad.

So I got to Bordeaux at 3 in the morning and didn't have the courage to find a new home, so I stayed on the train and hoped for the best, deciding to plead ignorance if caught.

Upon finally alighting, I had a quick squizz at a map and saw just how close I was to Bilbao, home to the new Guggenheim Museum, so I jumped on a bus, and boy am I glad that I did.

Despite my fatigue, the sight of the coast and the narrow, cobbled streets well and truly woke me up - the green, sweeping valleys, bright flowers and waterways, the mountains burned onto the sky.

And if the scenery wasn't enlivening enough, there was nearly a fight on the bus. The driver's St Christopher was clenched in his fist and it all very nearly came to blows.

In light of the drama I was relieved to arrive, and at the station I fell in with a crowd whose Spanish was badder than my piggish efforts. In exchange for my prowess at the old hablar blah, I have people to room with and keep things barato, meaning cheap - that and cute are my new favourite words.

And the Guggenheim, described as "a magnificent example of the further reaches of 20th-century architecture," deserves all the attention it gets.

Even without the spectacular art it would still be a sight to behold with its glass and titanium curves. With more than 11,000 square metres of exhibition space and intersected by a bridge, it makes an awesome sight whichever way you look at it.

I spent nearly a day wandering past all kinds of arty delights and may need to get my sneakers resoled.

I have to confess, though, that I'm a Philistine at heart and thus found the Art of the Motorcycle exhibit the best. Over 130 years celebrating function and form - Harleys and Indians and steam-powered, wooden-wheeled wonders. It was all I could do to stop myself starting one up.

As for the rest of Bilbao, it's deceptively small. A walk I expected to take hours took only one as I meandered over bridges that crisscross the Rio Bilbao.

The city is clean and the homeless people, of whom there are few, don't even ask for spare change, a sure sign of a region's good health.

I suppose I could try to dredge up some negativity here - the driving is crazy and the parking even worse, the only rule being do as you please. And, perhaps, some of the more hardcore Basques don't want visitors here.

Also, I did have one horrible meal which I can't even bear to describe and, if I put my glasses on, the hills that surround us are a little chewed up, proof that Bilbao was more of an industrial centre until 1997, when the Guggenheim made it more arty. Perhaps next week I will find myself somewhere that isn't cute at all.

Ooh ... stop the press - no room for a tidy conclusion in the light of big news.

I have just participated, by chance, in a demonstration against terrorism after the bombing this morning by Basque separatists a couple of streets from where I'm now staying in Madrid. And, if I'm honest, I have seen almost every kind of violence on my travels.

But I just look away from bad things if I can't actually help. I live in a bubble of lovely and like it that way. Bad stuff happens everywhere; I just hope it never happens to me.

* Contact Elisabeth Easther on her travels at imabroad@chickmail.com.