I’m actually writing this from the tiny hamlet of Keld in the Yorkshire Dales, but chronology (and geography) beckon so first I have to get us to the British Isles….

The remainder of our time in Basque Country consisted of a beach day followed by a Bilbao day.

Beach days are sort of the same wherever the beach. It was hot that day, and the beach was extremely crowded. Umbrellas everywhere; no one uses the portable rooms that are so popular on U.S. shores. That evening we splurged with a tasting menu at a fancy restaurant – highlights ranged from foie gras to octopus to some of the best steak I’ve had. The real treat, however, was at 10 p.m. (or later) seeing all the children run down the street following a person in a bull costume with some device that shot sparklers from his rear! A kid’s version of the running of the bulls.

We were supposed to follow our R&R day with a cultural day – the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. Frank Gehry’s building itself is stunning. While constructed from metal it has a soft feeling, with undulating curves, and I kept wanting to touch it. But the inside is different – it’s intersected by angular catwalks and bridges that to me added an element of stress to the interior.

I also loved the live flower rendition of the West Highland white terrier. As I’m still in mourning for the loss of Malcolm and Duncan, what better tribute…It was supposed to be a temporary installation, but the good folks of Bilbao fell in love with their giant Westie.

We really should have started with the permanent collection on the top floor and worked our way down. Instead we started on the bottom floor with an installation of moving vertical lights that created the impression you were moving downward – I got so dizzy I had to hold J’s arm to exit. We followed that with the Richard Serra maze installation – a series of coppery/brown mazes that are supposed to invoke deep thoughts about time, but for daughter S and me invoke claustrophobia. But the modern art and other temporary installations were stunning, and for those of you from Orlando, you’ll know what I mean when I say it was interesting to see a real Basquiat.

A and N had to wake up very early for their flight back, i.e. 4 a.m., which also woke up the rest of the household and made us very aware of the invasion of mosquitoes that had gradually been underway over the last few days. I spent much of the rest of the night with the sheets over my head trying to create a breathing hole. I am in the market to start an international screen company, so if anyone has interest let me know!

Transitions to follow – J and I left about 8 or so to drive to Bilbao to return the rental car and hop on a plane to London. The drive was so beautiful we kept thinking Google Maps must have given us the wrong directions. To our delight no questions were asked about the dings on the car, which I know were there when we picked it up….I did notice that the parking places at the rental car return were extremely small and practically every car seemed to have an array of scratches large and small.

The next order of business was: (1) plane to Gatwick’s North Terminal; (2) shuttle to South Terminal; (3) extremely crowded train to Clapham Junction (where we picked up sandwiches – I am becoming a big fan of prepackaged egg mayo and watercress); (4) train to Axminster; (5) bus to Lyme Regis; (6) walk up very steep hill pulling our suitcases to the Nag’s Head Inn; and (7) walk up two flights of stairs to our room. Glad I have the backpack straps on my suitcase.

So the family part of the trip was now over – I wish it had been longer. But it was time now to explore Dorset’s Jurassic Coast and ever changing landscape. As John Fowles wrote, “People have been lost in it for hours, and cannot believe, when they see on the map where they have been lost, that their sense of isolation – and if the weather be bad, desolation – could have seemed so great.”