Experimenting With Tradition in Bilbao

Cruising through the air, the pilot announces we’re thirty minutes from landing into Bilbao. I try to get a look outside over the shoulder of the passenger next to me, but the sun is blinding, a brightness that reminds me that I’ve only had four hours sleep. Through the all encompassing glow, I make out fragments of clouds and imagine the world below. 

I rummage through my bag for face wipes, squashed beneath books and my laptop. I take one, removing the remnants of Sudocreme I’d applied hours earlier in an attempt to get rid of a lingering spot. I suppose I’ll let the Basque sun do the rest of the work. From my somewhat obscured view from the window, I see mountains come into view. Despite the season, their rocky flesh is still covered in luscious greenery, only a few trees touched by the cold. 

Upon leaving the plane, I’m greeted by grey clouds and rain. Any hope of topping up my vitamin D, and clearing this stubborn breakout, is gone. But I don’t mind, the land around me is beautiful and I’m intrigued to get to know it more. Exhaustion is replaced by excitement, excitement soon by hunger – and I’m about to experience some of the best food I’ll ever taste. 

It’s pretty well known that the Basque Country is one of the best places to dine in the world, with its growing number of Michelin starred restaurants cropping up around the region. It’s a culinary nation, one that is proud of its produce and what they’re able to do with it. The high standard for cuisine extends beyond restaurants and begins in the family kitchen. Generations and generations of traditional recipes trickle onto the plates across the region, but that’s not to say that the chefs here aren’t into experimentation. In fact, they are very much into it, as I – or rather by mouth – learn at Azurmendi, the first stop on our trip. 

Founded by chef Eneko Atxa in 2005, the 3 Michelin star restaurant is set upon a hillside on the edge of Bilbao in an area called Larrabetzu between the same trees I’d seen from up above just an hour earlier. Its bioclimatic glass exterior makes it appear almost invisible, as though not to disturb the surrounding nature. And this was no aesthetic choice, though it certainly looks good. It was more of a statement to their commitment to sustainable development in gastronomy, as a right for future generations.

I step inside, and all is quiet – a peaceful sort of silence that reminds me of a hike I’d taken earlier this year to a lake in Crato, Portugal. The only difference being that the birds I’d heard there are the chefs I’m hearing here – harmonising a culinary melody with the help of a few pots and pans (though I’m sure it’s a much more complicated orchestral undertaking than this). Before I can take in the interior beauty of the restaurant, I’ve got a glass of wine in one hand and a mushroom macaroon in the other. And the lunch begins. 

We’re guided into the kitchen, a start that I hadn’t expected. The chefs in unison say “Kaixo”, hello in Basque, before returning to the dish they’re delicately tending to. Here, a laboratory of flavour awaits – snacks inspired by the sea to cleanse the pallet, caviar decorating almost every one, washed down with seaweed foam infused Chakoli [regional wine].  After this, we’re led into ‘El Jardin’ – a flower garden constructed entirely from discarded lemon peels and sugared leafs. No detail is overlooked. Each petal and flower is constructed with such delicacy, just like the plates themselves. Utilising the citrusy scraps and turning them into delicate decorations is one of Azurmendi’s many ways of reducing waste in the restaurant, I’m told. Other efforts include reusing rainwater, taking advantage of the sun through producing 50% of energy needed through solar panels, planting trees and producing organic soaps made from excess oil from the kitchen. 

Between these introductory courses, I learn that Azurmendi chooses to work with local farmers who they view as the most important component of the dish. After all, without the farmer’s produce, they would be unable to create such incredible flavours – no matter how talented the chef. Over the last 20 years, the restaurant has cultivated such strong relations with their farmers that they have a showroom, an orchid of sorts, to show off the produce that they’re using that week from the local farmers. 

However, working in the midst of an unpredictable climate, Azurmendi has had to rethink how they approach creating a menu that was once based on seasonality. Instead, they work directly with the farmers to see what is available on the day, so there’s an element of improvisation and play happening to create a menu that subtly changes each day. At this point, I’m beyond intrigued and very ready for lunch to commence. 

After a warm and extensive welcoming, we’re finally led into the dining area to be seated at a table. I’m by the window, mountains of green the perfect companion. Over the next couple of hours, a carousel of plates – and glasses – present themselves before me. Champagne is followed by caviar; then lobster wrapped in ham sat in a traditional Basque broth; more wine; then a ball of rich pork covered in an even richer dark chocolate; more wine, more wine; a buttery and delicate green pea risotto; more wine; and it goes on.

My mouth had never experienced such harmony of seemingly contradictory flavours until the work of Eneko Atxa and his sous-chef Pilar Lojero, who recently won the Best Young Chef in Spain Award. Pilar’s influences, she tells me, began in her family kitchen, her mother and grandmother being her biggest inspirations. Though, what I’m most curious about is how tradition remains so strong across the region when it comes to cooking and yet, the chefs here are not afraid to play. Their pride in their heritage allows them to experiment with confidence – contemporary meets tradition, and new flavours are born. 

Beyond satisfied, I take myself back to the hotel and have a bath, before heading out to explore Bilbao at night. On the agenda is inevitably more drinks and food, and so I decide to take the evening slow. I walk along the winding cobbled streets until I reach the river. Crowds of people hug around the doors of bars shouting for their next pintxos. I slipped inside of one of the bars. The gentle ambience from the low lit lamps makes it feel as though I’m in someone’s living room at a packed out house party – only one with much more refinement, and less 2010s indie music. I join the queue around the counter, head bobbing either side of the people in front of me to try and squeeze in, until I catch the waiter’s eye. The music is loud but the people are louder. I’m told that the vermouth here shouldn’t be missed, and before I know it I’m three deep feeling like I’m very much in love with Bilbao. 

I wake up still partially dressed from the night before. Once I’ve gathered myself, I grab a coffee on my way out from breakfast to wash away any lingering shots of vermouth from my system. In the car ride, we drive past the Guggenheim. All is empty besides Louise Bourgeois’ Maman, and a couple stand beneath it. I feel as though I watch them long after the car drives past. 

I’m off to meet Verde Prato – the Basque singer merging folk music with striking electronic manipulations. Her music is an exploration of identity through the voice – the instrument that she is working most closely with. In using the voice as a departure point, she explores her thoughts through her own bodily ability to create sound, creating a deeply moving and unique sound. 

I find her at the bark of HEMEN PROJECT – the fashion and ceramics workshop where traditional craftsmanship meets bold experimentations. It seems that a lot of the young people here are into the fusion of heritage and modernity, past and future. Their transdisciplinary approach to art can be seen in their garments that utilise ceramics; and their ceramics that utilitise fabrics. Like HEMEN, Verde Prato is an artist that seems unfazed by trends. “I listen to a lot of music, a lot of genres, all the time,” she tells me. “But when it comes to making, I’m never really thinking about what’s cool or what’s not cool. I try to make without any preconceived ideas.”

Her latest album, Adoretua, shows the natural light of her musical aura, with an evolution of a more tragic tone than what bolero or pop is used to. She abandons the conceptuality that united her previous proposals to fly freely but intimately, collecting personal experiences and expressing universal themes such as love, eroticism, disappointment, family, childhood and the encounter with the world, loneliness and dreams. 

“I think through my voice,” she says when I ask about her process. Through such vocalised thinking, her music feels like a direct reflection of her inner world – told through the Basque language.

As is the case with any creative endeavour, collaboration is a key part to the process and in Verde Prato’s case, it allows to fully absorb herself in the sounds of her vocal vibrations – rather than having to split her attention between producing, songwriting and singing. Since her first album, Kondaira eder hurt (PlanBrecords 2021), collaborations have followed her and her voice – the most recent one being with Jerez-based producer Bronquio for their EP Erromantizismoa (2024). This collection of three tracks adds a new dimension to Verde Prato’s work, featuring a more electronic production that continues to transcend language and genre barriers in the process.

I ask her what makes a good collaboration and for her, it’s all about feeling. “It’s important to have a good feeling with a person, it’s so intimate to create something like music,” she tells me. “I’m learning all the time how to use this electronic equipment, so I find it very fulfilling to learn about these things with other people. When I collaborate in this way, I feel much freer to focus on my voice.”

Her inspiration, I learn, comes from Bertsolaris, the style of traditional poets composing and improvising verses in Basque. The Basque language is quite fascinating. It’s known as a “language isolate” meaning that it is unrelated to any other known language in the word. Unlike other European languages that have ties to Latin, Basque – or Euskara – has no ties to Latin. Its origins remain a mystery, though it’s believed to be a remnant of pre-Indo-European languages spoken in prehistoric Europe. But what’s most bewildering, is the fact that the language has survived to the present day. I think it says a lot about the Basque’s pride for their culture and traditions, even now. 

“The Basque language is very special,” the singer tells me, with great emphasis. I’m curious to hear her explanation of its fascination. “It doesn’t have these structures typical to other languages.  It’s only been an official language since the Seventies, and so its formalised grammatical rules are very new. We have very different dialects in comparison to other languages. I think it gives this language a certain peculiarity, and there is a certain freedom when it comes to writing – because even if it isn’t correct, it still is sort of correct because we don’t really have strict linguistic rules.”

It’s this experimental approach to tradition that intrigues me about Bilbao. Coming from London, I’m so used to the experimental nature of the artists here. Everyone is always trying something different, pushing new formats – but few are incorperating this experimentation with tradition, which of course comes down to cultural differences. But these thoughts follow me later into the evening when I meet with Juan Arnau, co-founder of the global party Elrow.

Elrow is an international party brand from Barcelona, with over 140 years of experience in entertainment – yes, 140 years.  Six generations of Arnaus have worked in entertainment, from a 19th-century ancestor who opened Café Josepet, the first social club in Fraga, 95 miles west of Barcelona, through to 50s-era music halls and 80s electro clubs. Now, it’s grown into an entertainment dynasty that hosts parties all around the globe. 

This evolution really took hold in 2010, Juan tells me. “At the beginning it was just a Sunday morning after party, around 500 people having fun on a Sunday morning. It became global when we jumped to Ibiza in 2012.” What began as a casual weekly party in Barcelona for the locals soon turned into a widely acclaimed party that has hosted more than 132 shows across 33 countries. 

The parties, held all around the world, specialise in immersive, experiential clubbing. Each is dramatically themed from enchanted forests to exotic jungle carnivals. For their show in Bilbao, the reason why I’m here after all, Elrow will present Kaos Garden –  a collaboration with Spanish artist and sculptor Okuda, previously held at Art Basel Miami. The theme and production exemplify elrow in its purest form, “it’s a celebration of art, creative expression, and the finest in contemporary house and electronic music.”

My mind imagined the possibilities of how such a space would look, feel. The best way to describe it is that Elrow is essentially a human playground. Inflatables are flying through the air, where dancers hang from the ceiling, actors in the most bizarrely brilliant of outfits stagger through the crowd on stilts with glowing torches to swirl in the faces of the crowd. It’s imagination gone crazy, sensory gone wild. 

I was determined to not get too caught up in the spectacle of it all, and to instead to understand why they chose Bilbao and how this sense of experimenting with tradition will be incorporated into the party. “Bilbao is a rich cultural region,” Juan acknowledges, “they have their own language, culture, food, folklore, traditions. It was important for us to explore this and so, on the second floor of the party is an entire floor based on mythology rooted in Bilbao. These characters will come alive to the electronic music, which will also blend traditional elements of Basque music.”

Each costume and decoration is made at Elrow’s workshop in Barcelona, where a team of 15 artisans have worked on an impressive collection of over 4,000 costumes. Here, each maker has the freedom to develop their skills while letting their imagination run completely free – which is certainly evident later on when I get a good look at the costumes. But, I’m wondering – what happens to all of these decorations and materials when the show is over?

“Whatever we make for a party, we make sure that the decorations and materials get used again for at least another 20 shows. When they are too old or broken,  they’re repurposed into cushions, chairs and tables,” and he pats the bench that we’re sitting on. “We’re also working to replant a forest in Thailand, to compensate for the CO2 of each party. With each ticket sale, we plant a tree and in the last year we 60,000. The forest is almost completely replanted.”

We sat talking in the venue space, which in around six hours will be packed with 30,000 people. It’ll be turned into a whole other universe, a spectacle for the mind and body, that’ll be almost unrecognisable. People will dance, let go, and get lost in the gardens of endless imagination. Later, I stand on the stage in the VIP area, watching this sea of people bounce with joy. The crowd’s energy was infectious and I soon found myself dancing, despite it not really being my kind of music. I couldn’t help but move. I thought about the truth in the power of people coming together, of strangers sharing a space, of sharing joy in movement. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Elrow has been so successful. It gives people the space to be completely present in a state of child-like wonder, something that I think we all need more of.