Thirteen years ago, we were in Bilbao with some friends and decided to make a trip down to Elciego, a small town in the Spanish countryside.
The drive was about two hours across a mostly barren and bleak landscape, which is what most of the country looks like as you move from city to city.
As the GPS in the car marked the distance to the hotel, we looked out the window and spotted the famous wavy building of the hotel we had booked for two nights.
In no time, we were stepping onto the thick burgundy welcome mat of the Hotel Marqués de Riscal, a Luxury Collection hotel under the Marriott chain.
Since it was winter, it was the off-season and we were the only people checking in. After getting our keys, we went to the hotel bar for some tapas and wine.
The first thing that caught our eye was a huge feature wall stacked with bottles and bottles of wine. It took me a while before I noticed the big “R” in the middle of the display.
It goes without saying that the wines available were all from Marqués de Riscal, a famous winery in the Spanish region of Rioja.
Prices were very friendly, especially when compared to those in Singapore. There are definitely benefits to being a wine producing country.
We ordered our drinks and tapas and spent a lazy couple of hours hanging out and chatting at the bar.
Travel tip: when in Spain, always order their anchovy tapas. Whether it’s anchovies on bread, skewered anchovies with peppers or simply anchovies in olive oil, it will always taste good.
The view from the terrace was sparse since all the grapes had already been harvested, but the row upon row of empty vines had a certain austere charm about them.
We spent some time at the huge indoor swimming pool and had the whole place to ourselves.
After that, we joined an interesting tour of the in-house winery where they explained the wine making and ageing process.
It also included a visit to their extensive wine cellar, containing huge racks of what appeared to be really old wine. I don’t think it would an exaggeration to say that the dust on the bottles were older than us.
We had dinner at the in-house restaurant that night, which I vaguely recall as being nice, but not fantastic.
Which was relatively disappointing because: (a) this was in Spain, widely recognised as a gastronomic country, (b) we were in a Michelin-starred restaurant in a world-famous hotel and (c) it was not cheap.
Perhaps it was because we were in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and were a captive audience in a fancy hotel primarily known for its architecture. So I guess it was par for the course.
However, my faith in Spanish food was restored during our dinner the following night. We took the suggestion of our bartender, and made a reservation at a restaurant in the nearby village.
It was a short drive out from the hotel and we spent the day time wandering around and admiring the many many old buildings.
The entire place was eerily quiet and there was hardly anyone around.
While it felt quaint to explore a place like this, I couldn’t help but think that there was no way I could actually live there.
It’s true what they say. The more you travel, the more you appreciate home.
I’ve lived most of my life in a city and take many things for granted. But once in a while, when I imagine what could have been if I were born somewhere else, I see the world through different eyes.
The restaurant in the village was underground, in what seemed to be an old wine cellar. That, in itself, was intriguing and set the stage for our dinner.
But it was the food that made the meal memorable. Simple ingredients with robust flavours, paired with cold and crispy Spanish cava.
It was traditional hearty country fare, probably made by an old grandma in the kitchen who’s been cooking it the same way for many decades.
The lamb was perhaps a bit too robust, because I had a severe case of indigestion late that night. Or maybe it was the accumulated effect of many days of bingeing and breakfast booze.
Either way, there is such as thing as too much of a good thing.
It had turned dark by the time we got back and as we approached the hotel, we remembered why we had driven all the way to Elciego to stay at the Hotel Marqués de Riscal.
The view was breathtaking.
The Bilbao Guggenheim Museum is built in a similar style but it’s clad in monochrome titanium and has a strong structural viewpoint.
On the other hand, the Hotel Marqués de Riscal is coated in violet hues and appears effortlessly fluid and formless.
Here’s a side-by-side comparison of the two buildings by Frank Gehry. Move the slider around and you’ll see what I mean. They’re as different as day and night; literally.
We checked out the next day and continued on our journey to Madrid and Barcelona, collecting many wonderful architectural and gastronomic experiences along the way.
But this side trip to Elciego was definitely the highlight of our winter trip to Spain, thirteen years and a lifetime ago.
