In which elements are braved and flowers grow puppies.

This storm was not a metaphorical one, but an actual one that heaved its way up or down the hillside sometime in the dark hours of the morning, rolling heavily with great gusts and rain in its lashes, a-wooshing and a-splashing. A less than pleasant wake-up call for all, particularly for those dangling in hammocks over the valley below. There wasn't much else to do but huddle in the protection of our hopefully-still-waterproof tent, willing the shields to hold.

This made for a sopping start a few hours later, thickly clouded with a touch of cranky in the post-rain freshness. Tent rung out as much as possible, we packed everything back into the vehicle and headed back toward that most extraordinary of coastal routes, driving west.

The target was Bilbao, but between us and it were other sights to be spontaneoused and wet sands in which to leave toeprints.

Eventually the rain directed us inland along highways that sped past high places. The mountains only escorted us for a matter of minutes, however, before retreating into the mists of the rear view mirror.

Up one hill, down another, and into a valley filled with one of the most eclectic cities I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. First of all, it doesn't particularly ease itself into existance with slowly growing suburbs -- at least not the way we first arrived -- it just kind of happens. Bam. And secondly, it doesn't just appear, it arrives like Superman might -- shiny, Guggenheim cape flapping flauntingly in the wind and giant, red bridge poised protectively and looking for all the world like the architectural representation of an Uglydoll.

In need of a place to sleep, we made our way to the most touristy part of the map, where our chances of finding a tourist information booth with possible campground suggestions were highest. Suspicians rung true and we discussed our options under the lofty gaze of Jeff Koons' quilted flower garden Puppy. The employees of the tourist center were only accomodating in that they assured us we wouldn't be able to find any open campgounds at this point thanks to a festival downtown. We didn't really have much of a choice at that point, however, so we hopped in the car and hoped for the best.

The best isn't exactly what we got, unfortunately, as the city's one-way streets were long and unforgiving and didn't ever really turn out where you expected them to. The further we drove and the more times we turned around, the more it seemed like all roads would lead into the gaping, laughing jaws of a labyrinthine auto inferno, endlessly to stop and go.

Okay, it actually wasn't that dramatic, but it was that frustrating. We did eventually figure out how to get back over the Uglydoll Bridge and headed coastward with our hopes set on one campground after another. Booked. Booked. Booked but with a sunrise that was that dramatic. And finally, many miles from the city but not far from a nice beach, we found a place willing to let us pop our tent and do some twilight cooking and nighttime sleeping.

Meanwhile, I successfully completed another revolution around the sun, creating yet another excuse for breakfasting on chocolate cake. Prime fodder to fuel a day of decompressing, napping place migrating with a nomadic tree shadow across the sands, and learning how to feed twice as many people with only one GDR-era Gas Cooker, as our party had grown by two in the wee hours of the morning with the arrival of friends from the North.

Eventually the dusk darkened to dawn and the sky awoke to find itself just as naked and blue as the day before.