빌바오 오디오 투어: 구시가지의 전설, 시장, 다리

To spot the Flour Factory The Ceres, look just across the river for a large, elegant cream-colored building with neat rows of windows and a steeply pitched, grayish roof-its distinct grid-like facade sets it apart from its neighbors. Now, as you’re standing here, imagine yourself over a hundred years ago, when this bustling quarter was all about industry and hard work. The year is 1899, and in a tide of excitement and flour dust, the brand-new Ceres Flour Factory is rising up right here. The neighborhood buzzes with gossip. Who’s behind this giant new factory? Meet Toribio Ugalde, the founder, who decided to name his mill after Ceres, the Roman goddess of harvests. Good choice, because if anyone could keep your breadbasket full, it was her! This was no ordinary building-oh no! It was the first in all of Spain to use a groundbreaking technique called Hennebique reinforced concrete. Picture the engineers, led by Ramón Grotta and Palacios and the architect Federico Ugalde, scratching their heads, pouring concrete, and hoping the whole thing wouldn’t topple into the river. Luckily, it stood strong, with a smart brick-and-artificial-stone facade that gleamed in the sunlight. Those windows with their graceful, arched frames let in clouds of flour and laughter alike. Originally, the building wore a fancy mansard roof like a French hat, but in the 1950s, someone decided it needed a haircut... and it lost its top, making room for two more floors. As flour mills go, The Ceres was as stylish as they come, with grand arches and detailed molding so nice, even the bricks seemed to be showing off. Through the years, its concrete bones held steady, earning it historic status as a technological star in Basque architecture. And just when it thought its story was over, a clever architect came along in 2001, transforming the old mill into homes, while keeping its proud, sturdy look. Imagine the stories this place has seen-harvest festivals, flour deliveries, and now, someone’s morning coffee by the window. What a transformation!

To spot the Bridge of Mercy, just look ahead for a sturdy concrete structure with elegant old-style lamp posts stretching across the river, right in front of a cluster of pastel-colored buildings and a Baroque church. Now, as you stand here by the water, take a good look at the Bridge of Mercy-known as Mesedeetako zubia in Basque. Imagine the gentle lapping of the river against the stone pillars, and let’s jump back in time. This bridge links San Francisco and Casco Viejo, Bilbao’s bustling Old Town. Its name comes from the Church of La Merced tucked right at one end, which also lends its title to the nearby quay and tiny street. The story really starts centuries back. Picture it: back in 1567, cloaked mercedarian nuns shuffled across the river to settle here. Their grand Baroque convent, still standing nearby, began rising in the 1660s, and soon the area buzzed with life-and maybe the occasional nun giving directions to lost fishermen. By the 1800s, Bilbao faced a crisis. After a brutal siege during the Carlist Wars, in May 1874, only one bridge was left in town. People desperately needed a new crossing. The solution? A wobbly, provisional wooden bridge appeared, clattering with horses and carts as it opened in early 1875. It needed so many repairs, locals probably joked it had more patches than a pirate’s trousers. But progress never sleeps! In the 1880s, a smart engineer, Ernesto Hoffmeyer Zubeldia, designed a sleek, double-arched bridge out of stone and brick. Picture workers hammering away, dust flying, steam rising from the river. By 1887, the Bridge of Mercy, strong and elegant, was ready. It stood until war again swept Bilbao. In 1937, as enemy forces approached, the defenders of Bilbao had no choice-they blew up the bridges, including this one. Imagine the crash and rumble as stone plunged into the river. After chaos, calm. The new bridge you see was built of concrete in 1938 by Manuel Gil de Santibañez, its arches lower and broader to handle the modern world. The dictatorship named it after a general, but Bilbao’s spirit wouldn’t have it-by 1980, it was once again the Bridge of Mercy. And here’s a twist worthy of a detective film: someone spread a rumor that the fancy lamps on the bridge came from another old bridge after the 1983 floods. It was a trick! A classic urban legend, and even today, people still repeat the tale-proof that stories, much like bridges, love to travel. So as you cross, imagine the echoes of centuries-nuns, soldiers, booming blasts and clever pranks-held safely above the rippling water.

To spot Barrenkale Barrena, just look straight ahead down the narrow, cobblestone street lined with tall, colorful buildings and charming balconies on each side-it’s like stepping right into the heart of old Bilbao! Now, let me take you on a little journey! Picture yourself centuries ago, as you stroll these same stones, maybe dodging a runaway chicken or two-this street has seen it all! Barrenkale Barrena is not just any street; it’s one of the famous Siete Calles, or “Seven Streets,” the true soul of Casco Viejo. These are the oldest streets in Bilbao, where everything began. Imagine the air buzzing with the sounds of merchants shouting out their best deals and the scent of fresh bread mixing with the salty river breeze. Stories of love, rivalry, laughter, and even a little mischief have echoed off these stone walls for hundreds of years. Maybe a mystery or two remains unsolved here-was that just the wind or a friendly ghost of a baker who forgot his midnight snack? As you stand in Barrenkale Barrena, you are literally surrounded by layers of Bilbao’s history, where every building and every stone has a tale to whisper. So take a deep breath and let the atmosphere soak in-who knows, you might just feel the heartbeat of Bilbao under your feet!

Look ahead and slightly upward to spot the Cathedral of Santiago: the building with a dramatic pointed spire, creamy stonework, Gothic arches, and an intricate rose window above its main entrance-trust me, you can’t miss that spire! Alright, time to gather round-let me tell you the story of the Cathedral of Santiago, a place that has outwitted fire, floods, and fashion changes more times than a cat has lives (and that’s a lot of lives for one building). Picture yourself here in the late 1300s: the streets of Bilbao are buzzing, a new town carved out of wild marshes, and the original church stands proud, surrounded by an old cemetery. But calamity strikes in 1374-a fire so fierce it leaves only memories and embers. But despair not! Medieval spirit (and probably a bit of divine intervention) kicked in. Pope Gregory XI stepped up and offered indulgences to anyone who would pitch in for a new, grander church-yes, even with early crowdfunding, Bilbao was ahead of its time! Construction began in proper Gothic fashion, all flying buttresses and pointed arches, and took over a century, while generations of masons and artists slowly raised this monument stone by stone in the classic style of the Middle Ages. Imagine the years ticking by-by the mid-1400s, the triforium and the glorious ambulatory with its cluster of chapels is finished. The stone glows a warm, toasty color under the Basque sun, veined with hints of wine-red-after all, even the cathedral couldn’t resist a local Rioja. The church wasn’t always as impressive as a cathedral: it started life as a parish church, just big enough for a bustling but modest community, but as Bilbao grew, so did its spiritual heart. Fast forward to the 16th century: a Renaissance retablo so beautiful it could make even the grumpiest bishop smile is painstakingly crafted by Franco-Flemish sculptor Guiot de Beaugrant. Though it was later dismantled, you can still find pieces of it hidden gems inside-the sacristy now houses carved saints that once stood within the great altarpiece. It’s a bit like playing hide-and-seek with Bilbao’s religious art. The Cathedral wasn’t just a house of worship, though-it was a fortress of faith, and change was its constant companion. In 1819, it became the first church in the Basque Country to be named a minor basilica by Rome, outshining even its rival churches (talk about bragging rights). And after a few centuries of architectural makeovers, the entire façade and the signature spire that you see today arrived in the 19th century, thanks to architect Severino de Achúcarro’s love for all things Neo-Gothic. If you’re wondering why it feels a bit like a fairytale castle-well, that’s the point. Speaking of fairytales, you might hear a bell ringing-right up there is a campanile packed with eleven bells, some from as far back as the 1800s, spread across three levels and ringing out over the Casco Viejo. The whole tower was built to impress, towering 64 meters high, and even the angels might get a nosebleed looking down from that spire. Over the centuries, the church has faced its share of drama: floods (including the catastrophic flood of 1983 that left the Casco Viejo looking like a Venetian canal), fires, and the constant push and pull of history. In 1949, it finally achieved full cathedral status, becoming the heart of the new Bilbao diocese. Not too shabby for a church that started out surrounded by swamps! Peek inside and you’d see Gothic vaults, radiant stained glass, mysterious crypts where the first temple’s walls and martyrs’ relics rest, and a unique layout with fifteen chapels tucked lovingly along its sides-each with its own backstory, each echoing the prayers and hopes of generations. The cloister, unusual for a parish church, was added in the 16th century and stands as a tranquil square of archways and sunlight, where local notables are buried. So here it stands: Bilbao’s spiritual beacon, part fortress, part work of art, and wholly woven into the soul of the city-waiting for pilgrims and wanderers like you to discover its many secrets. Now, ready to wander on to our next adventure? Don’t forget to look back and give that spire one last admiring glance-it’s watched over Bilbao for centuries and isn’t planning on going anywhere soon.

Look to your left and spot the grand stone building with arched windows, intricate carvings, and a large, elegant wooden door right at street level- that’s the Bidebarrieta Municipal Library! Now, let’s imagine you’re walking these narrow Bilbao streets in the late 1800s. Suddenly, you find yourself in front of this marvelous building, all ornate and proud, with stone faces peeking out from under the archways-almost as if the library itself is whispering the secrets of its past. This isn’t just any library: our friend Severino Achúcarro, a local architect with a flair for mixing styles, dreamed it up between 1888 and 1890 to be more than just a home for books. It began as “El Sitio,” a lively spot for locals to gather, honor the brave defenders of Bilbao from the Carlist Wars, and probably tell a joke or two about Don Quixote-no sword fighting in the reading room, though! Fast forward, and it wasn’t until 1956 that the stories began stacking up as bookshelves took over. But in 1983, disaster struck: a huge flood swept through Bilbao, water rushing where only whispers and page turns belonged. Five years of silence followed, until-like a plot twist in a novel-the building returned in 1988, shining brighter after its 2015 facelift. So, as you stand here, see if you can sense all the chapters hidden in these walls-echoes of laughter, friendship, and the occasional soggy bookmark!

To spot the Arriaga Theatre, just look straight ahead for a grand cream-colored building with an ornate curved façade, two greenish domes on either side, and plenty of statues looking down from above; it's impossible to miss this beauty with its impressive balconies and sculpted decorations. Now, let’s set the scene. Imagine the finale of a great opera - the orchestra swells, the curtain rises, and here you are, standing before the crown jewel of Bilbao’s theatre scene! The Arriaga Theatre is a dreamy slice of the 19th century brought to life, designed by Joaquín de Rucoba with a style so grand, even the statues seem to be applauding. In fact, locals once nicknamed it the “house of maternity” because of the curvy, generous caryatids holding up the balconies - talk about architectural humor! This isn’t just any building. It’s named in honor of Juan Crisóstomo de Arriaga, a musical genius from Bilbao who they called the “Spanish Mozart.” The theatre's grand opening on May 31, 1890, was nothing short of spectacular. Picture groups of elegantly dressed theatergoers arriving to see Amilcare Ponchielli’s opera La Gioconda, dazzled by electric lights (which were cutting-edge back then!), and the buzz of excitement as people realized they could even listen to performances by phone - for the right price, of course. But let’s travel back a bit. Before this masterpiece took over the plaza, the land hosted the old “Teatro de la Villa,” which first opened in 1834. It saw wild parties, moments of glory, financial drama, and even got battered during the Carlist Wars. By the 1880s, Bilbao had outgrown the old place, and city leaders knew it was time for something bigger and shinier. It took years of debate (and probably eyerolling neighbors) before the first building was torn down and the new theatre’s construction began, eventually giving us the mighty edifice before you now. But every hero’s journey has peril! Just when the Arriaga Theatre was hitting its stride, disaster struck. In 1914, during a performance by a zarzuela troupe, flames erupted, and the entire building was swallowed by fire. You can almost hear the panic and the heartbreak in the air as the grand theatre burned. But Bilbao isn’t a city that gives up. Five years and lots of hard work later, the theatre was rebuilt, bigger and safer, opening once again with Verdi’s Don Carlo. It was back on the map, hosting famous actors, musicians, and even garden shows where the likes of writer Miguel de Unamuno made an appearance. Over the decades, the Arriaga Theatre faced tough times. The Spanish Civil War forced its doors shut, and for a while in the mid-20th century, it swapped grand operas for flickering film nights as a cinema. By the late 1970s, years of wear and neglect meant the city needed to step in and close it for serious repairs - just in time for yet another dramatic episode. Picture this: in August of 1983, pounding rain transforms the Nervión River into a raging monster. Water surged up to the theatre’s second floor, sloshing through the halls, drowning the commercial spaces below, and leaving behind a mess only true believers could tackle. Luckily, another round of restoration followed, and in 1986, the Arriaga rose once more, as brilliant as ever. Today, the Arriaga Theatre is Bilbao’s stage for everything: theatre, musicals, dance, concerts, and of course, a bit of good old zarzuela. Take a look up at those mansard-roofed towers and sculpted balconies - rumor has it some of those titan statues came all the way from France! Inside, there’s even a secret balcony for city dignitaries, decked out in the style of the Orient Express, and if you were a widow in the old days, you got your own private, undecorated box so you could attend discreetly. So, whether you’re here for the drama, the dancing, or just to marvel at the epic journey of a building that has survived fire, flood, and the test of time, the Arriaga Theatre is ready to tell you a thousand stories - all you need to do is listen. Curtain up! Interested in knowing more about the the building, specifications or the access

To spot Arenal, look ahead for a broad riverside promenade lined with tall trees, stretching alongside the water and opening up between elegant old buildings-most notably near the grand, domed Teatro Arriaga and a cluster of vibrant city life. Now, take a deep breath-can you smell the faint hint of river breeze mixed with the sweet promise of churros somewhere nearby? You’re standing at one of the most iconic and beloved places in Bilbao: the Arenal, or, as locals call it, the “Areatza.” Imagine this lively scene: children darting between tree-lined paths, old friends chattering on sun-dappled benches, the stone facades singing stories of centuries past. It’s the threshold of Casco Viejo, the city’s historical heart, and it’s had more comebacks than a soap opera hero. But let’s dial things back a few centuries. If you’d been standing here in the fifteenth century, you’d best pack your swim trunks, because the Arenal was a sandy inlet-a sort of inner beach washed by the river, packed with boats and the clamor of shipbuilders hammering away. Instead of joggers and flowerbeds, you’d have found bustling boatyards, anchor forges, and sailors shouting over a salty wind. Then, in 1483, the city council decided Bilbao needed to stretch its legs a bit, so the town began to spread toward the Arenal, transforming these wild sands into something more civilized-although I wouldn’t recommend sunbathing on a shipbuilder’s worksite. As the years ticked by, the area kept changing. By the 1600s, new streets sprouted and the riverside buzzed with markets, rope-drying yards, and the constant clang of chainmakers at work. Then, in 1754, Arenal got its first glow-up: a low wall, dual rows of benches, and suddenly, it was the place for Bilbaínos to see and be seen. In fact, just imagine the drama-one stroll for priests, another for the city’s fancy folk, and a third for the commoners, called the “Alpargata,” where gossip must’ve rustled through the leaves almost as loudly as the birds. The promenade had to be leveled with extra sand to keep up with the Convent of San Agustín-now Bilbao’s City Hall-so if you feel an urge to thank construction workers today, it’s because of two centuries of renovations beneath your toes. And here’s where history gets playful. By the late 1800s, the Arenal was transformed, blooming with delicate gardens, ponds with bronze mermaids holding fish that spout cheerful jets of water, and iron frogs who spit, too-careful, they might aim for your shoes. Statuary began to grace the lawns: Pan, god of the wild, to the left, and Bacchus, god of wine, to the right-symbols of the contrasting spirits that still make Bilbao one fun place to visit. In the shadows of these statues, bands played at the music kiosk, lovers strolled under the plane trees, and artists dreamed beneath the green branches. As you stand here, you’re balancing on layers of time-where once there were boatyards and beaches, now there’s a parade of picnic-goers, street performers, and families en route to the metro or tram nearby. The truth of Arenal is that it’s still a crossroads: a living slice of Bilbao’s past and present, only now the only thing anchoring you down is maybe the aroma drifting from the next pintxos bar. So enjoy the view and picture, for a moment, all the footsteps that have gotten Bilbao from shipyards to symphony-all right under your feet. If you listen closely, you just might hear them. And if not, well, at least enjoy trying to spot a talking mermaid.

In front of you is a grand, rectangular square surrounded by elegant neoclassical buildings with rows of arched walkways and tall windows, and you’ll spot it easily by its large open space and the clock right above the main entrance in the center. Alright, welcome to Plaza Nueva, the beating heart of Casco Viejo! Imagine you're standing here in the late 1700s, and instead of this wide, charming plaza, the area is a maze of old, crowded houses that honestly could use a good scrub. But the people of Bilbao had big dreams-they wanted something airy, practical, and yes, easy on the eyes. So began the quest for Plaza Nueva, a project that would end up taking not one, not two, but sixty-five years! Picture generations watching the square slowly build itself, possibly wondering if it would ever get finished. Every time a new architect showed up-Silvestre Pérez with his grand plans, Antonio de Echevarría with his fixes, and finally Avelino de Goicoechea with one last twist-the plaza changed again. But after all the back-and-forth, out popped this beautiful, neat rectangle-like a giant architectural cake with arched walkways, perfect for people-watching or chasing pigeons. Today, it’s more than a charming hangout; it’s the home of Euskaltzaindia, the guardians of Basque language and culture. So as you stand here, just imagine the cheers (and maybe a few sighs of relief) when Plaza Nueva finally opened-proving that patience, and maybe a little bit of stubbornness, can build something truly unforgettable!

Miguel de Unamuno Square is right in front of you-just look for the wide, open plaza with stone steps leading down into a lively space, surrounded by colorful historic buildings and a tall obelisk rising up in the center. Imagine you’re standing at the heart of old Bilbao, where the air buzzes with the sound of footsteps and chatter. This square is named after the famous philosopher and writer, Miguel de Unamuno, who was born just a stone’s throw away-close enough that if he were alive today, he could pop by for a quick coffee (and probably start a debate too). All around you, history peeks from every corner. There’s the Basque Museum right here, filled with stories and secrets of ancient Bilbao, and next to it, the Archaeological Museum-can you feel the mysteries waiting just behind those walls? And if you look to the steps leading up, those are the Calzadas de Mallona, built way back in 1745, connecting the bustling Casco Viejo with the grand Basilica de Begoña. During Semana Santa, the museum here keeps the memory of dramatic processions alive. At the very center of it all is the monument to Unamuno himself, as if he’s keeping one watchful eye on the square while pondering life’s big mysteries. So, take a deep breath and let the energy of centuries-old debates, processions, and everyday moments sweep over you-this is the soul of Bilbao!

To spot the Basque Museum, look for a grand, ochre stone building with three levels of elegant arches wrapped around a quiet inner courtyard, a bit like a secret palace tucked away from the city’s bustle. Imagine standing right where the Jesuits once strolled, their black robes swishing quietly against the stone as they moved through the cool, echoing cloister. The Basque Museum began its life in 1921 in this very spot, where the ground floor once buzzed with scholarly whispers and the clack of ancient shoes on old tiles. But wait-long before it held treasures of Bilbao’s past, these walls belonged to the Colegio de San Andrés, run by the Jesuits, until a royal order in 1767 sent them packing from Spain, leaving their future to mystery. Later, the humble museum started with the help of the city itself, slowly growing, like a collector with a never-ending attic, into every nook and cranny of the building. Inside, waiting just behind those arches, are relics of Vizcaya’s archaeology and the wild, wonderful tales of Basque traditions. The museum is under renovation, so you might hear a bit of modern hum, but the magic of the past lingers-can you feel the chill of ancient secrets and the pride of countless generations? It’s no wonder that since 1962, this place has been a National Historic-Artistic Monument-a keeper of stories, laughter, sorrow, and maybe, just maybe, a ghostly Jesuit or two checking up on their old school!

To spot the Line 3 (Bilbao Metro) station, look for a futuristic, bright, tunnel-shaped space with silver curved walls, glowing blue signs, and sleek staircases leading up from the platforms on either side of the train tracks. Welcome to the state-of-the-art Line 3 of the Bilbao Metro! If you’re feeling a little like you’ve stepped onto a spaceship, you’re not too far off-most of the stations here were designed by the world-famous architect Norman Foster. His signature style is all over the smooth curves, clean lines, and smart lighting you see around you. Now, if only we could convince him to install a chocolate vending machine at every platform! But back to our trains. The Line 3 isn’t just a pretty face. It was inaugurated on April 8, 2017, with a fanfare that echoed across the north of Bilbao-literally connecting neighborhoods like Ocharcoaga, Churdínaga, Zurbaran, and Uribarri before winding its way to the stations of Matiko and Kukullaga. Imagine being able to zip from the quiet hillsides of San Antonio in Echévarri right into the bustling Casco Viejo in just a handful of minutes. Suddenly, that last-minute dash for pintxos in the Old Town became a lot more possible! There’s some clever engineering going on under your feet. Line 3 shares every inch of its track with Euskotren’s suburban lines-E1, E3, and E4-bringing together travelers from as far as San Sebastián and Bermeo. This blending of routes means that people coming from seaside towns, garden suburbs, and even industrial hubs all converge here, in the heart of Bilbao, making the city feel like one big, buzzing neighborhood. It wasn’t always this smooth, you know. The early plans for Line 3 started buzzing around back in 2007. At first, the line was supposed to snake through just six stations-then, with some classic Basque determination, they added Matiko to make seven. There were debates, reroutes, and a few head scratches about whether to link more neighborhoods or not. The first groundbreaking didn’t even come until 2009, and more than a few politicians probably lost some hair over the delays (or maybe that’s just metro stress). One dramatic moment-picture this-was the start of the great Artxanda tunnel: nearly two kilometers of rock and soil had to be conquered to make way for the trains. And while that was underway, old stations like Loruri-Ciudad Jardín were closed down, and the beloved Zazpikaleak/Casco Viejo station was demolished and rebuilt into a glittering, modern hub. Now, this is more than just functional steel and concrete. The design isn’t just about looking cool-Foster’s “cavern” stations, with rounded ceilings and hidden lighting, actually make the underground feel bright and welcoming. Each stop has become a little world of its own, joining residents, students, and the odd flustered tourist searching for a map. Speaking of trains, keep your eyes peeled for those sleek CAF class 900 and 950 models that glide through here; sometimes they’ve got four cars, sometimes three, but always with smart screens, good lighting, and even onboard toilets. These beauties not only ferry more than 70,000 people daily, but they do it using less energy, and with enough doors that you’re never squashed like a sardine in a can-unless, of course, you’re traveling at rush hour, when a sense of humor might be your best carry-on. And get this: the journey from a hillside like Otxarkoaga down into Casco Viejo takes barely five minutes-about enough time to listen to a single song, unless you’re into prog rock epics! The core of the action is the Zazpikaleak/Casco Viejo station, where you can transfer between Line 1, Line 2, and tram services-a true crossroads that’s drawn more energy and life into Casco Viejo than a Saturday night party. Looking to the future, urban dreamers are planning to stretch Line 3 west to the airport-imagine being able to hop onto a train at Matiko and arrive at your gate at La Paloma terminal in only seven minutes. You might just make your flight even if you’re a last-minute packer. So next time you ride, whether you’re heading for the seaside, a Basque festival, or just back home, remember: you’re gliding through one of the region’s most ambitious pieces of public art and engineering-a living, rumbling, people-moving vein at the heart of Bilbao. And don’t worry, this is the only subway in Spain where you’re guaranteed not to meet a mole. Or at least not a very big one. Wondering about the rolling stock, operator and service or the architecture? Feel free to discuss it further in the chat section below.

To spot the Church of San Nicolás, just look straight ahead for a grand stone building with two impressive towers on either side of its wide, symmetrical façade, a central doorway crowned by sculpted decorations, and a clock right above the main entrance. Welcome to the Church of San Nicolás-this isn’t just a church, it’s one of Bilbao’s most stubborn survivors! Picture this: the year is 1490, this spot was once the heart of a bustling fishing neighborhood right on the city’s edge. Local fishermen would walk up to a humble hermitage dedicated to San Nicolás de Bari, hoping he’d keep their boats afloat. The only storms they wanted to face were in their tea! But Bilbao isn’t Bilbao without a bit of drama. One day, the river had other plans-a massive flood smashed the old hermitage to bits. Now, you’d think the story might end there, but instead, the locals rolled up their sleeves and went even grander: in 1756, this stunning Baroque church rose from the ruins, courtesy of the architect Ignacio Ibero and a crowd of hopeful parishioners. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear the echoes of hammers and chisels ringing out through the Old Town. Walk closer and take in the details. This church is shaped like a Greek cross, all set neatly into a square. Right above you, a dome soars overhead, disguised from outside by a spire and the symmetrical towers framing the entrance. But don’t get too lost in the beauty-San Nicolás has seen quite a few wardrobe changes! It had to shut its doors during the Napoleonic invasion, and at one point in 1816, a bolt of lightning crashed down and gave the church a pretty literal shock. Not to be left out of history, during the Carlist wars it was even used as a military storehouse-imagine storing cannonballs and gunpowder under the same roof as sacred statues! And there’s even more inside: the chapels and sacristy fill the church’s corners, but the real showstopper’s the Baroque-Rococo altarpieces, created by Juan Pascual de Mena-the same sculptor who worked for the Spanish court. When he and his team got to work, they didn’t just pack up their chisels and head home, they actually moved to Bilbao. Soon, every chapel was home to swirling angels, saints (from San Pedro and San Pablo to San Crispín and Santa Bárbara), and polychrome figures so vivid they must have seemed to sing under the candlelight. Surviving wars, lightning, floods, and maybe the odd impatient parishioner or two, the church refused to bow down-even when it was used as a powder magazine. Amazingly, nothing blew up! In 1882, they expanded the church, adding a new sacristy and a tiny oratory called the Comulgatorio, designed by Julio Saracíbar. And in 1891, the main portal was spruced up, complete with a bronze tympanum by master Josep Llimona, topped with the city’s coat of arms and two watchful lions. And here we are, centuries later, standing before a church that’s as much a survivor as a sanctuary. You might say San Nicolás has seen almost everything-except, perhaps, someone walking in looking for fishing advice! If you're keen on discovering more about the description, altarpieces or the subsequent alterations, head down to the chat section and engage with me.