Look across the street at that colossal structure, a sprawling block of deep red brick defined by a relentless rhythm of arched windows and capped by stout corner turrets.
This is Azkuna Zentroa. For a century, it was known simply as the Alhóndiga, the city's central wine warehouse. Built between 1905 and 1909, it was the vision of Ricardo Bastida. Bastida was an architect who refused to build something purely functional, insisting instead that even a municipal storage facility deserved undeniable beauty and a grand aesthetic. He pioneered the local use of reinforced concrete, a technique of pouring liquid cement over steel bars to create a skeleton strong enough to support massive weight. He wrapped that industrial muscle in an elegant modernist shell, breaking away from rigid traditional styles to embrace new materials with artistic flair.
This structure set the stage for Bilbao's ambition, proving that urban spaces could elevate everyday life. But monumental design cannot always tame physical reality. At four in the morning on May 21, 1919, a devastating fire broke out inside the facility. Fueled by highly flammable goods, the flames raged out of control for days. The tragedy claimed the life of one firefighter and left four others gravely injured. Bastida himself helped fight the blaze, ultimately making the heartbreaking decision to demolish one of his own towers because it was damaged beyond repair. For decades, older residents swore they could still catch the faint, sweet scent of spilled, burning wine clinging to the heavy stone.
After closing as a warehouse, the massive building sat abandoned, eventually sparking a fierce political battle over who gets to dictate the city's identity. In the late nineteen eighties, sculptor Jorge Oteiza proposed gutting the interior to erect an eighty meter tall glass and steel cube. The residents of Indautxu completely revolted. They feared this gigantic prism would plunge their streets into a permanent glacial era, blocking the sun forever. The social backlash was so intense it actually contributed to the mayor's resignation in 1990. The cube was scrapped, and the city built the Guggenheim Museum instead, leaving Oteiza utterly furious.
Years later, French designer Philippe Starck finally transformed the space. He preserved Bastida's facade but completely reimagined the interior. Today, three immense brick structures are suspended in the air, supported by forty three unique, colossal pillars. Crafted from marble, bronze, wood, and glazed terracotta, each column represents a different era of global art history. Up on the roof, a glass bottomed swimming pool allows visitors on the ground floor to look up and watch the silhouettes of swimmers gliding high above them.
In 2015, the building was renamed Azkuna Zentroa in honor of the late mayor Iñaki Azkuna, who championed its revival. Yet, beneath its polished cultural surface, tensions still occasionally flare. In 2012, a highly regarded comic book scholarship hosted here was abruptly canceled by a new director without consultation. This sudden erasure of support provoked a massive outcry, with four hundred international artists signing a fierce letter of protest to demand its return, though the decision was never reversed.
As we leave Bastida's triumph of structural ambition, we will walk two minutes down the street to Plaza Bizkaia. There, we will see that attempting to push the boundaries of modern urban design does not always result in a space that is entirely successful, or even safe.
