Bilbao.

This morning I left my hotel and meandered through town, trying to find the Guggenheim. As it turns out, it's not that hard.

 As I neared the museum I came across the most beautiful bridge, with slender white ribs upholding its elegant arch.

And then, suddenly, there it was, a brilliant spectacle of light and sharp edges and reflection upon reflection.

After hours in the museum I was weak with hunger, and I found myself at Subway enjoying the first free refills I've had since January.

And I crossed the river in the belly of a whale.

After the weight of the city became too great a weight to shoulder, I decided to head for higher climes in search of silence. I found a great staircase that seemed to ascend into the clouds overhead.

I followed it until all the city was laid out before me, and I tried to touch the sky.

On my descent, I came across I sign that pointed towards Bilbao in three different directions, and I felt for Dorothy's confusion.

And I saw a wooden gate that seemed to open into the sky. A path that ends at the edge of the world.

"I used to believe the skies were doorways home."