The Church of San Nicolás stands right at the water’s edge, on the spot where all routes once met — river, land, and trade paths. Long before Bilbao became a city, this was a shallow crossing and a small riverside dock where caravans from Castile arrived with wool. Archaeologists have found traces of twelfth- and thirteenth-century warehouses and walls beneath the church — a reminder of a settlement that existed here centuries before Bilbao was officially founded.
In 1300, Diego López de Haro, lord of Biscay, granted the charter that created the villa of Bilbao, and this place became its center. Fortifications were built here, followed by the first city walls. Later, in 1334, King Alfonso XI ordered the construction of defensive towers and an alcázar on this site — part of their foundations now lies under the present church.
The first Gothic church rose in the fifteenth century and was consecrated in 1433. It was modest, with a single nave, but as the town expanded, the church was rebuilt. By 1510 it had taken a form close to what we see today. Over time, a Renaissance portal was added, and in the eighteenth century, a Baroque tower appeared. The architecture became a blend of eras: Gothic austerity, Renaissance balance, and Baroque decoration.
San Nicolás stands by the estuary for a reason — this was the point of control over the crossing and the trade route. The view of the church with the bridge became one of the symbols of the city and even entered Bilbao’s coat of arms. The front balcony once served as a ceremonial platform for city officials, who watched festivals and public events from above. Inside, beneath the floor, you can still see archaeological remains of old fortifications and a medieval cemetery, whose gravestones later became part of the stone pavement.
This is more than a church — it is the place where Bilbao was born and from which it grew. Here you can feel the shift from a medieval settlement to a port city that eventually became Castile’s gateway to the Atlantic.
This walk is not just a stroll through the old streets of Bilbao — it’s a walk through the city’s memory. Everything here lies close together: the Gothic gates of Santiago Cathedral, the soft murmur of the “Dog Fountain,” the old plaques still marked by the great flood of 1983, and Bar Xukela, where the spirit of the city lives in a glass of wine and laughter at the counter.
We follow Calle del Perro and Calle de la Torre — streets whose names hold legends and the echoes of ancient family towers. At every turn, a story appears: about the Basques, whose defensive towers once stood like the stone houses of Svaneti; about Diego María Gardoki, the first Basque to serve as Spain’s ambassador to the United States; about Pedro Arrupe, the Basque priest who renewed the Jesuit order in the twentieth century.
Our path leads to the river where ships once lined the shore, and finally to El Arenal — the park where Bilbao learned to breathe, to love, and to listen to the quiet rhythm of its own heart.
This walk is like a simple, honest conversation with the city — no guide, no performance, just a friend who has a story waiting behind every corner.
