Urduña (Orduña)

The morning bus from Bilbao wheezes to a halt beside a stone cross that marks the highest point of the N-240. At 284 metres above sea level, Urduna suddenly feels closer to the clouds than to the coast. Step off and the first thing you notice is the wind—clean, sharp, carrying the scent of damp earth rather than salt. This is the only Basque municipality that sits entirely in the province of Vizcaya yet feels like an island of its own, ring-fenced by beech-covered ridges and sheep pastures that drop away into the valley of the Kadagua.

A Plaza That Still Works for a Living

Forget postcard prettiness. Urduna’s central square, Plaza de los Fueros, is a working courtyard of colonnades, granite benches and a pelota wall that echoes every evening with the thwack of leather on stone. Farmers park tractors beside the 16th-century arcades; old men play cards under the arches while their wives queue at the mobile fish van that arrives every Tuesday and Thursday at 11 sharp. The architecture is sturdy rather than delicate—heavy timber beams, iron balconies painted ox-blood red—but the proportions are perfect for human life. Order a cortado at Bar Arcos (€1.40 if you stand at the counter) and you’ll be drawn into conversation within minutes; the barman switches to slow, careful English only after he’s established you can manage a bit of Spanish.

Walk two minutes in any direction and the stone runs out. North along Calle Mayor the last houses simply stop, replaced by allotments where leeks grow in military rows. Southwards a paved lane becomes a farm track that climbs towards the ruined fortress of Arteaga. The gradient is gentle for the first kilometre, then punishing; allow 45 minutes to reach the ridge and you’ll see the entire valley laid out like a green skillet with Urduna clinging to the handle.

Waterfalls That Sometimes Forget to Fall

The Salto del Nervión, Spain’s highest single-drop waterfall at 222 metres, is only 12 kilometres away by road but belongs to a different climatic kingdom. Visit after a dry August and you will stare at an empty cliff face that looks vaguely embarrassed. Come in March, when Atlantic storms roll in, and the same limestone wall becomes a thundering white ribbon visible from the village mirador. Local advice is brutal but honest: ring the tourist office (they answer WhatsApp in English) and ask “¿Hay agua?” before you set off. If the answer is no, stay in the valley and walk the circular route along the Kadagua river instead—kingfishers, old flour mills, not another soul.

Lamb, Cheese and the Science of Cider

Food here is upland Basque rather than seaside: roast lamb shoulder slow-cooked in wood-fired ovens, the skin lacquered to salty crackling; Idiazabal cheese that tastes of smoke and hawthorn; cider poured from shoulder height to “wake it up”. Restaurant Arriaga on Calle Esperanza serves a set lunch menu for €16 that includes a half-bottle of txakoli, the lightly sparkling white that tastes like green apples and sea spray even though the sea is 40 minutes away. Vegetarians survive on tortilla and piquillo peppers; vegans should pack snacks. Sunday lunch starts at 14:00 and the kitchen shuts at 16:00 sharp—arrive at 15:55 and you will be turned away politely but firmly.

Getting Up and Getting Stuck

Urduna’s altitude is part of its charm and its difficulty. In winter the valley traps fog so thick you can’t see the church tower from the square; temperatures drop to –5 °C and the narrow BI-636 from the A-68 can ice over. Snow chains are rarely needed but possible between December and February. Spring brings sudden thaws that turn footpaths into calf-deep clay—waterproof boots, not fashion wellies, are essential. Summer, by contrast, is fresh; at 6 pm the air still carries a chill that sends cardigans back out of rucksacks. The village’s single cash machine runs out of notes at weekends; the nearest replacement is a 20-minute drive to Zalla. There is no petrol station in town—fill up before you leave the autopista.

One Bus, Two Balloons, No Crowds

Public transport exists but feels theoretical. Bizkaibus line A0652 leaves Bilbao’s Termibus at 09:15 and 16:15, taking 70 minutes to climb the valley. The return departures are 07:30 and 14:30, which means a day trip either starts at dawn or ends by mid-afternoon. A hire car from Bilbao airport (40 minutes door-to-door) gives the freedom to string Urduna with Medina de Pomar or the salt valleys of Añana. Hot-air balloon companies advertise flights “over Orduña” yet launch from Valdegovía or Medina depending on wind; build slack into the diary and don’t book your final night’s hotel until the pilot confirms the rendezvous point.

What You Won’t Find on the Brochure

There is no souvenir shop. The medieval interpretation centre opens only when the key-keeper feels like it—ring the bell at number 8 Plaza de los Fueros and hope. The impressive-looking parador on the hill is actually a care home; tourists who march in expecting cocktails are redirected kindly but firmly. Mobile signal is patchy on the western slopes; download offline maps before you set off on walks. Finally, the village is called both Urduna and Orduña on road signs—don’t worry, the locals answer to either.

Leaving Without the T-Shirt

By late afternoon the square empties, the wind drops and the church bells strike six with a tone that seems to bounce off the surrounding cliffs. There is no grand finale, no Instagram hotspot to tick off, just the gradual realisation that you have spent a day moving slowly, talking more than usual and looking at fields instead of screens. The bus back to Bilbao will be waiting at the same stone cross, engine running, ready to drop you back into the 21st century. Climb aboard and the valley folds itself shut behind you like a book you’ve half-finished—easy to close, simple to reopen when city life next feels too flat.