Mungia (Munguía)

The queue outside Bar Kamin forms at 12:45 sharp. By 1:15, it's snaking past the pelota court, a mix of cycling jerseys, office workers from Bilbao, and grandmothers who've clearly done this before. This is Thursday in Mungia, 20 kilometres from Bilbao, and the weekly market has turned the town into a giant open-air lunch counter.

Mungia doesn't photograph well from a distance. Approach from the BI-631 and you'll see a cluster of apartment blocks, a petrol station, and the distinctive Basque rooflines that mark every town in Uribe. But pull off the main road, park behind the fronton (free, even on market day), and the place starts making sense. This isn't a village preserved in amber; it's where 5,000 people actually live, shop, and argue about football. The authenticity isn't curated—it's just Tuesday.

The Centre That Takes Twenty Minutes (and an Hour in Pintxo Bars)

The historic core fits inside a rough triangle bounded by three streets. Santa María church dominates the highest point, its 16th-century tower visible from everywhere. Inside, the Gothic interior rewards those who catch it open—check the side door after 11 am when someone's usually around. The stone carving around the altar rivals better-known churches in Bilbao, but here you can actually see it without a tour group blocking the view.

From the church, narrow lanes drop past tower houses that remind you this was once frontier territory. The Torre Barroeta and Casa Torre de Laris stand shoulder-to-shoulder with 1970s apartment blocks, creating architectural whiplash that somehow works. The Palacio Uribe-Salazar, now the cultural centre, anchors Plaza de España with its stone façade and family crest. Pop in if the doors are open—there's usually a photography exhibition or craft fair that nobody outside Mungia knows about.

The whole circuit takes twenty minutes if you're walking purposefully. Nobody walks purposefully here. The bars along Calle Santa María put their pintxos out at 11 am, and by 11:30 the first txakoli is being poured. This is when Mungia reveals itself—not as a destination, but as a base camp for proper Basque living.

Between Mountain and Coast (But Mostly Between Pintxos)

The town sits at 50 metres above sea level, far enough inland to avoid coastal fog but close enough that locals pop to Bakio beach after work in summer. The surrounding hills climb gently to 400 metres—proper cycling country rather than serious hiking terrain. Road cyclists favour the loop to Bakio and back: 40 kilometres with enough incline to justify the post-ride pintxos, but nothing that requires Olympic fitness.

Behind the town, farm tracks wind between apple orchards and the distinctive white farmhouses of Uribe. These aren't postcard-perfect hikes—expect muddy sections after rain and the occasional territorial dog—but they offer something increasingly rare in Biscay: walking routes without crowds. The tourist office (inside the town hall, English leaflets available) marks out a 90-minute 'Ruta de los Palacios' that passes manor houses most visitors miss entirely. Download the map before you go; signposting assumes you already know where you're headed.

Winter changes the equation. When the Atlantic storms roll in, the outdoor tables vanish and Mungia becomes a lunch-only proposition. The bars fill with steam and conversation; even if your Spanish stops at "una caña, por favor," you'll follow the rhythm easily. Someone's always celebrating something—retirement, new baby, Thursday—and strangers get swept up in the goodwill.

Market Day and Monday Closures

Thursday is market day, though calling it a market oversells the experience. Twenty-odd stalls line Plaza de España selling what you'd expect: seasonal vegetables, cheap socks, and the occasional cheese that'll make your train journey back to Bilbao awkward. The real action happens in the bars. Office workers from Bilbao time their site visits to coincide with lunch, creating a temporary population surge that feels like someone turned the volume up.

Food here plays to Basque strengths without the San Sebastián prices. Txakoli, the local slightly-fizzy white, appears in small glasses that empty quickly. Gildas—those olive-anchovy-chilli skewers—taste like the sea in snack form. The croquetas de txangurro at Restaurant Ikudi convert even shellfish-skeptics; think crab fish-fingers for grown-ups, impossibly moreish. Set menus run €14-18, usually featuring bacalao al pil-pil (cod in garlic emulsion) that demonstrates why Basques treat salt cod as a food group.

Monday punishes the unprepared. Half the pintxo bars close, the market's gone, and that atmospheric lunch crowd has evaporated. It's still worth visiting—just adjust expectations accordingly. The bakery on Calle Karmelo stays open, as does the excellent coffee roaster opposite the church, proving that even on the quietest day, Mungia refuses to go completely dormant.

Getting Here, Getting Fed, Getting Back

Bilbao airport sits 15 kilometres away, served by easyJet and BA from London, plus Vueling from regional UK airports. The A3247 bus drops you at Bilbao's Termibus station in twenty minutes; from there, the A3525 to Mungia runs every half-hour and costs €1.14 with a Barik card (€3 cash). The journey itself offers a masterclass in Basque geography—industrial estates give way to apple orchards, then suddenly you're climbing into proper green countryside.

Driving makes sense if you're combining Mungia with coastal stops. Bakio's surf beach sits 12 minutes north; the UNESCO-listed Vizcaya Bridge is 20 minutes west. But don't rush. The town rewards the unhurried—those who linger over coffee while schoolchildren swarm past, who time their visit to catch the light hitting Santa María's tower just so, who understand that the best Basque experiences happen between meals rather than during them.

Stay for lunch, stay for dinner if you time it right, but probably don't stay overnight. Mungia works best as what Spaniards call a "pueblo de paso"—a place you pass through, slightly altered by the experience, already planning your return. Not because you missed anything crucial, but because that queue outside Bar Kamin is calling your name, and Thursday's market happens every week, whether you're there or not.