Back to Valencia

3 Feb 2020 - We fear northern Europeans may be discovering Valencia as a get-away destination. When we arrived Saturday morning, at least two other planes came in about the same time. All of us - hundreds - were funneled through the same passport checkpoint, manned by exactly two border cops. Result: a long, long, snaking queue with wait times of over an hour. It has usually taken only a few minutes coming into this airport.

The good news? We didn't have to wait for our bags. They were there in the arrivals hall when we finally got through. The bad? The driver, arranged by Guillermo, our landlord, had waited an hour and then left, apparently assuming we weren't coming. Why didn't he ask someone if there was a delay? I texted Guillermo's buddy, Mario, who was standing in for him this day. The driver would come back for us, Mario responded, but we'd have to wait another ten minutes.

All was forgiven once we got outside the terminal building. Valencia is in the grip of a rare winter heat wave. The temperature was expected to hit 24C under sunny skies, and felt like it already had, and then some. The drive into town only takes about 20 minutes. Another benefit of the delay was that the cleaning lady had finished our flat, so we could get in right away. If we'd arrived on time, we would have had to leave our bags and make ourselves scarce for a couple of hours.

The flat is on the sixth floor, the atico or penthouse. It made a good first impression: hardwood floors, big terrace off the living room, lots of light, huge TV (Netflix for the viewing of). The apartment is on two floors. Up a steep, narrow staircase is the large ensuite master bedroom and another huge terrace. The great thing about these terraces, as distinct from those in other places we've rented in Valencia, is that they actually get some sun in the winter. I'm sitting on the upper deck in shirtsleeves, writing this.

Not that the apartment is perfect. The furnishings are a little tired. The leather dining chairs, for example, are flaking bits of dried out leather. The wrap-around sofa in the sitting room is not very comfortable. The furniture on the terraces is old and, for some reason, dusted with what looks like black mold. (They get practically no rain here - how does that happen?) The kitchen is tiny, though conveniently laid out. At first glance it has everything we could need, including a microwave and a toaster, neither of which we had last year. But a closer look reveals that the pots and pans are old and badly worn. The knives, of course, are dull.

We went out to the nearest supermarket, a Consum, about two blocks away, and did our first major shop. We brought it home and went back out again almost immediately to the Mercadona, a few blocks further away, for Karen's Cava, and other stuff we'd forgotten. We also picked up one of Mercadona's pre-prep Spanish tortillas (thick potato omelet), which, along with a salad and fresh Mercadona bread, made our late (Spanish-style) lunch/dinner. 

We talked about going out for a late afternoon walk, but Karen was done in. We'd gotten up at 4:30 to make our 7 am flight from Stansted. I went out on my own for a walk around the old neighbourhood, stopping at the Mercadona again to pick up a bottle of Cardhu. It's still only a little over €25, way cheaper than in Canada, and actually cheaper than in Scotland. Go figure.

We hit the hay early and slept beautifully. I got over nine hours, drug free. The room is dark and very quiet. Perfect.

So we had lots of energy for getting out and about in the city on Sunday. We had topped up our transit cards online with another annual Valenbisi (city bike rental service) subscription, so could get bikes right away. We rode first to Bomba Gens, an art gallery in an old factory, run by a charitable trust. It's in the near 'burbs, just on the other side of the Turia (the dry riverbed park system that runs through the city). They had an exhibit on of Japanese photography, mostly of the 50s, 60s and 70s. It was finishing that day, which is why we chose it. 

The Trip, Shomei Tomatsu (1959)

It included some great stuff. Karen doesn't really get photography as art so probably didn't like it as much as I did. She did choose as her favourite a selection of photographs by a guy who never exhibited when he was alive, but became popular in Japan after he died - mostly black and white abstracts. She said they reminded her of my pictures, which was flattering. I liked the vivid colour photos of odd, disheveled flower arrangements. The exhibit was huge, too much to easily take in in one visit. We didn't bother with the gallery's other exhibits, which in any case looked to be boring conceptual art stuff.

We found bikes not far from the gallery and rode the long way out to the beach via the university district. By this time it was properly hot - one pixel board had it as 29C, most said 26C. It took us about 40 minutes altogether, including two stops for swapping bikes to avoid the over-30-minute charge. I was melting in a light cotton sweater and jeans.

All the bike stations along the beach when we got there were full. We've seen this often before on sunny days, especially Sundays. Everybody grabs bikes in the city, rides to the beach and drops them. We found a spot for one bike so Karen parked hers and waited while I went off looking for another empty spot. I was standing at the last station at the far end of the beach, trying to figure out where I could go to find a spot in Cabanyal, the old fishing village neighbourhood behind the beach. A guy walking by asked, in Spanish, if I was looking for another Valenbisi station. I said I was and he told me where to go. Miraculously, I understood his directions, followed them and found the station, which did have empty slots, exactly where he said it would be only a few blocks away. 

Sunday on the beach promenade

It was five or so blocks back to the beach. I found Karen more or less where I'd left her. We walked down onto the beach and back along it towards the city. It was more crowded than I've ever seen it, and it wasn't just foreigners. There were lots of Spanish out sunbathing and cavorting, some in skimpy attire, some even in the water - which Karen, who dipped a toe in, said was like Lake Huron at the beginning of June. Brrr! Most of the Spanish were in winter clothes, though, including the inevitable middle-aged ladies on the promenade in their puffy winter parkas. In 26-degree sunshine! They're crazy.

On the beach

Our idea was to ride bikes up to the nearest subway stop, charge our cards with more rides and tube it back to the city centre. The machine at this station was apparently malfunctioning, though, and we couldn't recharge our cards, so we had no choice but to bike on, then walk the last part of the way back to the flat. 

I whipped up a nameless chickpea and sausage dish and we had a very late lunch out on the terrace. We were both too tired to think of going out again.

Palace of the Marquis of Dos Aguas

Today, Monday - apparently a holiday here - we had a brief video chat with Caitlin and baby in the morning, then went walkabout. We went along our street all the way to Colon Avenue, around by the ceramics museum, over to the cathedral, through the narrow alleyways to the market, into the market briefly, and then back up to city hall square - the tourist round, in other words. And there were lots of tourists about. It was fairly quiet in the centre, but we're assuming that's because it's a holiday. The flea market outside the central market, which normally is only on on Sunday, was on today, which suggests it's a holiday. 

Street scene near Palace of the Marquis of Dos Aguas

Back at the flat, we had another Spanish-style late lunch, which will be our main meal, and now we're deep in our separate activities. Karen has been sewing but is now drawing. I'm just about finished here.