Mistakes will be made

17 February 2020 - There's an old joke we used to think was hilarious when we were kids: "I've never been wrong," we'd say, then pause. "Except this one time I thought I was wrong." 

A paraphrase would sum up my week: "I never make mistakes, except when I think I've made a mistake." I find I worry more than I ever did about making mistakes, probably because I know too well how easy it is for old brains to screw up. But I guess I must also, at least sometimes, take precautions to avoid mistakes.

Anyway, the week so far.

We did bike to the beach on Saturday. We arranged to meet Shelley near the Neptuno Hotel on the promenade. Twenty minutes after the appointed time, I texted her. She was at the Neptuno, she said. Where were we? (Ah, at the Neptuno.) Fifteen minutes and a flurry of texts later, she turned up. She had momentarily confused the two hotels along the prom. The other is the Hotel Balneario, a big convention and tourism complex half a kilometer up the beach. Having got off her bus one stop further along than she'd intended, she was at the Balneario not the Neptuno so had to walk back to us. (Old brains.)

The beach was busy again, busier than might have been expected given the weather. It was sunny, but not terrifically warm. The forecast high was only 18C. Nice for northerners, but locals think it's wintry. There were lots of tourists - as Karen pointed out, it was spring break in Britain - but also lots of locals. Some of the latter were dressed, as we would think, appropriately for the weather and location: light sweaters, jeans and sneakers, say. Many, as usual, were not. While we were sitting waiting for Shelley, we spotted one young woman decked out in over-the-knee crimson suede high-heel boots and a bright red fake fur jacket over a filmy mini-dress! Spaniards love fashion, and I guess they just can't bear to not wear winter styles. We've seen middle-aged Valencians in puffy winter jackets and knee boots on sunny days with temperatures in the mid-20s.

We wandered along the promenade past the beach volleyball courts, which were well used, though not quite as crowded as last time we were here on a really warm day. There were fewer people in the water, but more kids on the ropey climbing thing. We went past the end of Malvarossa Beach into Alboraya, the next community north of the city. There are some attractive bars and restaurants on the beach there. We tried to find a table - Shelley hadn't eaten much yet (we'd had dinner at Spanish lunchtime) - but all the ones in the sun were taken. So we walked back into Valencia and eventually found a sunny table at a cafeteria and ice cream joint. Shelley ordered patatas bravas and some shrimpy tapas dish, Karen a salad. The brava sauce was surprisingly hot. The fries also came with garlic-flavoured mayonaise. Yum-yum.

By the time we'd finished our drinks and snacks, it was time to be heading back. I suggested we could walk straight back from the beach and hit a tram line that would take us to the nearest subway stop. But we were further along the beach than I was thinking - before the tram line turns and runs briefly parallel to the beach. (Old brain.) So we tramped through a not very salubrious neighbourhood of nasty-looking apartment blocks until we finally reached the tram. It took us to Marítim-Serería, the subway station closest to the beach, where we caught the tube into the city. Karen and I got off at Colón; Shelley went on to the next stop, Xátiva.

Karen and I had decided on an excursion to Cuenca, the mountain town north of Valencia that is now a UNESCO World Heritage site. We had wanted to go last year but the weather was never any good. It can get really cold up there. The weather was promising to be quite nice on the weekend, though - 16C and 17C and sunny. Shelley wouldn't go, she said. She had to work and, besides, it would be too busy on a weekend. We rethought and noticed that Wednesday and Thursday were also going to be sunny and reasonably mild, and there were a lot more Airbnbs available to choose from on Wednesday night. We found a nice-looking one and booked it, and a car. It's a three-bedroom flat, so we suggested Shelley rethink too. She did, and now she's coming with us.

There was talk of us meeting up on Sunday for a museum visit - museums and galleries tend to be free on Sundays. Shelley e-mailed in the morning to say she'd better work, given the time she was planning to take off mid-week. So Karen and I walked over to MUVIM, the Valencian Museum of Illustration and Modernism. It's an odd-duck of a museum, but we've seen some interesting exhibits there. Last year, it seemed hardly any shows were scheduled. It's city-run and -funded and I think the municipality may be cutting back on cultural spending. We know of a couple of other city-run gallery spaces that have stopped operating altogether since we started coming here nine years ago.

From Les Amours, by Pilar Consuegra Romero

The two shows that attracted us were both much smaller than we'd understood. Both were housed in the lobby area. One, Les Amours, is a series of ink-and-wash drawings by Pilar Consuegra Romero, the first winner of a new national drawing competition. The images, on the theme of romantic love, are inspired by Les Liaisons Dangereuses, the 18th century French novel of aristocratic love intrigues by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. We thought the pictures attractive, but there are fewer than a dozen of them. 

From Anonimes by Paula Santiago

The other exhibit, Anónimes (Anonymous), is by a local art college professor, Paula Santiago. It's a series of painted images of abused women to mark the occasion of the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. The images are effective, but again, very few. And all displayed in the window of the museum's lobby - so we needn't even have come inside to see them. Our visit to MUVIM lasted about half an hour.

Karen loitered in the sun outside for another 20 minutes while I took pictures on the terrace. It's decorated with broken Roman columns and there's a sort of storage area for smaller bits and pieces of Roman masonry. I'm not sure what the story is behind this display. They were building it the first year we came to Valencia - and I still haven't been bothered to figure out what it's about. I assume they're artifacts from local digs.

We started walking home by a different, slightly meandering, route. About half way there, I suddenly realized I didn't have my sun clips. They're very cool, magnetic ones that came with my glasses. They had fallen off a couple of times before when I was taking pictures, and I assumed that was what had happened again - except this time, I hadn't noticed. My guess was they'd cost a ridiculous amount to replace, so I decided to retrace our steps and see if I could spot them. Karen continued home. I went all the way back to the museum, even went in and asked the attendant at the desk, who asked three different colleagues, and then I went out and checked all around where I'd been taking pictures. Nothing. So I rode home. 

The clips were sitting on the table in the living room exactly where I'd left them. I'd never had them with me. 

Old. Stupid. Brain.

Jardin Ayora

On Monday, Karen and I decided to walk to another of the city's walled gardens. This one, the Jardin Ayora, was built by an early-20th century industrialist, along with a palacete, a small mansion, in the modernista style. It was about a 30-minute walk, much of it through not-very-interesting parts of the city. The garden itself is, like Jardines de Montforte, surrounded by mid-rise apartments and busy streets, a little oasis of calm and green. It's not as elegant or well-kept as Montforte - in keeping with it's down-market neighbourhood - but the eucalyptus and fig trees are wonderful and the house pretty. We spent half an hour strolling about, taking pictures, then rode bikes home for lunch. 

Jardin Ayora, giant fig

Jardin Ayora, eucalyptus

Jardin Ayora

Jardin Ayora, palacete

The rest of the day was spent a casa, much of it on the lower terrace, basking in the sun. 

Early evening in Ruzafa

We did go out for another walk around the neighbourhood in the early evening after a very early dinner. The streets are so buzzy at this time of day. People are getting home from work, picking up the kids from nursery schools, sitting down at the bars and cafes for a drink and tapas, doing their shopping - the shops reopen at 5, having been closed for siesta since 2. 

Early evening in Ruzafa

Early evening in Ruzafa

Today, Tuesday, is the first really bad day we've had this year weather-wise. It was actually raining in the morning and it's been heavily overcast all day. We're moping indoors, getting ready for our outing to Cuenca tomorrow.

At some point yesterday, it suddenly occurred to me - why I can't now remember - that my Canadian SIM card in it's little plastic case was no longer in my wallet where I'd put it when I switched to the UK SIM we're using now. A couple of times it had seemed in danger of slipping out of my wallet. Now it apparently had.

You know where this is going, don't you? 

Today, it occurred to me to check on a cupboard shelf in our bedroom where I'd stashed some other stuff not needed while we're here. And, of course, there it was, the not-so-missing SIM card.

Old. Stupid. Brain.