Los Valencianos: Encuentros hasta ahora.

I’ve made quite a lot of visits to Valencia now. If I had to give a short, generalised description of Valencians given my experiences to date, I’d say:

Gregarious, friendly, generous and approachable.

But let’s break it down into the most-encountered sub-sections: 


Our neighbours  

I’ve written an older blog post about our neighbours ("Nuestros Vecinos") and an update will follow as we get to know them better. Suffice to say that I think we’ll enjoy sharing an apartment building and a barrio with them. 


Waiters/waitresses 

Almost without exception, these citizens are friendly, patient and welcoming. Valencians like

to spend most of their lives outside, and much of this time is spent eating, drinking and talking. This makes waiters and waitresses very important people, but the customer has a big part to play here. It’s not a one-way street.

Valencians are outdoor people... all year round.

The first thing you have to do is get over your Northern-European expectations around speed of service. If your server is talking to their mates when they should be serving you, don’t be surprised or offended. It’s the way it is. If they choose to serve someone who you just know arrived after you… it’s the way they felt like doing it. They’re not being rude. When they finally come to take your order, they will most likely be welcoming and friendly, and you’ll soon forget that you had to wait.

The chances are that they’ll enhance your experience of the café or restaurant. Some will even take a genuine interest in what you’re doing, and why you’re there, if you make the effort to engage them in conversation.

One day, you might be the mates they’re chatting to when they should be serving impatient tourists. 


Taxi drivers 

Our stats based on experience so far suggest that 50% are grumpy bastards.

The other 50% are such engaging individuals that you instantly want to invite them out for a beer and a few laughs. I'm not sure why this is, and perhaps it requires a more scientific study to explain the phenomenon. Either way, you tend to get to where you need to go in exchange for a little of your efectivo. Taxis are generally good and inexpensive in comparison to many cities, even when driven by the grumpy 50%.

The city doesn’t seem to be an easy place to be a taxi driver, so this might explain the first 50%, and give even more kudos to the rest. 


Shop owners & their staff 

You might encounter the “talking to my mates” thing here also, but people serving you in shops tend to be disarmingly charming.

I’m not naïve enough to ignore the fact that they want to separate you from your hard-earned €, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that this charm is entirely genuine much of the time. From the tiniest local store to the massive retail cathedrals of Corte Inglés, you will always be asked (with a smile) if you need any help, and they will always be happy to provide it… smile included again. If they don’t have what you want, you often get the impression they will feel bad about this for several hours afterwards.

I have never encountered anything but patience with my Spanish language efforts, and the vast majority of transactions, large or small, have been successfully completed thanks to the bright and helpful approach of your tendero. 


Los Ancianos 

There are a lot of elderly people in Valencia. A lifestyle/diet/climate thing? Good healthcare? It is a little weird how you do actually feel better when you're in Valencia, than you might in damp, grey Yorkshire. All in the mind? Who knows?

Los Mayores give the city a certain dignity and a link with the past. I often try to imagine some of the things that the older ones have seen in their long lives. They will remember (whether they choose to acknowledge it or not) some of the Franco years. They will remember the devastation of the 1957 Valencia Flood. They will remember the recovery of the 1960s and the re-establishment of democracy in the 1970s. They will remember the establishment of the autonomous communities, and perhaps they shed a tear of Valencian pride when they became a part of Communidad Valenciana. 

Many might say that they are Valencian first, and Spanish second, such is the pride Valencians have in their culture and regional identity.

They have seen such change that it would be a delight to sit with them and hear their tales over a carajillo. The lingering remnants of the “Pacto del Olvido”* may make this awkward even today, as would my grasp of the Spanish language, but perhaps one day.

There’s one thing for sure… if they have something they wish to tell you, they won’t hesitate. I once made the mistake of leaving my bag on the floor at Café Sant Jaume (it is bad luck to leave a bag on the floor in Spain, and is deemed unacceptable) and a passing elderly lady launched into a rant so passionate (and public) that my bag was instantly provided with a chair of its own while I respectfully acknowledged my error.

Don’t get me wrong though, your Valencian anciano doesn’t mind a giggle. When a trilby-hatted old boy and myself bumped in unison into the non-opening “automatic” doors of Corte Inglés one day, we enjoyed a shared chuckle that brightened my whole day. I hope it brightened his day too.

I like the stubborn, grumpy old boys, because they’re generally lovely people. I also have real admiration for the elderly ladies who still dress up for the evening stroll. They’ll take a drink and a little tapas with their friends, and their stubborn and grumpy (but proud and dignified) old boys. 


La Familia 

The family is a sacred institution in Spain, that's a fact. What follows is not necessarily fact, but merely my observations.

Los Mayores (see above) are revered, respected and cared for, and they enjoy quality time with the whole family group. They are very much included in family life, however elderly and infirm.

To be a child in Valencia (and Spain in general) is to be the star of the show. Everyone’s children are quite simply adored by everyone. Valencian parents and grandparents appear to do an incredible job of bringing up their children, and it's heartwarming to to see that they are included in everything. They will have a seat at the table that involves them... they won’t be parked out of the way under any circumstances. When out for a meal or occasion, I am always impressed to see them dressed in the best clothes that the family can dress them in. It does appear that this upbringing includes indulging their every whim and desire, of course. Parents will proudly dote, pamper and put the children first at all times. It seems that every time a child sees their abuela and/or abuelo, the result is a new toy/pair of shoes/item of clothing/amount of cash.

We never took our children to Spain when they were very small, but I’ve observed the children of foreign visitors being descended upon by groups of middle-aged Spanish ladies. Once the child has had its rosy cheeks pinched, hair tousled and has attempted to fight off a deluge of besos, the Northern-European parent may have recovered enough to understand that any child is worshipped as such in Spain, however odd (and very forward) this may seem to us.

The parents don’t appear to be left out, either. Brothers/sisters/aunties/uncles/cousins support parents, make sure they’re coping, and take a little of the weight off their shoulders. I have huge respect for all of the above… it’s a part of the Spanish culture that I admire enormously. It’s easy to imagine how it’s helped the Spanish through harder times. 


Callejeros 

The Neptune fountain in Plaza de la Virgen. "Please take a photo of us!"

You meet a lot of people in Valencia out on the street. They want you to give them cash. They want directions. They want you to take a photo of them on their phone in front of the Neptune fountain. They want to sell you a rose. They want you to come into their restaurant. They may mutter “guiris!” in your general direction as you pass in the street. They want you to see their street performance, or hear their music, good or bad. They often gather to demonstrate about/against something. They sometimes simply want to chat. So much time is spent outside… at cafés, on restaurant terraces or simply walking and taking it all in that all of these people become part of the city, part of the experience.

I don’t think we’d have it any other way. Sometimes the city is so full of life that it threatens to burst. A little advice, just from my point of view: before you seek refuge from the noise and haste, make sure you take all of this in as part of your Valencia experience, whether you're able to do this for a day or for a year.

For all the soaring architecture, endless amazing food, great weather, culture, entertainment, sport and attractions... it's the people that make the city. You don't have to be in Valencia very long to realise this.

*The Pact of Forgetting is the Spanish political decision to avoid dealing with the legacy of Francoism after the 1975 death of General Francisco Franco, who had remained in power since the 1936-1939 Spanish Civil War.

Los Peatones

Valencia is a very walkable city. It’s flat, and the central area is compact. You can navigate around all the city centre sights on foot, if you’re lucky enough to be able to do so.

The Torres Serranos and the Real Señera de Valencia.

A walk from Torres Serranos (“our” entrance to the old city on the northern side) to the Estacion del Norte (at the southern edge of the city centre) feels like a comfortable distance.

We do a huge amount of walking when we’re in Valencia. It’s odd in a way, because public transport is very good. There’s a bus stop literally around the corner from our apartment that can take us to Calle de la Paz in no time. You can get off this bus to one of my favourite views in the city, looking up La Paz to the beautiful bell tower of Santa Catalina.

But we walk, and it rarely even merits discussion. If it was ever discussed, I think the rationale might be that we’re afraid to miss anything. Gliding past on the bus, you'll miss a lot of what there is to see and hear on the way.

As an example, let’s take the 3km-ish walk from our apartment to (one of the 2) Corte Ingles stores in the Calle Colon shopping district. We visit this store regularly. It’s nothing short of astounding how many lamps a 3-bed apartment needs.

We leave the apartment building, enjoying the familiar sights and sounds of our barrio. We pass our vecinos chatting around the benches on the corner. A little further on down Calle Sarrion and into Avenida Constitucion, local peluquerias deal with demanding elderly ladies in their weekly quest for the perfect “do”. We deal with the Spanish habit of NEVER giving way when walking up a narrow pavement, by stepping meekly aside like true extranjeros.

The Metrovalencia tranvia crosses Avenida Constitucion.

Following the Avenida Constitucion traffic south and crossing the lines of the tranvia, we’ll be in need of coffee at one of the cafés on Calle Reus. La camarera greets us like old friends, and asks “qué tal?”, despite us being barely familiar faces.

Passing the end of Calle Malaga heading south, the shops, bars, workshops, garages and roads grow bigger, busier and noisier. In Valencia, as in the rest of Spain, people interact with each other non-stop, generally at full volume.

The relative peace of the glorious Jardin del Turia soon gives way to the imposing Torres Serranos. Passing through these historic city gates, we’re immediately in old Valencia. The cafés have a different vibe. Valencians commonly use cafés in tourist areas, but here they compete for space with hired bicycles, maps, cameras and the astonishingly common sock/sandal combination.

Continuing through the narrow streets that zig-zag towards Calle Navellos and the Plaza de la Virgen, it makes me happy to see an old city in a constant state of renovation, where you can always see a building being worked on, inside or out.

The beauty of the Plaza de la Virgen never wears thin, despite its starring role in the tourist trap epicenter. We often choose a table in a café at the corner of the square and people-watch over a late breakfast. The school parties are the most engaging. The common denominator (whatever age) is a rucksack full of food. Whatever the time of day, no opportunity to snack can be missed when on a school trip.

Plaza de la Reina. Due for a facelift.

Probably my least favourite part of the historic centre is Calle de la Micalet, which takes you past the western side of the Cathedral towards Plaza de la Reina. Collected here are buskers of dubious quality, sellers of "artesan" trinkets or uninspiring paintings of Valencian sights... and those “street performers” who appear to think that painting themselves gold and sitting very still constitutes an “act”. Here you’ll also find the professional beggar. I am mindful of the many genuine cases of poverty in the city (and everywhere else) but you can see and hear learners being openly “coached” in better technique. What to say for best effect, and what to write on the sign that you hang around your neck, or place in front of you on the pavement. It’s difficult to remain non-judgemental.

The most famous of burger chains has a site within anointing distance of a magnificent cathedral first consecrated in 1238. We try to ignore this almost unbearable juxtaposition, and wander across Plaza de la Reina. It’s a beautiful square (and due for a total refurbishment in 2017/18) but this is tourist central. Buses, coaches, taxis, tours, shops, counterfeit handbag-sellers and over-priced restaurants compete for attention.

Calle la Paz and the tower of Santa Catalina.

Left down Calle la Paz, and then right into Calle del Marqués de Dos Aguas, and relative peace descends. Here, the real Hermes and Louis Vuitton display their costly (but at least authentic) handbags across the road from the astonishing façade of the Ceramics Museum. Left into Plaza del Patriarca, and the ever-present temptation to indulge in the simple pleasure of a walk through the courtyard of La Nau. On an early visit, this beautiful part of the old University of Valencia helped to usher me almost unconsciously into the "I Heart Valencia" club.

The statue of Lluís Vives enjoys his position
supervising the peaceful courtyard of La Nau.

Leaving this little haven of history, peace and elegance, you’re soon into the buzz of the financial district. Smart suits and heavy traffic, notarios and banqueros. The places we sometimes like to eat on shopping Saturdays on Calle Dr. Romagosa are heavily populated with suits, sunglasses and demonstrative Valencian gesturing (important legal matters) on a weekday. Probably best to press on to Calle Pérez Bayer, and the swishing, welcoming doors of Corte Inglés.

Retail. This is where retail is done on an epic scale. All of the large Corte Inglés stores in Valencia are seemingly limitless, air-conditioned temples dedicated to the gods of retail. We’ve foolishly tried to avoid shopping here in the past, believing that this wasn’t the place for a bargain. But there are reasons why they became so successful, aren't there? We’ve given in to it now, and just go there first. It’s like a magnet.

The goods are quality, the service is excellent, and you can buy everything your heart desires. It’s the place you need to be when you’re furnishing and equipping an apartment, unless you have unlimited time to seek out the alternatives. Which we don’t.

Having navigated through more retail-related dialogue in Spanish, and relinquished yet more €s into their welcoming embrace, the Corte Inglés elevators bring us back to earth once again. We pick our way across Calle Colon to the line of taxis, and our clumsy packages are transported back to their new home.

We’ve become very good at walking around Valencia. And frighteningly good at shopping. Particularly for lamps.

La Lengua Española

My educative years hadn’t touched on the world’s 2^nd most spoken language. Those who put the curriculum together favoured the 11^th and 18^th*. And Latin. 

A recent conversation with a Valencian taxi driver revealed his astonishment that this was the case (back in the day) in the UK: “Solo aléman y francés? Joder!”

An integral part of my impatient desire to be part of Valencia, part of our Barrio, a citizen of our apartment building, is the progress I make towards being able to speak Spanish well.

Aside of this, I take great pleasure from Spanish as a language when I read it and hear it. To hear the word “izquierda” smoothly and effortlessly pronounced by a native speaker is a delight, and it makes me want to learn.

I took an interest in the language when I first took an interest in Spain, rather than in Valencia specifically. The first few times I worked in Spain… Malaga, Sotogrande, Balearics, I would quiz our bi-lingual production team for new words, but it’s slow progress when you’re there to do a job that's not related to the language.

You’re also unlikely to learn a language when you’ve hired people to speak it for you.

So… CDs in the car. I found things easy to absorb while driving, and learned a reasonable amount, but progress was equally slow. The lengthy and unlikely scenarios used to teach the listener meant that 2 CDs-worth left you with precious little conversation beyond having a good idea about hiring a car, and being aware that your pan doesn’t come from el ferretero, but from la panaderia. 

Si, claro. 

Discussion with the purveyors of evening classes at a local school in Harrogate left me in no doubt that these would yield similar results, at considerable expense.

Best advice was that the only way to learn was to be there, in the thick of it. Speaking Spanish because it was the only option available.

So holidays in Spain were my chance to improve.

When on holiday, I began to make a point of starting any interaction or conversation in Spanish. I refuse to be the boorish Brit who just shouts louder and slower in English - these people are giving us all a bad name. I’d rather bear the embarrassment of demonstrating my poor command of the Spanish language than default to that.

In most Spanish resorts (Costa del Sol, Balearics) starting a conversation in Spanish (likely to be with “un/a camarero/a”) can have its rewards, and it is appreciated. But it can also result in one or more of the following awkward scenarios:

1. The response comes in Spanish, and you fail to understand it.
 

2. With your first few words, you have already demonstrated how remedial your Spanish is. As a result, your new Spanish friend replies in English for the sake of his or her own sanity.
 
3. Your new Spanish friend repeats your words back to you, with emphasis on correcting the ones you got wrong. Not good for the confidence, and confidence is important here.
 
4. Your new Spanish friend is Lithuanian (Marbella area).

Progress has been made since the scenarios above were a regular occurrence, but there’s a long way to go. Spending more time in Valencia, going through a property purchase, dealing with purchases for the home, deliveries and utilities, and interacting with neighbours have all helped. Actual conversations have been held.

So, spending more time in Valencia and learning to speak Spanish well appear to amble along happily together, hand in hand. Who knew?

So once that’s nailed, at some unspecified time in the future, we have: 

Valencian (/vəˈlɛnsiən/ or /vəˈlɛnʃən/; endonym: valencià, valenciano, llengua valenciana, or idioma valencià) is the variety of Catalan as spoken in the Valencian Community, Spain.

Yep. There are 2 languages in Valencia. Nadie dijo que iba a ser fácil.



*German and French, positions correct at the time of writing.

Distrito La Saidia and Barrio de Tormos

Barrio de Tormos in La Saidia, Distrito 5 Valencia. The neighbourhood we chose for our Valencian home.

Myself and my wife first got a flavour of La Saidia when borrowing a friend’s apartment, nicely placed between Parque Marchalenes and the Jardin del Turia riverbed park.

We were looking to buy a place in Valencia, and our budget kept our sights set on sensibly-priced La Saidia property. And it felt a bit like home after only a short time.

The eastern part of Calle Malaga
on another bright morning.

During the day, the area closest to the Jardin del Turia is bustling and noisy. There are cafés and bars, car workshops and petrol stations, supermarkets, shops and a busy main road skirting the old riverbed. Buses and taxis race to the east and west.  

A short walk to the north, however, perhaps only as far as the eastern part of Calle Malaga, and the area starts to feel a little more peaceful. Crossing palm-lined Calle Reus and then the lines of the Tranvia, calm descends, at least by Valencian standards.

Plaza Covadonga heading north into Tormos.

The traffic dashing towards the riverbed on Avenida Constitucion may occasionally try to cut through the calm, but wandering through Plaza Covadonga towards our apartment, all is quiet.

Having said this, we are only occasional residents here. We have yet to properly experience a major festival or celebration in the barrio. There's no way it can be this quiet all the time, not in a city that has a deeply passionate relationship with fireworks.

Once in Tormos, I’m reminded of what we wanted from a Valencian home.

We wanted Valencia, not a generic holiday experience with chips. We wanted to be part of the barrio. We hope (eventually) to sit down at the café on the corner and at least be acknowledged as “vecinos”, if not actually warmly embraced.

Although warm embraces are very much a Spanish thing.

We want to be surrounded by living, working, shopping, eating, sleeping, arguing, laughing Valencianos, going about their day-to-day lives. With their little dogs. We want to chat with our neighbours around the benches at the end of the street in the evenings. We want to buy in their shops, eat and drink in their bars, wander in their parks, wait at their tram-stops.

Part of the magnificent (but strangely much-maligned)
port area of Valencia - La Marina Real Juan Carlos I.
Just a tram-ride away.

And we want to make all of these things our own as well.

And the wonderful thing is, we can go into the beautiful historic centre, or the enigmatic Barrio del Carmen, or to the wonderful beach and port areas when we want to. 

Don't get me wrong here. We’ve had blissful, happy, sun-drenched family, and "just the two of us" holidays in beautiful resorts all over Europe. There’s a place for all of that. But we’re not on holiday now, at least not like that.  

It’s our home, although not as often as we would like just yet.  

Tormos feels right for us.

On the way to the centre every morning.

The Bus Turistic doesn’t come here. The tourist horses and carriages clop down our street around 10 each morning, but they’re on their way to the centre, and don’t give too many rides around Tormos. The walking tours race after their umbrella-waving guides only 2km to the south, but they’re a world away when we’re in Tormos. 

It’s easy to love all of Valencia, but even easier when a small part of it feels like home.

Nuestros vecinos

Our neighbours are going to be very important to us. One of the things we liked about the building when we viewed the apartment, was that most are owner-occupiers. To us, this implied that they would care about the building and their neighbours.

We were also encouraged by the fact that we would be among regular Valencians when we were there.

OK, we’ll be bucking the owner-occupier trend by renting the place out some of the time, but we are very keen to do this responsibly, and to be a presence as much as possible. Getting to know the community is important to us.

To this end, I wrote a letter (in both English and Spanish) to our new neighbours to introduce ourselves. I put a copy in every mailbox in the lobby, thinking this would be a nice gesture, and might prevent us being perceived only as the “guiris” who had moved in on the 4^th floor.

Nobody replied, and I quickly realised that it wouldn’t be the Spanish way to reply to such a letter. Everything (particularly with friends and neighbours) is about conversation and getting together. It's about talking as much (and as quickly) as possible, as if they're going to run out of time to say all the things they have to say. If there’s a more gregarious race on earth, I’d be interested to hear about it.

So in our 2 week-long stays so far, we’ve begun to encounter the neighbours:

A very pleasant elderly-ish couple live next door. He dons a rather stylish white trilby hat when he goes out. He also sleeps on a chair in his open doorway on hot afternoons, when the breeze from the open staircase windows cools the air. Haven’t seen too much of his wife yet, but is it her that smokes in the lift? They have a sweet little dog that comes to see us when the apartment doors are left open on a hot day, so it’s a slight concern that we might lock it in our place one day when we go out. It has to be said that this is a very quiet canine neighbour, which is a bonus. Our relationship with these particular neighbours is the most developed. I’ve paid appropriate attention the dog, addressed it as “perrito” (as I don’t know its name yet) and greeted the male half of the couple a number of times, both inside the building and out. He parks himself on a seat in the street when it's cooler in the mornings. Complete with cigar, white trilby and little dog.

A good start I reckon.

In the apartment next to pleasant/little dog/possibly lift-smoking neighbours is a very old man. We’ve exchanged “buenos dias” but no more than that. He seems nice. Most elderly Spanish men seem nice, in a grumpy kind of a way. Unless they’re holding out for the asking price on an apartment.

The enigmatic Valencian "anciano".

On the other side of us, in the 4^th and last apartment on our floor, is a family with a young child. This kid has a very healthy set of lungs, but there's no noise at night-time, so this isn’t a problem, and it's just part of the apartment-living thing. We’ve managed to ring their doorbell a number of times while trying to switch on the hallway light, so we’ve had the opportunity to say “hola”. And "lo siento", obviously.

Other than these folk, we have:

• Slightly scary lady, who had serious objections to some of my delivery guys leaving the lift door open. When I apologised, she slipped effortlessly into friendly conversation about the blazing hot weather, and suggested that it probably won’t be like this in England. Damn right vecina, that’s why we’re in Valencia. She seems to be the building superintendent and cleaner rolled into one, and therefore a very important person, I kid you not.

• 40-something guy who very kindly offered to help me up 4 floors with a very large sofa the very first time we met. Fortunately, there were 2 big hombres from Corte Inglés already limbering up to do the job, but it was a very kind, typically Valencian gesture.

The Barrio. Full of regular Valencians,
and the occasional "guiri".

• 30-something lady who seemed slightly stressed and in a hurry at our first and only time of meeting. Possibly not Spanish.

• Well-dressed young teenage chap, who is clearly tasked with walking the (small) dog* at all hours of the day and night. Very polite.

• Somebody that smokes in the lift. May or may not be white trilby/little dog owner’s wife.

We seem to be blessed with a reasonably quiet building and barrio. This is unusual (and lucky) in a city that loves being noisy.

So many new relationships to build and nurture. The first community meeting I/we attend should be interesting, with my entry-level Spanish. All part of the experience.

*I think they've probably all got a small dog. I think everybody has.