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. 

Agents and allen-keys

We holidayed on the Costa del Sol in June/July 2016, as we had for the previous 5 or 6 years. La Cala de Mijas is a nice place to holiday, and only in the last 2 years has it started to feel a little like a British enclave. Some chap from TOWIE has bought a restaurant there, and pretends it's in Marbella.

La Cala de Mijas. We hope it can cling on to its Andalucian charm.

We rent a nice little atico for 2 weeks, wander down to our favourite chiringuito, and idly while away the days with good books, good food and vibrant Spanish beach-life going on all around us. I have a great deal of time for La Cala and its charms, but in the Summer of 2016, I have to admit to my thoughts being 700km to the north-east much of the time.

Valencia was on my mind.

We were back at the end of August. It's a very hot city at that time of year. The old boy in an apartment opposite ours sits on his balcony in just his underpants until late at night. Perhaps he thinks nobody can see him. Or perhaps he just doesn't care.

Anyway, it's a bit too hot to be wielding the dreaded allen key. We had pre-ordered what can only be described as a shit-load of furniture from a well-known Scandinavian furniture store, and arranged for 2 very nice English fellas from Javea to deliver it to us, and build the difficult bits, new bed included.

But this still left a lot of allen-keying to do. And it was hot. And we don't have aircon yet.

We got it done, there were no arguments and not too much frustration, and as a result we have nice furniture. We also arranged for 2 very nice Spanish fellas from a local church to come and take away some furniture the vendor had left behind, that we didn't want. Unemployment remains high in Spain, and people need this stuff... churches use donations like this to help them.

So far, so good.

One thing I've had to do is shake off the protective feelings I have for the apartment, and realise that it needs to be a source of income, as well as a home. I'll need to let strangers in and allow them to make themselves comfortable when we're not there (for a fee). I'll also need to get someone to manage this for me.

Having arranged to meet a very nice self-employed young guy, who had set himself up as a letting agent for owners using Airbnb, I decided that this wasn't the route I wanted to go down. Airbnb isn't earning the best reputation in Barcelona and other places due to rowdy groups of renters upsetting neighbours. Our neighbours seem nice, and I have no wish to upset them for a profit.

I met with a business that manages short-term rentals to expats & professionals. The rentals they secure should allow space for plenty of use for ourselves, and they will then fill any remaining gaps with visitors for the big festivals such as Fallas. There is still a little way to go in establishing next steps in this relationship, but the agreement is signed, and I already know that they fit the Valencian model of friendly, helpful and easy to get on with.

We're now looking forward to being back in Valencia on December 26th. We'll have a few last things to sort before rental begins in 2017 ("wifi is the new hot water") and we'll enjoy a Valencian Nochevieja with our 12 grapes and a little cava.

Soy el dueño

The purchase was complete by the end of February 2016.

My abogada (who we already love) said that it could happen very quickly, but we thought we had seen enough of Spain to know how things usually happen very slowly. Not in this case.

The week after Easter 2016 was the first time we actually got to stay in the apartment. Other than a slight detour to collect our keys, it was straight to our Valencian home from the airport. Great feeling.

We were delighted to be able to catch the Easter Sunday parade in the Cabañal district on the first day of that visit. These Easter parades are one of those Valencian events that have you wondering how they get the time to organise the whole thing, particularly straight after Fallas. This parade is enormous, around 2hrs of marching church groups, brotherhoods and bands, from the old to babes in arms, all in full biblical-themed dress or full uniform. The parades prior to Easter Sunday are obviously more sombre, but Easter Sunday is a celebration. The pointy hats are off to denote the resurrection, and the girls in the parade will throw you a flower if you plead with a well-timed shout of "guapa!!".

The pointed hats are off for Easter Sunday. The pic doesn't do the spectacle
any favours, but the Easter Parades in Cabañal are something special

But we had to get down to the business of furnishing an apartment.

My Spanish is what you might call a work in progress, but I couldn't buy furniture in English. The main purchase was to be a large corner-type sofa with a chaise section, that quietly whispers "siesta" to you every time you pass. 

Despite my stuttering Castellano, the staff in Corte Inglés and myself seemed to understand each other that Easter Monday. Delivery was arranged for the following Thursday.

Again, that feeling of too good to be true. But all was well, the sofa duly arrived, and we were up and running with the process of furnishing the place. That would prove to be a ongoing work in progress, the way these things are.

Avenida Portugal in Tormos on a bright, clean Valencian morning,
just around the corner from our apartment. There's a lot to like about Tormos.

We also had to start our relationship with Tormos, our chosen Barrio in the district of La Zaidia. It soon became apparent that there's a lot to like about Tormos. Parks, healthcare, sports facilities, shops, supermarkets, restaurants, bars, cafés. A short walk to the Tranvia... part of Metrovalencia. Only a slightly longer walk to the fantastic Turia riverbed park, and the old city on the other side. Charming things happen among the day-to-day Valencian life... like the horses and carriages that give the tourists a ride in town, clopping down our street on their way to work.

Ahora Tormos es mi barrio, no?

When you know, you know you know.

They say that you just know when it's the one for you.

We did with our current house in Harrogate. There was an (almost unspoken) agreement that it was right.

It was the same with the Tormos apartment. We viewed, the refurb was a good job, it had a decent balcony, it had 3 bedrooms, and neither the kitchen or bathroom needed any work. The area is what we had wanted right from the start.

Following a survey by our very likeable new architect/surveyor friend, the offer went in. Around the same percentage of the asking price as with an unsuccessful offer we had made on another apartment nearby.

Café Sant Jaume, and some of the barrio's famous street art.

So later that evening, we're at our favourite café in the Barrio del Carmen: Café Sant Jaume, sitting outside with a caña despite the time of year. My phone rings. It's our lovely property sourcing agent.

Offer accepted.

Too good to be true? Time will tell, but it's a big step forward (if not absolutely final). This is suddenly moving very fast.

So another trip to the notario. He's pleased that the previous purchase fell through, as I have to pay to cancel the previous power of attorney, and pay again to have another prepared. He suggests that we "don't buy this house also, then come back and pay more". To some, this could make him appear to be an overpaid, expensive-suited member of the Valencian monied elite, but he's actually quite a nice guy, and we found it funny.

You may remember that I mentioned setbacks? A further call from our property agent the next evening (this time we're at Restaurante San Miguel) delivered bad news. The apparently random way that Valencian real estate agents do business reveals that our particular character wants commission from not only the seller, but the buyer also.

This adds a hefty chunk of € to the bill, and threatens to put the thing out of reach. The irony is that the agent at the next desk will most likely work in a completely different way. Cue discussions around the theme of jacking it in and heading for Doncaster Races.

But... I'm not letting this go at this stage. Negotiations get underway, and we forge ahead. Early the next morning, I race across town to the bank, withdraw the deposit in cash, and present this at the real estate agent. 

This is the only way you can pay a deposit for a house purchase in Valencia. Cash.

Yep. Part of its charm.

Muy terco

The real estate agent told us that the Puebla del Duc property was owned by a whole family. It's common for property to be retained and handed down within families in Spain, so it was unusual for such a property to be put on the market.

It seemed from what the agent told us, that all of the family agreed to accept our offer.

Except one.

We speculated that this was "un anciano", an elderly family member holding out for the full asking price. The agent suggested that we were probably right. He wasn't going to budge.

It's worth saying at this point, that if you're planning on buying a property in Valencia (or anywhere in Spain/The World) that there will be setbacks, there will be times when you might feel like it's not worth it. You might feel like putting the money on a horse in the 3.30 at Doncaster instead.

Don't go to the races. Stick with it if you really want it.

Disappointed yes, but not deterred. We had a fabulous few days in Malaga just before Christmas 2015... lunch in the sunshine on December 21st... and then used the Christmas holiday back in rain-soaked Yorkshire to plan our return.

The smart Muelle Uno area of Malaga port. Another dark, grey December day.

The process was repeated, and we set up a second viewing week in mid-February 2016.

This is an exciting time in Valencia... the city is buzzing with excitement for the biggest festival of the year - Fallas. More of this later, but the exciting and culturally entrenched lead-up to its 19th March climax would be very much in the minds of all Valencians.

An apartment in the barrio of Tormos had repeatedly come up in searches. It looked perfect for us. Recently refurbished, only partly furnished and ready for us to make our own.
 
Sadly, it was well outside our modest budget, and didn't seem realistic.

We viewed several other apartments. We experienced some misleading real estate information, saw some great potential... but with too much work required. We heard that properties on our list had sold. Our lovely property-finder lady graciously ignored one or two on our list also. She knew they weren't right.

Then we viewed the Tormos apartment that was outside the budget.

Because we had to.

Estoy buscando un piso

The viewings begin.

The three of us (myself, my wife, property sourcing agent) viewed several apartments in La Zaidia with various real estate agents. Their demeanour ranged from enthusiastic/pushy right through to "just can't be arsed today"... and everything in between.

The elegant surroundings of the Cafeteria La Nau.
When you need a little peace in a busy city.

This often depends on the time of day in Valencia... afternoon appointments can be somewhat lacking in energy. The Spanish/Valencian work ethic can take a little getting used to, but it's no less valid because of that. Our unexplained Northern-European desire to work at 100mph for 40-plus hours per week isn't a thing here. This is one of its charms.

Initial viewings were discouraging. Noisy neighbours' dogs, no outside space, needs total refurb, phone box-sized bathrooms, and so on. November's a good time to view property in a place like Valencia. You're less likely to be seduced by the weather, and it makes a place more honest somehow.

Eventually, walking into the living room of a second-floor apartment on Calle Puebla del Duc, the space felt right. The place needed a few things doing, but we wanted it, and reckoned we'd find the money for new windows. Once again, Valencian generosity and kindness of spirit meant that a local architect friend of our agent had a good look at the place for us and confirmed that it was a realistic potential purchase.

The offer went in... less than 90% of asking price.

We returned to the UK to await the owners' response, but not before handing power of attorney (slightly scary) to my abogada so that she could complete the purchase for me. As a result, I spent quite a lot of my birthday in 2015 in a Spanish notario's office dealing with the tangled web of intrigue that is the Spanish legal system.

My wife and I had decided that I would purchase the property in my name only... needing only one set of documents seemed to guarantee an easier process. But both the Notario and Spanish law were finding this difficult to understand. This is never done in Spain, and property will always be in the name of a married couple or whole family.

We all got our heads around it eventually. I suspect the notario was ready for his lunch and eventually put his signature to the thing. I placed my trust (and my bank account) in the hands of my abogada, had a last long paella lunch and headed back to the UK.

Sin barreras

A view of the city from an atico bar close to Plaza Ayuntamiento.
The excitement comes from the knowledge that there's so much to experience.

I think my strong desire to try to be part of the city (although always an "extranjero" of course) helped me see past the barriers that remained.

Barrier #4 was surpassed by enthusiasm, but Barrier #5 needed to be resolved. I needed expert local help here, and I didn't need to pretend that I was an expert on either the city or it's property market.

From a good search and a few solid testimonials, I contacted a property sourcing agent in the city. From the start, I was encouraged by her, and filled with confidence. The costs of a purchase in Valencia were detailed up front, and the process made clear.

No excuses now, this was going to happen. In a way, it was made easier because I kept the bigger picture in my mind... it's about enjoying and getting to know the city and the community. The property is just a vehicle for this, so let's not get too uptight about it.

Following weeks of online property searching, countless emails with the agent and the compilation of a viewing list, a week in November 2015 was set as our "viewing trip". New Spanish bank account opened, Spanish "abogada" met and appointed... properties to view!

The relationship develops

I wanted my own place in Valencia.

Easy to say, easy to daydream about. Harder to achieve.

Several barriers to this existed following that "tipping point" visit to Valencia back in 2013. I may or may not have had all of the following, which are required to achieve the stated objective:

1. Time
2. Money
3. The support of family and friends
4. The courage to take the plunge
5. The knowledge of what was involved

As a consequence, 2014 was spent dithering. Barrier #2 was removed (due to sad but inevitable circumstances) but we continued to holiday on the Costa del Sol (great place to holiday... couldn't live there) and almost avoid the entire Valencia thing.

The delightful traditional Valencian costumes that are 
regularly seen on special occasions and fiestas.
Pictured next to the Torres Serranos, close to the La Zaidia district.

The elegant end of Calle Visitacion, where La Saidia
meets the magnificent Jardin del Turia riverbed park.

I had a Valencian friend from work days, and my wife and myself had continued to meet with her whenever we were in the city. Having moved out to the plains of Castile La Mancha with her new family, she offered the nice apartment she had left behind for us to use whenever we were in Valencia. Typical Valencian generosity.

Those barriers were disappearing.

The apartment is in the La Zaidia district, immediately north of the city centre. We used it as a base for a further holiday-type visit, but it was slowly but surely becoming clear that La Zaidia felt a little bit like home.

It seemed to me that only Barriers #4 and #5 remained.

First post!

So... my first post, on my first ever Blog. Here goes.

It seems appropriate to start this on October 9th, as Valencians celebrate Dia de la Communidad Valenciana. Feliz Dia a todos!

I wanted to start this blog as a kind of catharsis, a release of the frustration... anxiety even, that I experience when I'm not actually in Valencia, España.

I discovered Valencia in 2007. My job at the time involved organising and directing photo shoots for catalogue fashion, and we chose Valencia (very successfully) as our location on the recommendation of colleagues and a local production specialist. Since that time, I have visited on further work trips, and had great holidays in Valencia with my wife and family.

Following a fantastic few days in the city with my wife in 2013, I surprised myself by being genuinely upset to leave and come home to Harrogate UK. I love Harrogate and Yorkshire, but it was clear that Valencia had got under my skin. It was time to start planning a more permanent relationship with Spain's 3rd city.

The Astoria Palace Hotel and Plaza de Rodrigo Botet.
Memories of the visit that convinced me Valencia was a place I wanted to be.