Valencia - Estaba pensando en ti todo el tiempo...

Valencia, I let you get under my skin. I fell for you like a blind roofer. I made a commitment to you, and then I just went and spent a week with Malaga.  

I promise I was thinking of you the whole time.

The truth is, we have a tenant in our Valencia apartment. We’d like to be in Valencia for as much of the time as possible, but it’s an oddly frustrating (and unnecessarily expensive) experience when we are there, but unable to stay in our own home.

And before I start, a small disclaimer. I was going to try to write a blog post about Malaga without comparing it to Valencia. I abandoned this notion for 2 reasons:

1. The blog in its entirety is about Valencia, so comparisons to another city are therefore valid

2. I can’t help comparing almost everywhere I go to Valencia

Malaga City and the Sierra de Mijas beyond.
A beautiful November day.

So we chose Malaga for our autumn visit to Spain. It’s a little smaller than Valencia, (population around 600,000 to Valencia’s 800,000) and in common with Valencia, it’s very easy to get around. We know Malaga reasonably well from past visits, and we’ve stayed in the city itself, as well as sometimes fleeing west to the Costa del Sol resorts with everyone else.

I first visited Malaga city (for my job) in around 2005, and it had a slightly tatty, grubby feel to it… edgy and slightly unsafe perhaps, but with that raw Anadalusian chispa that’s so attractive.

What has happened in the intervening years is miraculous. The streets are clean, the restaurants (tourist-trap and otherwise) are mostly excellent. The museums and culture are vibrant and well-presented. The relatively new Muelle Uno and port and beach areas are smart and engagingly cosmopolitan. The weather is unfeasibly good in November. There are people on the beach.

Having hopefully set the scene, I feel the need to continue this post under sub-headings as follows: 

Las Banderas 

Flags are important and symbolic in Spain… always have been. In Malaga, 99.9% of flags you see (and there are a lot fluttering from balconies and restaurant terraces) are the familiar Spanish national flag, "La Rojigualda". This flag has represented many things in the past (not all of them good) but its current symbolism amounts to a demonstration of Spanish unity, and it’s clear where the huge majority of Los Malagueños stand on this. They want to be part of a unified Spain. They like being Andalusian, and you’ll see the green and white of Andalusia occasionally, but there is no real Andalusian separatist movement.

Compare this to Valencia, where you’ll see the “Real Senyera de Valencia” probably more than the Spanish flag. This is largely a matter of regional and cultural pride and belonging. While separatist factions exist, there is pride in being Valencian and Spanish, and the situation further north is not replicated in Communidad Valenciana.

I don’t want to get into the situation in Catalonia. There will be no political content in this blog, and in any case, it makes me sad. What made me happy in Malaga is that there was a unanimous demonstration of what Los Malagueños believed in, and that was that. 

Los Malagueños 

If a Valenciano wants to say something/tell you something/criticize something/praise something, they will do so in no uncertain terms, and you will be left in no doubt as regards the full and detailed content of their feelings on the matter. They are incredibly and engagingly forward in all things, and they don’t need any encouragement in this. I felt that Los Malagueños tended to prefer some eye-rolling, tutting perhaps, showing their feelings and frustrations without the outlet of explanation or demonstration. Perhaps this is the source of the fiery Andalusian spirit that we occasionally hear about… no doubt the venting has to happen eventually! 

The taxi driver who didn’t know the street I wanted was obviously enraged by this affront to her professional pride (I suspect she was actually grinding her teeth as we waited in traffic near El Corte Inglés) but it just came out as anger and frustration, rather than a more open and honest attempt to confront the problem.

None of this is criticism. I like Los Malagueños… they seem to like and care about what they do, from the restaurant owner lovingly explaining his food and philosophy at length, right down to the deliberately brusque waitress banging down plates as part of her “fiery Andalusian" act. In common with Valencians, they know how to accommodate visitors (however ignorant) and they are particularly good at having fun. There's a twinkle in the eye alright... la chispa is here, alive and well.

The iconic view from the Parador de Gibralfaro.

La Cuidad de Malaga

Muelle Uno seen from the Castillo Gibralfaro path.

This blog isn’t a guide or any kind of promotion, but you must visit Malaga. It has genuine, through-the-ages history. It’s been cleaned up but not sanitized. The old town is beautiful and can be peaceful, and blends with the commercial city centre relatively tastefully. Muelle Uno and La Malagueta beach are sparkling and welcoming and cosmopolitan and stylish. 

Go up to the Parador and the Castillo de Gibralfaro. It’s worth it just for the view. It’s a view that you’ll see on every website and in every guide book, but there’s no substitute for actually being up there. Castillo Gibralfaro and the Alcazaba fortress must be explored, and they reek of Malaga’s long history. Red squirrels dart among the ancient buildings, still inexplicably startled by visitors who have been coming there for centuries. 

In the Picasso Museum, try to tune out the endless squeak of comfortable shoes and consider the incredible talent of a virtuoso artist whose equal we will probably never see again.

We stayed a little out of the centre, in a small but neat apartment just west of the river. A solid, regular area of the city that very few tourists would venture into, but that felt very safe, in common with our little part of Valencia. There is no fiery Andalusian act here… people are busy living, eating, shopping and getting around. You feel that it’s common for people in areas such as this to live largely within their barrio. They have all the shops, pharmacies, amenities, schools and cafés that they need. A trip to the city centre may be rare, perhaps only for a special occasion.

I’m going to use the hideous phrase: “you a get real feeling of community here”. I’m really sorry, but I don’t have any other way of describing it.

And another thing, a little note to Los Valencianos. Can you pick up after your dogs as well as Los Malagueños do?

Mercado Municipal de Salamanca.
You little gem.

Just over the river towards the centre was an amazing little building with the sign: “Mercado Muncipal de Salamanca”. I say little, as there was an irresistible comparison to the imposing Mercado Colon in Valencia, but this one is much smaller. We passed several times when the building was clearly closed and silent, but we prayed that it was still used as a market and wasn’t about to be converted into a row of shops selling dream-catchers and ceramic “toros”. 

We weren’t disappointed. We went in on a busy Thursday morning, and were delighted to see stalls of still-moving crabs, butchers making chistorras and neat piles of the incredible produce that never cease to amaze across Spain. Un anciano outside had pulled the short straw, and was gutting and cleaning little anchovies from a pile of thousands. It was an absolute delight that this was still a local market, doing the job that it was intended to do.

It could do with a facelift, but if anyone comes near the place with a sign saying "Regalos Artesanales" there’ll have to be a grown-up conversation about why they need to make themselves scarce. 

It’s not all good 

I first visited Plaza de la Merced, just north of the old town, for my job in around 2005. It was good for a photo shoot location, but it was dirty, smelly and required us to hire security to avoid us being relieved of expensive items of photography equipment. Not pretty.

Plaza de la Merced.
A little of whatever elegance remains.

On a subsequent visit, it had been transformed. The square was clean and bright, the seated statue of Picasso was a constant magnet for amusing holiday snaps. The stylish bars and restaurants lining one side were frequented by the more discerning tourist, and the suited office workers enjoying their “afterwork” Larios y tonicas in the evening sunshine.

But the cycle continues. There is a Starbucks here now, and an Irish Bar. The tables at the front of this strip of restaurants are frequented by the kind of tourists who are attracted by "happy hours". The lesser-spotted pan-European dickhead also hovers here (you know the one I mean) treating visitors to fictional stories of their amazing "when I ran a bar in Oslo" achievements in exchange for another free beer. Avoid these people at all costs for the sake of your own sanity.

But like I say, it’s cyclical. The drug users will be back soon, and the square will be dark and dangerous and it will stink once again until the city gives it the big clean-up.

Just a side note, but an important one. A message to the likes of Starbucks, Costa, Kentucky Fried Chicken, McDonald’s and Burger King… Hueles a mierda. You’re in the process of degrading these beautiful cities. You probably won't see this, but I hope someone stops you.

Sea Cloud II in the Puerto de Malaga, with a backdrop of the city.

On our last day, a beautiful square-rigger called Sea Cloud II slid into the port as we were about to set off on a catamaran trip around the bay. She’s apparently a relatively modern vessel, but they’ve done a great job of making her seem authentic. My post-lunch whimsy imagined Hemingway aboard (Ernest, not Wayne) returning from an African hunting trip in time for bullfighting season at the Plaza de Toros, just a stone’s throw away. 

In reality, it’s not bullfighting season, and Sea Cloud II caters for the wealthier end of the luxury cruise market. It was just a little sequence of events in my head induced by 2 cold bottles of San Miguel.

But if you must cruise, it seems

Sorry Mr. Hemingway, the stalls are empty today.

far preferable to the seemingly soulless floating hotels that rock up at the other end of the harbor and bus their punters into the city so that they can run around after guides holding up umbrellas.

That evening, a great meal at Meson de Cervantes (please go there!) ended a great week in Malaga. The waitress high-fived us as we left because we'd liked it so much. 

I feel like I got to know her a bit better (that's Malaga, not the waitress). 

Lo siento Valencia. Volvere pronto.

Somnoliento - Un agosto valenciano

On his first sad departure from Spain, Laure Lee wrote a piece of prose that I often read:

“I saw again, as I lost them, the great gold plains, the arid and mystical distances, where the sun rose up like a butcher each morning and left curtains of blood each night. I could hear the talk, the cries, the Spanish-Arabic voices pitched to carry from Sierra to Sierra; the trickling sound of guitars dropping like water on water, eroding the long boredom of afternoons; and the songs, metallic, hatcheting the ear, honed with folorn and unattainable lusts; the strangled poetry of the boys, the choked chastity of the girls, and the orgasmic outbursts of tethered beasts.”

I have often encountered the “long boredom of the afternoons” in Spain, and Lee’s few simple words sum up the feelings I have often had for the soporific nature of afternoons in Valencia/Spain, particularly in the summer. His words might indeed describe August as a whole… still anathema to the Anglosajón mentality where the need for constant activity is only shaken off after time. 

The answer to this is la playa.

In August, you could be forgiven for thinking that the city has removed itself to the city’s beaches. Shops and restaurants throughout the city display notices telling customers they’ll be back in early September. The banks and the Ayuntamiento may be “open”, but you won’t get an answer to your email, or even to your attempts to pay your “IBI” tax. August is inactive. Soporific.

Looking north towards Patacona from
Playa Cabañal. That feeling of space.

As well as the Valencians, there are visitors from all over the world on Playas Las Arenas, Cabañal, Malvarrosa and Patacona. These beaches would be packed and sweltering if it wasn’t for their size. 

So we head the beach, via our local Lidl (for the elements that make up an unfeasibly cheap beach picnic) and the tranvia. 

On a hot August day, Playa Cabañal is a sublime place to be. The saying “A day on a beach is never wasted” was never more relevant.

The sunbed guy is a lovely guy. The (idly observed) first impression is that he randomly flits around, casually taking money from semi-comatose beach dwellers, so that they can have comfort and shade if they want it. A small effort to observe a little closer reveals that he is from Africa, and speaks Spanish and English fluently. He can converse in French, Italian, German and Portugese. He works 12 hours a day in peak season. 

Just saying.

Ernest Hemingway wrote: "For one person who likes Spain there are a dozen who prefer books on her.”

Personally, I favour the country over the books, but as a little homage to this, I read a couple more of Hemingway’s books on this visit. We also enjoyed (como siempre) paella in his favourite restaurant on Paseo Neptuno. That Sunday delight never diminishes. Hemingway’s conversational style sits well with the buzz that encompasses La Pepica throughout a long Sunday lunchtime. After this, you really appreciate how lucky you are to have a comfortable apartment to retire to. Paella Valenciana and all of it’s accompaniments is followed by sleep. That’s how that works.

Following a sweltering, humid Sunday and Monday, the weather broke with a spectacular thunderstorm on the Tuesday morning. We enjoy a good storm that clears the air… but not necessarily at 4.30am.

The elegant architecture around
Calle de Cirilo Amorós

The couple of damp days that followed this were a blessing in disguise. We needed to shop for furniture and other things for the apartment, and the non-beachy weather helped us make this happen.

Calle de Cirilo Amorós is a long street that runs from the Turia riverbed park opposite the Puente del Mar at its eastern end, almost to the Plaza de Toros at its western end. Despite our previously successful experiences with the retail magnificence of El Corte Inglés, we wanted this little shopping jaunt to be a little different, perhaps even a little more Valencian. Cirilo Amorós delivers nicer, smaller, more independent furniture and homewares shops, and it was good to explore a little more.

For us, successful shopping in Valenca has almost always ended with fitting heavy and arkward items into a taxi to get them back to the apartment. This was no exception, and one taxi even turned us down. I’m still sure it would all have fitted in. 

Delighted with our purchases (getting hold of an Acapulco chair had become an unhealthy obsession) we headed back to the beach

as the good (but slightly cooler) weather returned for our last few days. And evenings spent at old town cafés with dobles and quality tapas will never got old.

The search is finally over.

The tourist trap areas in the old town are changing. Some bars have removed outside tables, possibly because of noise complaints. I believe the nature of tourism is changing in Valencia in a good way. For whatever reason, there were signs of money-making without consideration, mass tourism threatened itself on a city that doesn’t deserve it. Boundaries were being pushed. But now, a sense of responsibility, decorum even, is returning. I so hope it will keep the stag parties away. I’ve nothing against them, but there are plenty of more appropriate places... and not far away!

The regular pilgrimage to Casa Montaña yielded yet more of its delights. A walk through Cabañal from the port, a warm welcome, and tapas made with the best ingredients from the whole of Spain. Just delightful.

We seem to be served by the same waitress every time we go. She is the essential hostess, and enhances the good experience. She’s also amused by my dreadful Spanish, so it’s a win-win in many ways.

Friday 1st September, and the city appears to start coming back to life. A team appear and begin renovations on the façade opposite ours. People are busy again, and it changes the city with almost immediate effect... but it's refreshing. Things will be back to "normal" on Monday, but we’ll be back in the UK by then, enjoying the riches of autumn in North Yorkshire.

The apartment is left behind for our renters (as yet unspecified) to enjoy. We may not be back until Spring 2018, but who knows?

We look forward to a visit to Malaga in October/November, and the promise of winter sunshine in a revitalized and fun city.

Semana Santa 2017 y los turistas reacios

We had planned a 10-day visit to amazing Valencia for Semana Santa 2017 long before we had a tenant. So now we had a tenant, and flights to VLC. So we rented a small (tiny) studio apartment in the old town, planned what we would buy for our own apartment, decided (assumed a little bit, to be fair) that we would take it round by arrangement with our tenant, and leave it in the spare room without ceremony. 

“The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men

Gang aft agley” 

Taken from a table at one of our regular stops...
Café Lisboa, Plaza Doctor Collado.

That Robert Burns knew a thing or two.

Via our agent, we heard that the tenant had family visiting for Easter, and would prefer to remain entirely undisturbed. We were gently advised to agree to this.

Fair enough, but frustrating.

To be in the same city as the apartment, and to be unable to take our planned next steps in improving the place simply annoyed me, certainly for a day or two. We went round to get the mail. From the lobby only, didn’t even get in the lift.

This didn’t really help, and it was mostly telepizza flyers and bills. And most of those were for previous owners. One bill keeps coming back, still with my handwriting on it: no en esta dirección. Binned it this time.

Retail therapy didn’t really help either. In any case, our lovely Irish budget airline is pretty harsh on passengers who over-indulge in this supposed cure for the frustrations of life.

And then you have a word with yourself, don’t you?

Be a tourist... and take tourist pictures.
The Basilica de la Virgen de los Desamparados
is beautiful in the spring sunshine

Not only are you lucky enough to own an apartment in one of Europe’s most beautiful cities, you have a tenant staying in this apartment who is paying you pretty well for the privilege. You also have 10 days to enjoy a city of which (by your own admittance) you have only really scratched the surface. You have also rented an apartment (albeit a tiny one) that is perfectly positioned in the heart of the old town. You don’t need to set an alarm, El Micalet will wake you at 8.

Get over yourself, and embrace tourism once again.

(OK, but I still don’t like Calle Micalet. Silver people standing very still for money, and McDonalds at the end. Joder). 

So we did embrace it. We’d had our usual long, delicious paella Valenciana lunch on our first Sunday and repeated this on Easter Sunday after the parade (more on this later). If you’re ever going to say that you know the city and it’s history and culture, there were museums and galleries to be visited. There are parks and gardens that are impossibly peaceful havens in the middle of an endearingly noisy city. There is a beach and port area that offers great food and drink, great sunbathing, great swimming, great walking, great kite-flying, great sports…

But like I’ve said before, this isn’t a guide.

Delightful details... a door knocker in La Xerea.

We walked to the Viveros Gardens, crossing the Jardin del Turia riverbed park from Plaza del Temple at the edge of the Xerea district to the Museo de Bellas Artes (yet to be visited). Jardines del Viveros are not only a peaceful semi-formal garden, a haven for a stroll, for lunch in the shade, to feed the ducks and so on. They are a reminder for me of one of the things I admire about Valencia… they’re always working to improve it. A gang of gardeners working around a fountain, a team putting up a stage for a concert (probably free) and constant attention paid to public areas designed to enhance the experience. They work to provide the quality of life that the city overflows with. There’s an aviary and a centre for the study and preservation of trees. There's a kids' go-kart track. There are the ruins of the former Royal Palace. There’s a café bar, obviously. I'm told that even the prison has a café bar for visitors, and I wouldn't be surprised.

So now we know the Jardines del Viveros, I hope it becomes a regular venue. It's not that far from home, after all.

Continuing the parks and gardens theme, we walked through the Torres de Quart on the western edge of the Barrio del Carmen, crossed the road and kept going, into an area never previously visited. A little further along Calle de Quart, we arrived at the entrance to the Botanical Gardens. I think I was unconsciously heading for this, but I’m not sure. We paid the nominal entry fee and stepped into a tranquil, shady mixture of science and nature. This garden is essentially part of the University, so it’s a place for science and study that doubles as another retreat from the rattle and shriek and buzz of the city.

Blossom-covered beds in El Jardin Botanico.

I learned some new things about the city on this visit.

The first is that there are places in Valencia where you can experience a real sense of calm. The Jardin del Turia riverbed park is magnificent, but it doesn't qualify as calm. El Jardín Botánico and the Jardines del Viveros are where to find calm.

The second is that there are places in Valencia where you can experience a real sense of space. From the irresistibly charismatic but enclosing streets of the Barrio del Carmen, you can walk up to and through the Torres Serranos. From here, as you cross the road and walk onto the Puente de Serranos, the sense of space takes over. The old city sits behind you, fooling you at this point into thinking all is calm. The Iglesia de Salvador y Santa Monica sits at the other end of the bridge, with “our” La Saidia lying behind. It’s normally our route home after another sparkling day or another evening in the beguiling company of Valencia and the Valencians. It’s the sense of space that I feel most intensely here. You’re above the riverbed park, and you almost feel like you’re above the buildings, or at least that the soaring architecture of all kinds at both sides of the river holds itself at a respectful distance to preserve the space.

I get the same feeling (and this one’s a little out of left field) when getting off the tranvia at Marina Real, the end of the line on your metro trip to the marina or beach. The huge karting track and public space above the underground car park may not be visual delights, but they afford the same sense of space, keeping the restaurants and hotels fringing Playa las Arenas at the same respectful distance. Even the unattractive but imposing Hotel Las Arenas is far enough away at this point to remain inoffensive. Of course, the anticipation of a day on the beach and/or a paella lunch enhances the feeling that you’ve found the place where you really want to be!

The beach at Las Arenas, looking back to the hotels and
restaurants on Paseo Maritimo. Beautiful beach days in mid-April.

We managed 2 amazing beach days at Las Arenas. This still comes with a slight feeling of disbelief from 2 northern Europeans in mid-April. We followed our beach days with large, relaxed drinks at the comfortable, sun-drenched bars overlooking the marina.

We visited the Museo del Patriarca, housed in a beautiful building in the city centre, and loved a last-day visit to the Fallas museum following our regular pilgrimage to gaze at the City of Arts & Sciences. The Centro del Carmen is another beautiful (and free of charge) cultural centre with precious architecture and art.

One unexpectedly entertaining distraction was the Museum of Lead Soldiers in Calle Caballeros. We had passed on by many times, almost dismissing this as a venue of little interest, even a bit of a joke. Housed in a beautiful former palace, the Malferit Palace, it's actually a little gem (remember this is not a guide) and was a quirky way of passing an hour or two. Here, I saw 2 things I didn't expect to see on this visit to Valencia:

1. A Somalian pirate attack on a boat depicted in Playmobil figures.
2. A mythical orgy involving Fauns and other creatures depicted in tiny (but not too tiny to see what was going on) lead figures.
 
There were also quite a number of scenes from Spanish history, many of which involved Generalissimo Franco, which was a little surprising. That said, I hope his amazing city never stops surprising me. I don't think it will.

Museo del Patriarca.

One thing nagged at me, seeing the slight disrepair and unkempt nature of some of the historic buildings. Is the preservation of these places low on Mayor Joan Ribo’s list of priorities? He has been determined to add cycle lanes around the city, and this is a good thing, but has it diverted budget that might have been used to preserve this heritage and history? I don’t have answers, but it occurs to me that most tourists would pay more to visit these amazing places if asked, and the revenue appears to be much-needed.

The beautiful (and free of charge to visit)
Centro del Carmen. As well preserved as it could be?

Nearly got into politics there for a moment. Stop it right now.

We had seen the amazing parade on Domingo de Resurrección in 2016, just after we completed the purchase of our apartment. We watched from outside the police station at the end of Calle Reina with delight, as flowers were thrown by the hundreds of costumed women and girls to anyone who shouted “GUAPA!!” loud enough, while the never-ending marching bands ensured as much noise as possible was made, as they are Valencian.

This year, we wanted to see more parades, and see them from the places where the people of the Cabañal see them. We had an unexpected preview, as we witnessed a night-time blessing by one of the brotherhoods in full Easter regalia after we had eaten at the fabulous Bodega Casa Montaña one evening.

On Viernes Santo, in the early evening, we walked into Calle Reina from the same point where we had watched the previous year. Each apartment building had placed rows of chairs of every kind at the kerb so that the residents could witness the parade in relative comfort. There were people gathering in large numbers. Valencian flags and religious banners were draped from balconies, and the street cafés were packed. There was a buzz on Calle Reina, but this was Good Friday, and rather than a carnival atmosphere, the feeling was one of respectful anticipation. We found a place close to the Tarongers end of Calle Reina, and didn’t have to wait too long.

The sinister Viernes Santo costumes
of the Hermandades in Cabañal.

The 3 magnificent horses with uniformed riders that led the parade were skittish with big crowds lining the street on either side. They held their positions until all was ready, and began the slow march up the long street. They were followed (rather amusingly) by city employees with shovels and bin bags. After this, the brotherhoods came, some sinister in long cloaks and the iconic tall, pointed headgear that covers their faces.

Religious floats were steered up the street, mostly depicting the passion of Santo Christo, and women paraded in biblical costume, some men as Roman soldiers. Salome carried the head of John the Baptist on a plate. We have to assume it wasn't a real head. The Guardia Civil marched in full dress uniform (perhaps an attempt to apprehend that crazy woman carrying the severed head) their unique tricornio hats standing out among the biblical icons. All the while, people around us ceaselessly crunched sunflower seeds. I’m sure they have a significance at Easter, but I'm not sure what it is. In any case, everyone was at it, and the husks covered the pavement.

This parade lasts for several hours, and having had an experience that felt authentic and moving, surrounded by the good citizens of the Cabañal, we departed for La Cadena tranvia stop, feeling the anticipation of the Domingo de Resurrección parade to come.

Easter Sunday arrived, and we took the same route down Calle Reina as we had 2 days before. The chairs were out again. The small viewing stand for dignitaries was there again, and all the people were there again. But the atmosphere was radically different.

The Cabañal was full of joy. For the more religious amongst the crowd, Christ is risen. For everyone, there’s going to be a huge street parade. For many, it’s more than a chance to chat and drink a cold beer in the street before a long lunch. It's a celebration. Summer’s on the way, and the sun is shining on the crowds lining Calle Reina. Kids chased each other in the traffic-free street... their last chance for a few hours, as the street would belong to the parade very soon.

The flags and banners fluttered from the balconies, elderly ladies took the kerbside seats among peoples of all ages, as if they knew when the parade would start. Some of these ladies may well have seen 80 of these, so they should know. Some even more elderly ladies took their places on their balconies, complete with carers. Unlike Friday, there was almost tangible excitement, even among the men. Once he’s reached about 50, your average Spanish man doesn’t get outwardly excited about too much, but there were smiles and embraces and gesturing and laughter.

After armed police had moved up the street, scanning the crowds, the guy selling the Bob Esponja balloons disappeared, and the magnificent horses appeared once again to lead the parade. They seemed to respond to the lighter atmosphere, and the increased tempo of the march, and proudly led the way. The pointed headgear of the brotherhoods was taken off now, and carried – symbolic of the resurrection. Some of the men also carried babies, or helped to guide small children wearing tiny versions of their own uniforms. 

The lines of women and girls are the stars of this show, however. In among the countless marching bands and risen Christs (hands held upwards to show the stigmata) come these girls dressed as biblical characters, carrying armfuls of flowers. Shouts of “GUAPA!!” from the crowds beseech these girls to throw flowers their way. When the parading girls spot their family in the crowd, they break the parade and run over to give flowers and exchange kisses.

"GUAPA!! GUAPA!!"

If you don’t find this incredibly joyful, endearing and emotional, especially when mixed with the terrific atmosphere of the occasion, then you’re an emotional wasteland. I’m not known for outward displays of emotion, so I must have got something in my eye once or twice.

The parade goes on and on, and the colour, smiles and joy never get dull. The cafés and bars buzz, the owners and staff rush out in time to see members of their own families parade past, and perhaps to catch a carnation lovingly tossed towards them.

These parades are very special. In the context of the city, they are unique to the Cabañal district, which was separate from the city in fairly recent history. You can feel the tightness and closeness of the community at events like this, but you’re never made to feel unwelcome. That’s one of the amazing qualities of Valencian people.

Unmissable experience… back next year.

So lunch at La Marcelina, followed by a quiet Easter Monday, and time to reflect on the trip.

Slowly, my Spanish is improving. I gave directions to 2 Spanish visitors who wanted to find the Cuidad Viejo from the Avenida Navarro Reverter. I was rather proud of this, not necessarily because it was all sorted out in my 2nd language, but because I felt (just for a few moments) like a Valencian welcoming and helping visitors!

The smart end of town.
Calle de Pizarro close to Mercado Colon.

We explored the Barrio del Carmen a little more, and soaked up a little more of its charisma. We explored Ruzafa a little more, although I don't think we really get it yet. We explored Canovas/Gran Via a little more ("the posh end" as it's become known to us). We were tourists in the enviable position of having a good degree of prior knowledge of our destination.

And it was a visit with a real mixture of emotions, little reminders and some lessons.

I was reminded of the extraordinarily outgoing and convivial nature of Valencians. We were enjoying the excellent wine in a busy Cava del Negret one evening (as we often do) when a 30-something Valencian lady suddenly came and sat at our table with us. If someone spontaneously came to sit at your table in this way in the UK, it would be considered weird and possibly threatening, but this didn't feel uncomfortable at all. She explained that she was a little bored with her companions for the evening, and decided to come to talk to us instead. Her English was good (she had spent time in London) and she was friendly and genuinely interested in us. Before she had outstayed her welcome (although this may never have been the case in our view) she said goodbye and returned to her companions, hoping they had found something more interesting to talk about.

This isn't uncommon in Valencia, but it is a little surprising the first time it happens. After that, it is utterly charming.

I was given an appreciation of how Valencians mix a sense of community with a natural ability to welcome outsiders. I learned that there are places to go in Valencia for peace, calm or space. There are places to go in the city to experience a breathtaking sense of effortless joy and delight. There are slick, modern places, and there are refreshingly authentic, rustic, historic places. I learned that you can still be offered drugs in a bar, even in your 50s. Politely declined, I should add.

But the main lesson was a self-taught one. I learned to remind myself how very lucky I am. I live in North Yorkshire, UK. I also live in Valencia. These are special places.

Depending on tenant(s), we will use our apartment, and its almost effortless access to the beach via the tranvia, for a long summer holiday in August.

Can’t wait.

Las Fallas

So it’s here. The big week. The week leading up to the climax of Las Fallas 2017 on March 19^th. And we’re not in Valencia.

It’s true to say that we have a tenant in our apartment March-July, so we couldn’t stay there in any case. But it’s also true to say that we haven’t summoned the courage and commitment to experience the astonishing spectacle that is Fallas. It’s very Valencian, it’s sacred to most Valencians, and it might just be too intense for a couple of extranjeros, but this remains to be seen.

For educative purposes, I’ve “borrowed” a short synopsis to explain Las Fallas from all that’s good and great about the internet, namely Wikipedia:

Falles (Valencian) or Las Fallas (Spanish) is a traditional celebration held in commemoration of Saint Joseph in the city of Valencia, Spain. The term Falles refers to both the celebration and the monuments burnt during the celebration. A number of towns in the Valencian Community have similar celebrations inspired by the original Falles de Valéncia celebration. The Falles festival was added to UNESCO's intangible cultural heritage of humanity list on 30 November 2016.

The writer may not have experienced it directly, but it’s clear that you cannot have a blog about Valencia without talking about Las Fallas.

It’s the law.

I’ve only dipped a very tentative toe into the water where Fallas is concerned, at least to date. I know people who leave the city a few days before Fallas begins, and will not return until the last tiny piece of charred debris has been hosed off the city streets. I also know of (many more) people who find this festival, and the adrenaline-fuelled build-up to the week itself, the absolutely unmissable highlight of the year. I don’t yet know which side I’m on.

What I do know is that Fallas is A VERY BIG DEAL.

Beyond the synopsis above, I’m not going to describe Fallas here. I don’t know enough about it yet, and there is already more material on the web than you can read in a lifetime. This blog is not a guide to the cultural life of the city in any case, it’s just a (hopefully mildly entertaining) record of my/our experiences.

My first encounter with Fallas was entirely by accident, and entirely as a result of complete ignorance. Preparing a photo shoot for later in the year, we were visiting Valencia on a recce trip… can we shoot here? Can we get vehicles in there? Can we get permits for that? And so on. Around the time of La Mascleta, we were trying to find somewhere to eat lunch close to the Plaza del Ayuntamiento.

I know.

Those of you who know the city and the festival will be aware of the utter folly of this. Those of you who don’t, perhaps imagine attempting to lay out a tartan picnic blanket with cucumber sandwiches, cream scones and lashings of ginger beer at 11.55pm in Trafalgar Square on 31^st December.

You get the picture.

We retreated to Kiosco la Pergola, just across the Jardin del Turia from the city centre, and enjoyed a great lunch. You must go there by the way. But like I said, this isn’t a guide.

When I say “we” enjoyed, I mean all except one. Our Valencian producer and location scout was very firmly in the “absolutely unmissable” camp, and we were forcing her to miss it. Our utter ignorance of a festival she held very close to her warm Valencian heart, our terrible timing, and our decision to MOVE AWAY from La Mascleta for lunch had made her beyond sulky. Mediterranean angry. Not only could we still hear the Mascleta, it was on TV in the café. This didn’t help.

Knowing what I now know, there would be no circumstances where I would ask a proud Valencian to work for an ignorant Englishman in the most culturally significant week of the Valencian calendar.

(Very briefly, La Mascleta is a daytime firework display. Possibly without equal for intensity and noise, it is an important daily event in the weeks leading up to the climax of Las Fallas on March 19^th).

My understanding of the cultural and social significance of this event has been developed somewhat by social media. I ease the pain of my absence from VLC by living there in social media world. If you are in touch with Valencian users and social media networks, you will be in touch with the Fallas phenomenon. Twitter in particular is alive with Fallas all year round, but gains special momentum as soon as Los Tres Reyes Magos have been and gone by the end of the first week of January. There are so many Twitter accounts connected to Fallas that the news feed is endless, and the excitement obvious. The fervour is enclosed in one compact city (to a lesser extent in the outlying community) and this intensifies it.

We experienced some of the build-up in February 2016. We were working towards the purchase of our apartment, and were moving around the city between banks, real estate agents, apartment viewings and notaries. Fallas appeared without warning in so many places. “Rehearsal” parades would appear in city streets, fireworks can be heard everywhere, and occasionally the open doors of a Casal Faller would reveal the hasty final preparation of another incredible ninot.

The Plaza de la Virgen would regularly see gatherings of Falleras in their incredible traditional costumes. They would appear in ones and twos, the younger ones with their adult chaperones. As their numbers swelled, they would dance in large groups in front of a rapt audience, and there would be speeches. There was an electric sense of anticipation of bigger things to come.

So, for 2017 at least, it will all be over in a week’s time. The "run for the hills" people will return, the “absolutely unmissable” people will get some sleep and perhaps visit their ear specialist. And we’ll have missed it again.

Las Fallas 2018? We will see.