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”
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?
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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 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.
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!
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.
“The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
 |
| Taken from a table at one of our regular stops... Café Lisboa, Plaza Doctor Collado. |
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 |
Get over yourself, and embrace tourism once again.
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. |
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. |
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. |
 |
| The beautiful (and free of charge to visit) Centro del Carmen. As well preserved as it could be? |
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. |
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 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.
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!!" |
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.
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. |
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.
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