Pero tenemos el azahar

But we have the orange blossom.

The world can sometimes seem like a burden in these difficult days. Bigotry, hatred, violence, totalitarianism, warfare, colonialism, corruption, greed, racism and rank ignorance can feel like a lot to bear.

But some of us are lucky. Some of us can appreciate the beauty and simplicity of the things that really matter… that is our antidote.

 

After a long absence from València since a lazy summer holiday in 2025, we were keen to get back to the apartment and the city, and even keener to enjoy Semana Santa in València once again.

 

Easter in València has so much to recommend it. It remains a predominantly religious festival, of course. More than half of Spain’s population still identifies as Catholic, so Semana Santa is still Holy Week to many.

 

But there is added joy. The weather is beautiful*, sharp, sunny, warm enough for t-shirts and lunch outside, clear and pleasant in the cool evenings. The bakeries are full of seasonal cakes, with Easter eggs sitting on top of the traditional Mona de Pascua. The bright and rich colours of the produce shine from the local shops. That astonishing blue Spanish sky, the beach and the sea have rediscovered their Mediterranean colours again, and the long summer ahead is in sight. The amazing Jardin del Turia park is full again, with cyclists, walkers, joggers, families and people simply enjoying the grass and the sun. The jacaranda trees are starting to put on their spectacular purple springtime show. And of course, you have the unmistakable and beautiful scent of the azahar. You need go no further that our modest balcony to smell the orange blossom from the streets below.

 

Following our late arrival on the Monday after Domingo de Ramos, we used the tranvia and metro to centro on the Tuesday for a little shopping for the apartment. Emerging from the world below at Xativa, the sunshine hits your eyes, but the crowds take your breath away. I have spent a lot of time in València since my first visit in 2007, but I’ve never seen so many people in the streets, apart from in the main Fallas weeks. Easter week had attracted visitors in their tens of thousands, Valencians had been drawn out by the spring sunshine, and centro was bustling** to say the least.

 

Before going to El Corte Inglés for the things we needed, we tried to find them cheaper. We couldn’t, and so we found them at a reasonable price in El Corte Inglés. It’s not the first time we’ve made this mistake, and it won’t be the last.

We’re engaged in a search for a large picture for the apartment, to add some colour. It’s got to be just right… the right colours… the right size… the right style… the right orientation. A vintage shop in Ruzafa didn’t have it. Neither of Alessandra Cola’s art shops in the old town had it either. A gallery on “Basket Street” nearly had it… but didn’t. Nowhere had just the right picture, so the search continues. The search is quite fun, if I’m honest.

To wander the old town in the evenings, to eat and drink in places old and new, to see people and their day-to-day lives, their friends, their children and grandchildren, their pets, their gestures and expressions, their coming and their going… all of these count as simple pleasures in the same way as smelling the azahar and seeing the incredible sky during the “blue hour”. Pure enjoyment that comes at the expense of nobody.

We saw several modest, rather understated*** church processions in the old town. One in the Barrio del Carmen brought to mind a stark juxtaposition once again, most acutely felt on an Easter visit to Málaga back in 2022. There, the contrast came between the ancient rituals of Catholicism and the neon commercialism of centro. On this Vàlencia occasion, it was the same solemn religious observance set against the noisy crowds and clinking glasses of the Plaza de Sant Jaume. In fairness to the revelers, almost everyone fell relatively silent as the solemn procession passed, even a particularly boisterous group from the Emerald Isle.

The Barrio del Carmen was our most common venue of choice, as is often the case. Around a million other people appeared to have the same idea… the barrio was packed day and night. Waiting for tables at our favourite café terraces is not my activity of choice, but you’d be forgiven for thinking that there wasn’t a free table in the whole town at times. Our own barrio is much more accessible, and 2 or 3 of our local cafés are more regular venues now.

 

Reliable, convenient, cheap, good quality venues like this are one of the reason why the Spanish live their lives outside, congregating on café terraces, irresistibly gregarious, friendly and inclusive.

 

Viernes Santo meant a visit to the port and beach. Thousands of people in the bars and restaurants, the wide walkway of the Paseo Maritimo full of strolling locals and visitors. We sought a little peace in the sunny bars close to the Veles y Vents building on the harbor side, less crowded than Las Arenas, but eventually hunger drove us back to find a noisy table among the crowds by the beach.

 

The beach is a delight in spring. In summer, the beach tends to be populated only close to the sea, mostly due to the lava-heat of the sand closer to the Paseo Maritimo… but in spring, the whole beach can be used much more comfortably. Football, volleyball, kite flying, picnics, sand castles, half-burying a parent… all of these things are possible in the sunny but benign weather.

 

The plan for Easter Saturday was a little cultural. Reasonably close to the apartment, a little way along the riverbed park of the Jardin del Turia sits the Museo de las Bellas Artes de Vàlencia, majestically housed in an imposing 17^th century building with a glittering blue dome. We had (unforgivably, to be honest) never been to the fine art museum. We spent an enlightening couple of hours with Sorolla, Goya, Velázquez, El Greco, Murillo, Van Dyck and Bosch, and they were delightful company as well.

 

Dropping down into the Jardin del Turia once again, we enjoyed a delightful, sunny stroll along the old riverbed to our next venue. Some of the crowds had joined us, but this incredibly park and its facilities has been so well conceived that it didn’t seem crowded. Although the incredible Gulliver figure in its playpark absolutely swarmed with kids in the sunshine… queue, slide, climb, slide, climb, queue… and repeat. Parents checked their watches and muttered cerveza? but there was no chance of tearing the little ones away.

The Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias hove into view above the trees. This was our next venue on our little cultural odyssey for an Easter Saturday.

 

There are a million words written about this extraordinary collection of buildings, designed by Valencian architect Santiago Calatrava… and a million more photographs taken. Although the architectural contrast between the two couldn’t be more marked, I feel the same way about the City of Arts and Sciences as I do about the Plaza de España in Seville. You can visit 500 times, and you’ll see something different, another angle, another highlight, another shape or another clever way of leading your eye to the next wonderfully executed aspect.

After a cold beer under the flying buttresses**** of the science museum, we headed for the new Line 10 of metrovalencia and back to town, and lunch.

It felt a little odd to think that the highlight of our all-too-short visit came on our last full day, but new tenants would already be packing their bags to come and use the apartment. We must depart on Easter Monday.

But first, Domingo de Pascua and El Desfile de la Resurrección, the joyful parade that celebrates Easter Sunday, and everything that this means to everybody.

 

Stepping from the Tranvia at La Cadena, we moved with other early crowds towards the northern end of Calle Reina. Seats had been moved out of the achingly attractive tiled houses and onto the pavement, but it was early yet, and they were unoccupied. Moving up the long, straight stretch of Calle Reina, people in their parade costumes went in the opposite direction ready to join the start. The crowds swelled a little as we made our way south, and the cafés and bars filled quickly. We ducked one block back to find a quieter café, but they were all full.

Joining the line for service in a packed place, we could see that this café was 99% filled by the members of one marching band. Trombones and saxaphones were laid on the tables amid the plates and glasses, and the over-stretched staff were bring out bocadillos, chipirones and calamares without any end in sight. As a result, there was a queue at the bar, which is unheard of in a Spanish café. The staff had perhaps never seen a queue at a bar before, so they tended to ignore it, and hoped it would go away. It didn’t. It had become beer o’clock by the time we got to the front of this queue, I grabbed a couple of dobles and we gratefully headed outside, out of the greasy heat, feeling like the smell of deep frying would stick to us forever.

 

Outside near the pavement tables, a young boy arrived in a pristine navy and white military marching uniform, complete with sword. Several generations of his family hugged and kissed him, and a hundred photos were taken. Then I realized what would come next… they would need someone to take a whole group photo… and there was a nearby guiri, just standing there with a beer doing nothing in particular.

 

I will admit to feeling the pressure of taking a simple photo on behalf of several proud generations and a special young kid in his very smart uniform, but I think I did the job OK.

 

After a time, we joined the crowds lining the parade route back on Calle Reina. If I had to choose the kind of weather to stand in a street waiting for a parade to start, I would choose this. The sunshine and gentle breeze were perfect. The parade route was lined with crimson drapes, which were extended down the street as volunteers prepared the route. The crowd was relatively thin at this point, many had taken their pre-ordained dining chairs on the pavement, and the rest of us just stood and waited in the sunshine.

As soon as the official parade start time had faded into the distant past, the parade started. A police car moved along the route to clear any remaining spectators from the road. As is customary with any and all parades in Valencia, 2 magnificent horses skittishly pranced up the street, their uniformed riders expertly keeping control.

 

I’ve described El Desfile de la Resurrección in blog posts before, so to replace the actual detail of the parade, it is enough to say that are very few things or events that are even close in terms of pure, innocent joy. I’m 100% sure that this is felt by everyone in the crowd also, from the octogenarian bisabuela to the toddler on papa’s shoulders, from the proud mother applauding the family as they march past, to the tourist marveling at the sights, sounds, and unadulterated joy of the whole magnificent thing.

To the delighted shouts of “GUAPA!!” from the crowd, the costumed paraders throw flowers, and these are collected by everyone, and dutifully handed to mamas and abuelas to add to the growing collections in the baskets at their feet.

Our little watching-place seemed to be an agreed to spot for the replenishment of flowers also, and parents would appear with new armfuls and hand them into the passing parade. The marching bands that accompanied each cofradia were magnificent, the costumes… penitents, Romans, maidens, disciples, soldiers and more than one risen messiah marched past in a spectacular riot of colour and springtime happiness. It’s astonishing that this can all be achieved so soon after a major festival like Fallas, which had only finished a little over 2 weeks earlier.

After enjoying much of this spectacle, we realised the time for Easter Sunday paella was upon us. It can’t go unnoticed that our regular venue of choice at Las Arenas is becoming a little touristy, but the vast dining room has not lost any of it’s buzz and theatre, and the paella was once again an unmissable treat. A great way to tie up a great week.

All of the above may appear to be a rambling (and perhaps rather mundane) account of an Easter-week visit to a sunny European destination. But there is a point.

Looking back to the beginning of this blog post, I described the darker things in our challenging world: Bigotry, hatred, violence, totalitarianism, warfare, colonialism, corruption, greed, racism and rank ignorance… and it doesn’t stop there.

 

But all of the sights, sounds, smells and delights described here are our antidote:

• The smell of the orange blossom in the spring
• The sight of the flowering jacaranda
• Spring sunshine
• The search for something that you will love
• Cakes at Easter (and all other times of year)
• Respect for tradition and belief
• The beach and the sea
• The astonishing colour of the Valencian sky
• Kite-flying
• Great art and history
• Great architecture
• The tangible pulse of the Spanish café
• Easter parades that are the very embodiment of joy
• The pride that parents and grandparents feel for their families

To enjoy and appreciate all of the above, you do not need untold riches. All of the above push back at the dark forces that sometimes threaten to take over. The people that peddle hatred and greed can’t take these things away right now, and let’s keep pushing back at them to make it stay that way.

As for Vàlencia, we’ll see you again in the summer. Hasta la proxima.

 

* For the 2026 edition at least. I’ll concede that this hasn’t always been the case.

 

** You can tick that one off on your “Place in the Sun” bingo card. You’re welcome.

 

*** Modest and understated in comparison to the spectacular parades in Málaga at least, but no less full of faith and belief I’m sure.

 

**** With my 6^th-form architectural education all but forgotten, I’m almost sure that this is the incorrect term for what we sat under. But we had cold beer.