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.

Compartiendo "nuestra" ciudad

In December 2016, we enjoyed our Valencia apartment alongside other people for the first time.

Our “guests” were my wife’s parents, my much-beloved and much-respected suegros. Active, well-travelled, worldly-wise, 70-something first-time visitors to Valencia.

My use of punctuation around the word “guests” is an homage to my mother-in-law. I was gently but firmly corrected early in the holiday: “We are family, not guests”.

So I find myself, for the first time, in the position of guide/landlord/concierge/transport coordinator/translator/restaurant critic/holiday planner. I felt privileged to be in this position, but also under a degree of pressure. I’m showing important first-time visitors “our” city, but it’s a city we’re still getting to know ourselves. We haven't even scratched the surface yet. And my Spanish is still a work in progress, to put it kindly.

OK… do the tourist trail, but throw in some of your developing local knowledge, I said to myself.

There were a few no-brainers… sights and venues that would be instant hits. Valencian architecture, old, new and in-between never fails to wow a first-time visitor. Also, we were in Christmas week, so the belenes navideños (elaborate nativity scenes so favoured in Spain) and the seasonal mercadillos were all worth a visit.

Paella Valenciana. Food to be taken seriously.

I wanted to show off some Valencian culture, however. It may seem odd from someone who has been a part-time resident for no more than a few months, but I have great pride in Valencian culture. I find the culture of Fallas fascinating (and perhaps a little intimidating if I’m honest) and the traditional Valencian costume associated with this festival is a delight. I love the Valencian fervour and passion for their rice dishes and the traditional Valencian paella. I love the way Valencians are determined to live outdoors for 12 months a year, and that pavement café terraces are packed in the gentle December sunshine.

The incredible modernista edifice that houses
the Mercado Central.

The Mercado Central was certainly an instant hit, as it is with so many visitors. It rewards anyone who goes in there for any reason, and it will never get old for me.

We were also rewarded when a Fallera was mixing with all the visitors outside the cathedral one day, happy to be photographed with her dazzling smile in her spectacular traje de fallera.

The weather also smiled for us on our “visit beach and port and eat paella day”. Enjoying a beer in the sunshine (29^th December) at one of the newer portside bars reminded me how lucky we are to be a tiny part of this amazing city.

The long paella lunch that followed in one of the traditional restaurants at Las Arenas was as good as ever. Mi suegra asked us if we always ate this well when we were in Valencia. Our answer was an emphatic “yes”, of course.

A visit to the City of Arts and Sciences was another success, but also served as a reminder to me of how incredible the place is.

The elaborate and beautiful
traditional dress of the Fallera.

So far, so good. I was desperately keen for everyone to enjoy the delights of a city that has firmly embedded itself right under my skin, a city that I feel part of.

But this visit, with our new travelling companions, changed the way I look at the city. I’m sure my in-laws won’t mind me saying that we moved at a sedate pace. When it’s just the two of us, it can be a march, but this time, our gentle strolling gave me so much more time to look. I looked up much more. The light on the beautiful buildings can be spectacular in winter, when the sun is lower, and treats the details with a more subtle touch. I caught more details, more subtleties, and also heard more of what was going on. I saw more faces and got a bit more insight into a few more lives. Very rewarding.

This will make me slow down in future. There will be a point in time when this decision is made for me, of course, but in the meantime I must make a conscious effort. It’s not just about point A to point B.

It was a worthwhile and rewarding experience navigating the language, taste and cultural challenges involved in making mealtimes a success. However well-travelled we might imagine ourselves to be, we still have our preferences and our favourites, and these needed translating (metaphorically) into Valencian. Nochevieja was a particularly rewarding experience, and a memorable meal in a memorable restaurant was enjoyed by all.

(I’m going to break a rule here and thank the staff at Tinto Fino for a most enjoyable New Years Eve! I think they’re out of brandy, but we'll be back for Semana Santa).

Beautiful winter sunlight, Calle de Serranos.

I feel like I’ve come away from this visit (leaving my in-laws to enjoy another week!) with an enhanced appreciation for how the city works, why it’s so special. 

On a romantic whim, I’d say that it works because the people are so bloody lovely. Our meal on New years Eve was so memorable because the staff were just plain happy. There was a 12-hour dance marathon in the Mercado de Tapineria, and the people there were also just plain happy. You don’t see that unforced, natural, sober happiness every day.

But I think the city works because it gives back what you put in. It feels sentient and organic, like a person. Appreciate and respect Valencia, enjoy it responsibly (so to speak) and I'm now 100% sure that it will love you back.

Los Valencianos: Encuentros hasta ahora.

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

Gregarious, friendly, generous and approachable.

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


Our neighbours  

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


Waiters/waitresses 

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

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

Valencians are outdoor people... all year round.

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

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

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


Taxi drivers 

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

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

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


Shop owners & their staff 

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

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

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


Los Ancianos 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


La Familia 

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

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

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

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

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


Callejeros 

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

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

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

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

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