Valencia, the third largest city in Spain after Madrid and Barcelona, does not have many sights per se, which makes it a great city to wander in. No agenda, just mosey down any street that strikes you as interesting. And when you feel you are hopelessly lost, pull out Google Maps. Here’s a bit of what we discovered.
Valencia feria
It was a day off. We were only going out for a bite to eat, but we got stuck on the wrong side of a parade. We couldn’t cross the street to get to the restaurant we had selected.
What the heck! We’re here, we might as well enjoy it.
We are not parade people. We’re allergic to crowds. So this really tested our fortitude. It was actually kind of fun. From what we could understand, it was Valencia Day – a celebration of the communidad’s (state’s) history. We saw several signs that said “Moros y Cristianos,” so I guess they were celebrating their Moorish and Christian roots. That’s nice to see, in this day and age. People in the parade were dressed in various costumes, both Moorish and Christian, from the past thirteen centuries.
How cool to have such a varied history, and how wonderful to celebrate it so many years later!
Bravest thing I’ve ever done while traveling
Walked into a hair salon and got a brand new do! When you’re away from home for three months, there comes a time when you just have to get your hair cut. It can be scary to step outside the comfort of your relationship with your hairdresser at home and hope someone new understands what you want, but it’s even scarier when you don’t speak the language.
We were walking through the streets of Valencia and spotted an open hair salon. Marcus said, “Didn’t you say you wanted to get your hair cut?”
“Yes, I did. Let’s do it!”
Those of you who know me well know I rarely do anything impulsively. I shop around, I think, I wait, then (maybe) I do. But I had a good feeling about this. I walked in the door where two hairstylists were blowdrying away. “Does anyone here speak English?” The woman I asked this of pointed to Grace. I asked Grace if she could take a walk-in. “Take a number,” she said, pointing to a machine like you see in so many crowded shops here in Spain, especially the busy mobile phone stores or tourist information. Within ten minutes I was sitting in Grace’s chair telling her what I wanted. I spoke Spanish; she spoke English. It worked.
I didn’t just get it trimmed; I went for a whole new style. Off with the longer ends and sides that are so difficult to keep styled while traveling. “I want it shorter here and here,” I explained and left the rest up to her.
Grace didn’t hesitate. She picked up the scissors and went to work, and then she blew it dry in the cutest style. “Oh, my cut!” That’s the name of the salon, and for good reason. I love it! I walked out of the salon feeling on top of the world. It amazing what a good cut can do.
Where paella was born
Had to have a true paella valenciana as Valencia is where paella was born. This is rice country. The Albufera estuary, just west of Valencia, is full of rice paddies. Most people associate paella with shellfish, but the true Valenciana paella includes chicken, rabbit, and snails. Okay, we had to forego the snails (thank goodness!) because Marcus is allergic, but other than that, this was the real thing.
Most restaurants in Valencia serve paella. There are some restaurants dedicated to it, called arrocerías (arróz is rice). I had never had “the real thing” and we were at a craft brewery, but it was on the menu and the timing was right. It was fantastic! Cooked perfectly from scratch after we ordered. It took about 45 minutes, but that gave us some time to enjoy a few genuine IPAs. Perfect meal in Valencia!
Ancient portal to Valencia
One of only two surviving gates to the old (medieval) city of Valencia. Love the cannonball dents from the Napoleonic Wars in 1808. These strong walls withstood Napoleon’s worst.
View from our apartment in Valencia
I feel like we had the whole plaza to ourselves. The church bells were fabulous!
Tarragona
Nice stop in Tarragona as we made our way from Barcelona to Valencia. Tarragona was once a capital of Roman Spain, the first to be toga-certified. Residents were allowed to wear togas, meaning they were considered to be full Roman citizens. Maybe it was the wine. Now that I think about it, Rome may have conquered all the Mediterranean countries just for the wine and olive oil. Can’t say I blame them. It’s a strong motivation!
What I saw when I opened my eyes this morning
the Costa Brava
We are on the Mediterranean coast now, and each section of it has its own name. The northernmost Spanish coast, between the French border and Barcelona, is called the Costa Brava (Strong or Wild Coast). Just the name draws me. We thought we’d check it out.
Our first stop was Cadaqués, home of Salvador Dalí. We stopped at a little place called the Bar Marítim, which was listed in Fodors, and checked out the menu placed out front for passersby to review. Looked good, so we selected a table right on the beach. We ordered beverages and asked for the tapas menu. No menu; chips or olives. He must have misunderstood me; we saw the menu. Marcus went inside, retrieved one, and brought it back. We made our final selections, waved the server down, and ordered. No, only chips and olives. ¿Por qué? Because the kitchen is closed. ¿Por qué? Because the kitchen is closed. He walked away. At lunchtime? On a Tuesday? We finished our drinks and decided to head inland from the beach to find an open kitchen.
We found a cute little place with tables in a cover courtyard called Don Quijote. What’s not to like? At least the owner has a love of literature. We were the only people in the place. It was a bit early by Spanish standards, 12:30. The Spanish lunch “hour” is from 1:30-4:00. [They used to call it siesta, but I was corrected when I called it that. I think Spaniards are trying to up their image and not appear too sedentary or noncompetitive.] We had a delicious lunch of fried eggs, French fries, and pork filet (me) and chorizo (Marcus). Some of the most flavorful food we’ve had in Spain! [They always warn us when food is picante, or spicy, and it always so mild we can barely taste the spice.]
The owner of the restaurant was sitting at a table reading his newspaper. After we finished, Marcus went up to him and thanked him for the great meal and service. He leaped up from his table, shook Marcus’s hand, slapped him on the back, thanked him, turned to me, thanked me, shook my hand. OMG! I think we made his day!
We drove on to the northeastern-most point of Spain, Cap de Creus, only a few kilometers from the French border. If I had known how gorgeous this place is, we would have spent the whole day here hiking! (Okay, maybe not. Our feet were killing us from the four straight days of personal-best walks in Spain: 18,000+ steps.) So many amazing trails with so many gorgeous views!
Looking back at Barcelona
While I did not love Barcelona as much as I thought I would, I have to say it was because of the throngs of tourists more than anything else. It really is a beautiful city, and I wish we could have had it to ourselves for a day – okay, maybe the whole week. But looking back, there were many things I did love. Here’s a sample.