The next morning, we woke up early and bought train tickets. Alicia had to remind me about the terrorist bombing that had occurred in the Madrid train station some time ago, but at a naïve glance, I couldn’t see anything out of place.
The train ride was about three hours, but the time flew and before we knew it, we had arrived to Valencia. The spontaneous way we decided to go there reminded me of my trip to Greece in December when Jeremy, Harpswell, and I used a guidebook to find a random place to go with a beach (aka Nafplio) knowing nothing about it, and it turning out to be an absolute gem. Valencia was the same way. None of us knew anything about it, but once we set eyes on the fabulously unique architecture of the train station, we knew that we wouldn’t be disappointed.As soon as we found a place to stay (one of the first hotels I’ve stayed at in a while) we dropped our baggage and explored the city. It boasted a huge cathedral, an impressive bell tower, several street vendors, cafes, and an incredible chocolate shop (!), not to mention it was to host the Pope. We saw many yellow and white striped flags hanging from the windows of apartments in honor of his upcoming visit. At lunchtime we stopped for some Italian food and passed on the Spanish “comida” as most of them were too expensive. A good Spanish “comida” or lunch consists of an appetizer, a main course, and a dessert for about six or seven euro.
One of the things that made our traveling easier and more seamless was Jon’s superb knowledge of Spanish. He was far beyond functional language and took to striking up conversations with the locals. Consequently, I learned more about the language, which was great, because if I’ve learned one thing about myself this year, it’s that languages fascinate me. Anyway, because Jon learned Spanish in America, his Spanish is more Mexican than Spanish and apparently the Spaniards could sense his accent. Also, once we reached Valencia, he told us that the Valencians have their own regional dialect and some of them would give him “looks” when he didn’t speak it. Eventually, I learned that Spain doesn’t have a strong cohesive national identity because they pride themselves more within their regions. This is evident by the several dialects that are spoken throughout the country. To put it simply, Jon stated, “Spain is so regionalized that they have their own languages. It’s like saying, ‘I don’t speak Texas but I speak Dallas.’”
Eventually we made our way to the beach during the late afternoon. The best word for the Valencia beach was VAST. The water was warm and wavy! It was the first beach I’d been to in Europe this year that was actually temperature appropriate to swim in. We leaped over waves, dove through them and just enjoyed bobbing around in the water underneath the setting sun.
Taking the bus back towards our hotel, we were pretty famished and after telling Alicia and Jon that I wanted to try some authentic Spanish cuisine, we stopped at an outdoor table underneath the glowing energetic night light of Valencia. Jon explained some of the “tapas” that were sitting in a glass box to me and we ordered a variety of them including a Russian salad, some fried cheese, a dish of olives, and the ubiquitous tortilla española. Then we ordered some “paella” (I hope I spelled it right), a rice dish in a pan that usually has some kind of meat in it (i.e. chicken or seafood). I finally tried mussels after being strangely intimidated by them for a long time (we had some in our paella dish). Overall, I didn’t try enough variety of paella to be a comparative expert, but I must say that I do like the idea of “tapas,” or what we’d call starter dishes that come in small portions. They are popular among the night crowd, staving off hunger into the late hours.
The beach air and fulfilling meal left us a little drowsy, so we retreated to our hotel balcony for the night and just chatted, while observing, the well…interesting/amusing night activity on the pedestrian street below.
The next day, we attempted to set off early to log in enough time at the beach, although we got temporarily distracted by what Valencia had to offer. The first being a decadent little chocolate shop near the square exhibiting Valencia’s huge cathedral and bell tower. After listening to the different kinds of chocolate…chocolate with sun dried tomato, chocolate with rose…I was faintly reminded of Juliette Binoche’s sinful shop in the movie “Chocolat.” Needless to say, we didn’t leave empty-handed. After fueling up on fresh OJ (isn’t Valencia famous for their oranges?), tea/coffee, and a croissant drizzled with honey, we finally sampled our chocolate selection and pondered just why chocolate has such a significant effect on women.
Another much needed distraction of ours was a stop in a shop to get Jon some more sandals, because his were about to fall apart. So he settled on a pair of 4 euro yellow/navy flip flops a.k.a. Ming Feng Da’s (this was written on the side and bottom of his sandals). They were a simple pair of sandals, but they turned out to be the butt of several jokes throughout the rest of the trip. We even coined a “Ming Feng Da” phrase. If something was thought to be cheap, but turned out great in an unexpected way, we dubbed it “Ming Feng Da,” just like the cheap sandals that paid for themselves by the amount of jokes they created.
From there, we headed to the market. Let me just say that one of my favorite parts of visiting a new country is visiting their market. It is the essence of a culture and life. We all need food to survive and dropping into a food market allows you to witness a Spaniard purchasing the daily essentials for a traditional meal. It is sometimes more enjoyable to watch people at a market than say, at the airport. The place is bustling with activity, culinary aromas emanate from behind each booth creating a salivating-inducing effect, and the rainbowed columns of fruits and vegetables are a treat for the eyes.
We did have an agenda other than stepping in and partaking in the market’s sensory trip…we wanted to get a few staples for a beach picnic. We bought some cheese, some olives (for Alicia), a baguette, oranges, cherries, a really unique, fleshy fruit that I forgot the name of, and other things that I’ve forgotten. It was so refreshing to eat that much fruit again after being in the somewhat fruit-deficient country of Hungary (at least compared to Spain.)
Once we got to the beach, Alicia bought us some coconut slices from a man walking down near the shore selling them. We staked out an umbrella even though the sky had become overcast and dove into our…picnic. Afterwards, we flocked to the water and I believe we all de-aged about 5 years as the waves continued carry us around and surprise us from behind. The ocean water is great in bringing out the playful spirit. We watched silver fish leap out of the water, laughed, and talked. In the end, the only thing that dragged us out of the water was the fact that we had a train to catch that evening. So we hauled ourselves out, shampooed in the outdoor showers on the beach, dressed, and headed back to the train station.
On the way home, we all became strangely fascinated with the windmills (the tall, modern kind that have huge rotating blades) that dotted the Spanish landscape like evil soldiers. Alicia commented, “you just can’t trust them…they’re up to something.” We all agreed, especially in the light of dusk. They could have been excellent props for a thriller movie. On the other hand, we did see many fortresses snaking their way over hilltops and this inspired us to figure out where to go next on Alicia and Jon’s day off from law class.
We returned to Madrid late that night, a little more sun on our skin, and the beach air still in our veins…not to mention sand still in our hair.
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