I'm currently sitting in a Valencian side-street having a plate of tapas. Besides being a sentence I never thought I would ever type in my life, it's also a good summary of what I have done for the last couple of days.
The flight was exhausting, but honestly not half as bad as I thought. Drifting in and out of a sleeping stupor induced by the constant humming of engines and the impromptu sounds of a flying sardine can of people can tire you out. The shortest night of my life, just three hours.
At sunrise we got to Barajas. Flying over the Spanish countryside was a stark contrast to the monotone navy blue of the Atlantic night. Ravines and hills littered the landscape, and any flat area was immediately occupied by an orchard or a neat lines of crops. The Madrid skyline could be barely seen in the distance, a stop along the way.
I had my first Spanish culinary experience in an airport restaurant. I know, I know; airport food tends to be expensive and lacking, which is why I decided to go simple: a ham sandwich. The sandwich had two ingredients: Jamón Serrano and white bread. It only took one bite to realize why Spain is so big on ham.
I had my first Spanish culinary experience in an airport restaurant. I know, I know; airport food tends to be expensive and lacking, which is why I decided to go simple: a ham sandwich. The sandwich had two ingredients: Jamón Serrano and white bread. It only took one bite to realize why Spain is so big on ham.
After a short flight I found myself in sunny Valencia.
We arrived in the neighborhood of Benimaclet after a forty minute ride on the metro. I walked out from the underground station and the sterile, controlled environment in which I had been for the past 18 hours. Back into the real world. A gentle ocean breeze, cool and tasting of a hint of sea salt, blew across my face.
Europe did feel crowded (confirming one of many stereotypes pushed on me about Europe and Europeans), eight-story buildings enveloping me and a fair amount of passers-by tending to their Saturday afternoon business.
We arrived in the neighborhood of Benimaclet after a forty minute ride on the metro. I walked out from the underground station and the sterile, controlled environment in which I had been for the past 18 hours. Back into the real world. A gentle ocean breeze, cool and tasting of a hint of sea salt, blew across my face.
Europe did feel crowded (confirming one of many stereotypes pushed on me about Europe and Europeans), eight-story buildings enveloping me and a fair amount of passers-by tending to their Saturday afternoon business.
We must have stood out like a sore thumb. Seven guys of varying hues and descents with a good amount of luggage standing around doing nothing ("Cómo pollos comprados", as they would say in my native Honduras). Ana Barella, our caretaker in Valencia, eventually rescued us from our own awkwardness. We had drawn lots to see who would get what flat, and the three of us that would stay on the west side of the neighborhood went with Ana to see the apartment that would be our home for the length of the trip.
What an apartment at that! Three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms, complete with hardwood floors, a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances; stocked with any and all the cooking utensils you may ever need (the stove even had a dedicated paella gas burner), and a big living room (by European standards). The point was hammered home when we opened the roof access door a short flight of stairs up from our front door and were greeted by a panoramic view of Benimaclet with the Mediterranean Sea as a backdrop.
What an apartment at that! Three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms, complete with hardwood floors, a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances; stocked with any and all the cooking utensils you may ever need (the stove even had a dedicated paella gas burner), and a big living room (by European standards). The point was hammered home when we opened the roof access door a short flight of stairs up from our front door and were greeted by a panoramic view of Benimaclet with the Mediterranean Sea as a backdrop.
After being shown around the neighborhood and settling in the other three group members at their place (we got the long, long, long end of the stick when it comes to apartments), it was off to a late afternoon siesta. We woke up in time to get groceries and watch a football (soccer) game in the tapas bar downstairs.
Sunday was reserved for sightseeing. After waking up mid-afternoon due to jet lag issues (I swear it was the jet lag, mom), one of my roommates and I grabbed a Metro ride to the south end of the historic district and decided to cut through it south to north. No travel guides, no maps, just pure serendipity. The no-nonsense apartment buildings in Benimaclet were replaced by taller, much more ornate buildings in the downtown area. A bullfighting arena, an elaborately decorated train station; as well as plazas, statues and fountains commemorating various Greek deities, conquering Kings, and religious figures.
The deeper and further you went into old town, the narrower and more crowded the streets got. Buildings were old. Really old. Thousands-of-years old. There was a healthy amount of tourists walking around, and locals were also out on their late afternoon stroll.
It was on one of these narrow, winding side-streets that I sat down to have tapas: tempura shrimp on garlic bread and a morcilla montadito.
The deeper and further you went into old town, the narrower and more crowded the streets got. Buildings were old. Really old. Thousands-of-years old. There was a healthy amount of tourists walking around, and locals were also out on their late afternoon stroll.
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| The gate into old city. Moat, turrets and all. |
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| The central plaza, with the cathedral in the back. |
It was on one of these narrow, winding side-streets that I sat down to have tapas: tempura shrimp on garlic bread and a morcilla montadito.
I could get used to Spain.
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