Arriving in Valencia

We were given a sample of Valencia’s astounding civic architecture, by driving across town to get to our Hotel. The Town Hall, Post Office and Railway were all wonderfully elaborate edifices. They reek of Empire, but not a British one. Our hotel is on the south side of town. It’s quite a way from the centre, but a regular bus service stops just across the street. Not for the first time I decide life’s too short to wait for the rather small lift. A queue of 40 odd pensioners helps me make up my mind. I set off up the stairs, with my rather too weighty hand luggage. My room is on the fifth floor. Still at least this way I don’t need to feel guilty about all the swimming I’m currently missing.

The room is light and airy and has a balcony with a view of a strange modern building. There is a room safe with a keypad, but for the life of me I can’t seem to get it to work. For a while I loose my cool and have a moment of panic and tears. This always seems to happen when I’m travelling alone. For just a few minutes all I really want to do is go home. Finally I pull myself together and decide to report the safe to reception and collect a map of the town.

He stands right next to us and begins playing a trumpet so loudly that we can’t hear ourselves speak. We figure he’s going to ask us for money to stop.

Down in Reception I find Yee and Susan, who I had briefly sat behind on the coach on the first day. They are about to go into town and kindly ask me if I’d like to join them. After my little lapse upstairs, I’m delighted to have some company. First though I have a word with the Receptionist about my safe. Oh for goodness sake! It turns out that I need to hire a little plastic peg from them before I can use it. Couldn’t they have mentioned that on a label? I hare upstairs (in the lift this time) and stash all my valuables in the safe as quickly as possible.

In 5 minutes, I’m back in reception and waiting for the off. An elderly couple from our group are also heading into town, so we join forces at the bus stop. Initially we find ourselves on the wrong side of the road, but eventually we get the hang of it. The elderly gentleman is one of those nice but slightly irritating old boys, who think they are far more interesting and funny than their intended audience. He wonders whether Yee and Susan know why the British and Canadians drive on the left hand side? There’s a wonderful moment when the girls don’t actually realise that they are supposed to take the bait and ask for enlightenment. But he’s very persistent. In all, the story takes the whole 10 minute journey to tell! Luckily we realise we have reached our stop in the Plaza Mayor. We remind the elderly couple that they need to catch the bus back from the stop further up outside the Burger King, before realising there are actually two BK’s in the Plaza - I hope they find the right one.

Left to our own devices, Yee, Susan and myself go in search of food. We find a pleasant little street café just opposite the Coliseum styled bullring. The girls opt for cheese burgers whilst I go for the local speciality (ooh I’m so brave). This turns out to be half a toasted baguette, rubbed with tomato and topped off with Sorrento ham. I had briefly entertained the idea of ordering one with acorn ham, but the price is ten times that of its more everyday alternative. It turns out that although Yee and Susan have both ordered cheese burgers they are both lactose intolerant. There is a flurry of pill popping before they can eat any of the mountainous burger that has just appeared.

Just as we begin to enjoy being ladies that lunch, our tranquillity is shattered by an itinerant musician. Sadly he doesn’t go for a nice unobtrusive instrument. He stands right next to us and begins playing a trumpet so loudly that we can’t hear ourselves speak. We figure he’s going to ask us for money to stop. After 5 long loud minutes he moves on (with very little in the way of tips) and is replaced by a rather more pleasant Spanish guitar.

Whilst we eat a young boy of about fifteen appears. He is loitering near the café and we decide we need to keep an eye on our bags. In the end we realise that he’s not actually after our valuables - just the scraps from our restaurant’s tables. When someone wanders off leaving half a glass of coke, he makes a dash for it, taking it back to his pile of belongings. He then pinches a plastic bottle and very carefully fills it with his booty. We start to feel very guilty about our initial suspicions. When we leave, he asks the waiter if he can sit and eat the rest of Yee and Susan’s burgers. Thankfully the waiter seems prepared to turn a blind eye.

After lunch, we wander off to the main square we had seen driving into Valencia. The Town Hall looks wonderfully Latin American, with large palms planted in front. As Yee needs stamps we visit the equally ornate post office and discover that the marvellous facade is equally matched by the interior. There is a heavily panelled foyer which opens up into a vast chamber, topped with a stained glass ceiling. It has the same feel as a church but one where commerce is God. The only problem is working out which of the many desks we need to visit for overseas stamps.

Opposite the bullring we find a small news kiosk selling postcards. We all find some to mark our visit and I simply cannot resist buying some featuring adverting posters for bullfights in Valencia.

We wander around the main town but can’t seem to find any other areas that we know are here. Where for instance is the medieval cathedral? At one point I think I’ve spotted it, as I can see an old stone wall down a side road. However this turns out to be a pretty standard church. I wish we had a better map than the stupid thing the hotel had given us.

In the end we go to the huge department store Luis had told us about when we arrived, Le Corte Inglise. Apparently it sells absolutely everything. When we get there we are slightly surprised as it doesn’t look that big to us. Perhaps it’s because we are such cosmopolitan types, much more used to large department stores than our more provincial tour director (what a bunch of snobs we are). In fact we discover later from some of our even more cosmopolitan fellow travellers, the store is spread out over three buildings and does in fact sell everything.

We follow our exhausting shopping trip with a nice cold ice cream in a nearby shop. We sit discussing the Canadian BBC channel and how much the girls like programmes such as Changing Rooms and the Weakest Link. The both find me highly hilarious - it must the British sense of humour. For my part I’m very conscious that my accent and pronunciation have smartened up considerably. There’s nothing like talking to people from overseas to make you sound extremely English.

We eventually call it a day and decide to head home. This time we catch the no 6 bus and are treated to a superb public transport system. The bus has several TV screens inside showing adverts. They also show a map with the next stop marked on it. Yee is apparently going to write to her local authority and demand the same system. We sit religiously counting off the stops but can’t spot our hotel anywhere. We get off and head for a roundabout that looks vaguely familiar. We pass a couple of little shops that are just opening up for the evening. We stop at a fruit shop to buy some supplies for tomorrow. I buy two huge nectarines. In the interests of hygiene, we have to put on disposable polythene gloves to choose our fruit - now there’s a good idea for home. Our hotel is just a few more metre down. We actually spot the medical school next door first.

Back at the hotel any hopes of using the outside swimming pool are dashed. Leigh and Pat had come down in their costumes (with shorts over the top), only to find it was closed. Apparently it is October and that means winter, even thought the temperature is currently 30°C at the moment!

Dinner tonight is really disappointing. We are in a rather sparse conference room, with wonky fold up tables. The starter is straight out of the 1970s. Two tomatoes stuffed with olives and onion, topped with rather too much cream. The main course consists of mashed potatoes with stewed neck of lamb. It reminded me of Mum’s stew - but nowhere near as good. In fact most people seem to think it’s pork! Worse still, there’s no free wine tonight! The one thing that was good was the lovely lemon custard tart that followed.

Later that evening, just before going to bed, I stand on my balcony looking out across the city.  Somewhere down below I can hear the rythmic beat of a flamenco dancer, but can't work out where it's coming from.  It does add a little magic to the night.