Valencia (March 2022)

Saturday

I awake at 9ish and decide to look for breakfast at the Central Market. It is like a food museum, a wonderland for the senses. Rows of butchers, bakers, fishmongers, cheesemongers, and many other kinds of mongers are covered by a beautiful arched ceiling. I buy an overpriced coffee (3 euros?!) which I almost immediately pour down myself, rendering my jeans unwearable. I sit on the steps of the market, eating some cold empanadas, and smile because this is a funny start to the weekend. I go back to the hostel to change and join a free walking tour that is leaving from there. Roxy, an Argentinian comedian and musician, is our tour guide and despite not being a valenciana, is deeply passionate about the city's culture and history. She gives us the rundown of each neighbourhood: Ruzafa is the queer and hipster barrio but is predictably also quite gentrified, University is the student area where you can get cheap drinks and good music, the Old Town is beautiful but expensive, and Benimaclet is the real Valencian experience, a locals area, untouched by tourism and gentrification. 

Roxy churns our fact after fact, only some of which I remember. The symbol of Valencia is a bird over the flag of Aragon, supposedly because when the Moors tried to attack the Christians at night, they woke up the birds, who in turn woke up the Christians, allowing them to arm themselves and fend off their attackers. She asks us questions about landmarks and gives us amusing challenges: "Spot the twerking gargoyle!" "And the carved stone face that looks like Chewbacca!" When we get the answers right she gives us a chocolate coin. Through Valencia runs a huge park, formerly a river, that Franco wanted to turn into a highway. Valencia's cathedral is apparently home to the Vatican-certified Holy Grail, which you have to pay 8 euros to see. We eventually end the tour at the Serranos Towers, a medieval entrance to the city. 

She drops us at the Plaza de Ayuntamiento, the city centre, for the Mascleta; a pyrotechnics show which forms part of Valencia's Fallas Festival and takes place at 2pm everyday in March. The festival's origins stem from the tradition of spring cleaning, when Valencians would burn their old furniture in the street. It has somehow developed into a mammoth celebration. At the Fallas Parade you'll see Ninots (slightly disturbing but intricately designed wooden sculptures) all of which are burned down apart from one winner. Alongside this tradition are the falleras (Spanish debutantes dressed in intricate menina-style dresses), one of which is also crowned winner. Fortunately the rest of the falleras are not set on fire for losing. 

As we wait for the Mascleta, the streets fill up and there is a 10 minute boom warning, and then a 5 minute boom warning, and eventually it begins. The Mascleta today begins with blue and yellow smoke in solidarity with Ukraine. It is loud and long. They tell you to cover your ears or your eardrums may burst. 

After an embarrassing altercation in a paella restaurant with some other girls from the walking tour (which I won't repeat in the unlikely case that they find this blog) I go to the Botanical Gardens where someone has recommended a plant and music exhibition. I'm intrigued to see how such a combination works, but really all it is a speaker in a greenhouse, which is pleasant to be fair. The gardens are like a mini urban oasis, with flats and balconies overlooking this walled plot of cacti, allotments and greenhouses. 

I am soon hungry and keen to try Valencian paella, which traditionally contains rabbit. In my hanger, I opt for a very touristic spot where I pay a small fortune for some average arroz. I go back to the atmosphere-less hostel, where the common room hosts 4 silent travellers, eyes glued to their devices. I am due to meet Karo, a German girl, and her Irish friend who happen to be going to the same concert (Metronomy) as I am. I amble towards the Ruzafa neighbourhood, through kids throwing firecrackers to the ground in glee. Ruzafa has a more cosmopolitan feel, lots of bars, and no cobbled streets like the Old Town. We don't have time to get drinks so buy those tiny wine cartons that look like juice boxes from the supermarket. 

Moon Valencia, the venue, is surprisingly small. We don't have to wait long before Grove, a rapper from Bristol, comes on as support. They sound like Bristol, like home:) With dancehall and garage beats it feels like being back on Turbo Island. It feels like Bristol spirit. It is only a short wait between the sets, and Metronomy soon enter, cool, calm and collected. Their sound is crisp and together. I've never seen a band that sound so in unison, like one instrument. They are masters of their tools. As for the crowd, they are hardcore fans. By the time they play The Look, there are middle-aged men moshing. There is a persistent encore at the end, which seems half-expected by the band. I leave buzzing and go to meet Masha (a friend from Bristol) and her friends at a bar nearby. We go to a few bars around the Ruzafa, and end up in an oddly-designed club with a snail-shaped interior, the inside of the "shell" leading to the toilets. They play noughties remixes and there is an eclectic mix of people in the place. 

Sunday

I wake up at 10am to an extremely unwelcome alarm. I trundle to Estacion de Norte in a hungover daze, where I meet Donna (an English lady who I've found through Host a Sister, a Facebook group for female solo travellers). With Donna and her friend Sally, who both live in the Valencia region, we catch a bus down to the City of Arts and Sciences, one of Valencia's top landmarks. It's raining so we have a quick stroll around the City of Arts and Sciences before going to the Ninots exhibiton. There must be at least 50 of these wooden scupltures on display in the museum, all of which are the winners from previous years. I appreciate the amount of work and skill that must go into making them, but I'm not convinced by the final result. Writing this 3 months later, I can't exactly remember my initial reaction to the Ninots, other than that it was visceral, and not in a positive way. 

Donna is insistent that I try Agua de Valencia, which in fact contains no water and instead a deadly concoction of fresh orange juice, cava, and an assortment of spirits. We sit in an ornate cafe and finish a very large jug of this cocktail before deciding that we should probably eat something. Through the pouring rain we catch last orders at a restaurant before I scuttle through the showers to meet my BlaBlaCar driver.