My train pulled into the Valencia train station at 1 on Saturday afternoon. Ana and Jesus were waiting for me with her luggage in hand. Ana had just arrived on a flight from Richmond hours before. We embraced and expressed the shock and excitement of seeing each other so far away from Virginia, where we are both graduate students at VCU. We took a taxi from the station, around a bullfighting arena to Jesus’ studio in Rusafa barrio. The taxi stopped on a small street and as we were unloading the trunk we noticed a completely naked man practicing yoga on the sidewalk. We dropped off our bags and walked out into the intense sunlight to get a cerveza.
With our beers we had a tapa of boquerones (anchovies preserved in oil, served with olives and eaten on top of potato chips). After our appetizer we walked through the Rusafa neighborhood market and then had lunch at a wine bar.
We returned to Jesus’ studio to gather our baggage and relocate to his friend’s flat where we would stay while I was in town. The fourth floor flat belongs to 3 women who all live in other cities but keep it as a pied-à-terre because the rent is under 200 Euros a month. The place had a similar layout to a San Francisco railroad flat but the ceilings were high, the rooms were small like cells and the floors were decorated with colorful octagon-shaped tiles.
After we all took baths and had a siesta, we went out for tapas. We walked from Rusafa, the historically Arabic neighborhood and now transitional barrio of young artists, to El Carmen in the center of Valencia, where we found bars and terraces overflowing with diners enjoying the a cool Saturday night.
Our first stop was a small bar where we ate sautéed mushrooms swimming in garlic and oil. After a glass of white wine and a few bites we wandered for a while and then sat on a large terrace. Ana and Jesus’ friends, Ana and Carlos met us and we all shared a pitcher of sangria and a bowl of patates braves (potatoes topped with cream and hot sauce).
On Sunday morning we woke up “early” at 10:30 and went out to have Ana’s favorite breakfast: café con leche and a variation of Catalan toast with blended tomatoes, oil and herbs on grilled bread.
After breakfast we walked at a Spanish pace to meet Ana and Carlos at the bus stop to catch the bus to a small town on a large lake where paella was invented as a meal relying on the resources of the area: wild rice and small critters living around the lake. Paella on Sunday is a typical Spanish activity. Families dressed in their nice church clothes feast for hours on pans of rice. From the bus stop we hitchhiked into town. The friendly men driving us recommended their favorite paella parlor and we followed their suggestion.
The five of us ordered two paellas, one with seafood and one with chicken. Both dishes also included broad green beans and large white beans in the mix. We all ate the traditional way, with spoons directly from the pans. To drink: sangria, for dessert: flan, then espresso, then digestive liqueur and almond cake.
After our meal we had time to kill before the next bus so we took a boat tour of the lake. Completely stuffed and withered by heat, it was pleasant to get a cool breeze off the water. The boatman pointed out wildlife as he slowly pushed the boat forward with a long stick.
When we got to the bus stop we waited with many tourists for the bus that was 20 minutes late. We made it into the city just in time for the beginning of the final match of the World Cup, which we watched on a terrace of a pizzaria. People from the neighborhood gathered, ordered shots of limoncello and shouted at the small flat screen.
When Spain won the World Cup, a rejoicing roar exploded from the open windows around us. People embarrassed and seemed speechless with shock. In the streets people sang and blew horns, cars honked and drunk patriots lurched from bar to bar.
The morning after the game I met up with Jesus and Ana in a workingman’s bar for coffee and breakfast. Sleepy faces watched the bar televisions recapping the game; men in uniforms ate their mid-morning tortilla sandwiches; we sipped cafés con leche and nibbled croissants.
Before I had to catch my flight to Portugal we slowly wandered without aim around downtown. Jesus took us into the newly renovated public market where we gazed up at the tiled ceiling and passed through brilliant displays of produce and meats.
