Beachin’ It

The weather has been glorious here. I’m sorry, but it has. On Tuesday, it got up to 19°C officially, with sun. Maybe that was out at the airport, because it was warmer in the city. Most of the pixel boards were showing low to mid-20s.

Karen and I had a lazy morning and then went for a long-ish walk down to the Turia Gardens. I was pleased that my sore foot didn’t give me grief. I did make sure to wear proper walking shoes rather than my slip-ons.

We went over to Rusaffa first to check progress there. Work on putting up the lights proceeds, but no sign of Fallas statues yet. On a possibly sad note, Karen found an online schedule yesterday that mentions the Rusaffa light show premiering March 11. If true, it would mean we’d miss it; that’s the day we drive out of Valencia with Ralph and Pat. We’re hoping it’s not accurate. The show certainly went earlier than that the year we were staying in Rusaffa.

We walked over, through the Rusaffa market area, to Avenida del Reino de Valencia, the Avenue of the King of Valencia, a wide palm-lined boulevard with a park down the centre. It ends at the river, at King’s Bridge, near the City of Arts and Sciences. Just before we got to the bridge, I spotted, down a side street, a long wall splashed with vivid video game-stye street art. Naturally we had to investigate.

Panoramic shot of just part of wall of street art just off King of Valencia (click to enlarge)

There was a school there – or we think that’s what it was – with a cafeteria outside under some awnings behind a link fence, where students (young people, anyway) were sitting. They went back inside soon after we arrived. We found ourselves in an empty, rubbly yard with scrub grass and a few trees. Some poor-looking terrace-less apartment blocks backed on to it. The art on the walls is fabulous, if you like that sort of thing. It’s certainly accomplished. Who knows what it all signifies? I spent 15 minutes tiptoeing around, trying to avoid stepping in dog shit, to get some snaps. (Valencians, who are as dog-crazy as the French and British, are not bad about picking up after their canine friends, when it’s on a public street or path. In places like this, they let it lie.)

At the bridge, I took some time to photograph the fabulous bronze demons atop the pillars at each end. They were made by local sculptor Joan Martí. Except, are they demons? They look fearsome, but are apparently intended to be benign, at least to Valencians. Most sources refer to them as “guadianes del Puente,” guardians of the bridge. But a local architectural historian Salvador Monléon describes them as “gargoyles” and “demons.” As Monléon has said, "They are very Gotham, the city of the Batman comic books, [a city] that is new but also old, like the first American skyscrapers.” Yeah, he’s right. And that description, “ new but also old,” fits Valencia pretty well too.

We walked down into the Turia Gardens, found a bench in dappled sun near the Palau de la Musica, and sat and read our books for an hour – our e-books. (I was reading Beatlebone by the Irish writer Kevin Barry. It’s his story of a stressed-out, creatively blocked John Lennon spending time in the west of Ireland in 1978. He’s trying to get to an island just off the coast that he’d bought in the late 1960s, with help from a very funny Irish chauffeur character. Very amusing, very James Joyce-lite.)

When we got up to leave, I did something incredibly stupid: I left my camera sitting on the bench. I walked 100 meters down the path and suddenly remembered. I think I actually put both hands up and banged the sides of my head. “Idiota!” As I turned and started running back, I could see the couple who had been sitting on the bench across from us, English speakers, walking towards us. She had the camera dangling by its strap from her hand. They were grinning. I thanked them profusely, of course. The guy, a Brit, said, “It would have been a very expensive afternoon if you’d left your camera.” No kidding! It shook me. That camera – with the lens, it’s worth well over $1,000 – is one of my most prized possessions. And I had left it where anybody passing could have scooped it up and walked the other way. I was very lucky.

We walked along the river bed into the centre. At Alameda, an open spot near the subway stop, we noticed debris left from what had obviously been a big fireworks display. There were charred pallets and sand bags, presumably for holding the rockets upright. It was probably left over from the opening 6 p.m. mascletas on Saturday, which lasted a long time. Why haven’t they cleaned up the mess, Karen wondered. I think it’s probably because there is another fireworks show scheduled to go up from this same spot later in the Fallas week. Karen and I and Caitlin and Caitlin’s friend Angela saw a night-time show back in 2011 that went off from here.  

We walked back across the Exposition Bridge, also known as the Calatrava Bridge, because it was designed by Santiago Calatrava, the local architect responsible for much of the City of Arts and Sciences. It’s an impressive structure, reminiscent of an abstract Spanish-style hair comb, and the late afternoon light was interesting. I did take some pictures, but at some point earlier in the afternoon, I had inadvertently turned off the anti-shake control on my lens. All the shots were blurred, as were many I’d taken of the gargoyles at the other bridge. I’ll re-do them another time – but it will have to be soon, as we leave in a week!

We walked up my shoe-store street, but this time the shop was not only closed at a few minutes before five – normal after-siesta reopening time – but the shutters were drawn tight, suggesting it wasn’t going to open this day. Oh, well. We walked on through the centre and home. The twilight was glorious that evening, with lots of pink in the sky – a promise of fine weather the next day.

View from our front balcony along Carrer de Jesus: rush hour

Yesterday had been forecast for some time as the best day yet, with temperatures in the mid- to high twenties, and sun. Apparently it only got up to 26°C, but felt warmer. Our plan was to bike to the beach with a picnic again. And that’s what we did, after shopping at Mercadona in the morning. It was pretty much a repeat of our picnic the week before: sitting on a stone bench on the beach walk in the shade of a palm tree, scarfing sandwiches and swilling wine and beer.

The sun was hot. And there were a lot more people on the beach than the week before. Lots of volleyballing, lots of sun bathing, lots of waders, even a hardy few diving into the surf. None of those would be Spaniards, of course. But it’s half-term in England this week apparently, and possibly other northern European countries too. Quite a few of the bikini-clad young women were suspiciously ghost pale. Meanwhile, Valencianos are often still dressed in sweaters and winter boots, despite the sun and warmth. Karen read somewhere that there is a Spanish saying that you should never shed winter clothes until May – presumably because until then, it can turn cool quickly.

As busy as the beach was, and it got busier as the afternoon wore on, I’m sure we saw only a tiny fraction of what you’d see on a summer day. We’re guessing sun bathers would be packed on the sand like sardines, and all the many beach volleyball courts would have nets up and be busy instead of the relative few we saw in use.

After lunch, we went down to the water and walked along toward Alboraya. Karen stuck her feet in and reported that the water was the temperature of Lake Huron in June. Brrrr! 

Just before we got to the break at Alboraya, we went up from the beach to the last of the Valenbisi stations and grabbed bikes. We rode down the beach walk in Alboraya as far as we could, past all the new condo blocks, to a point where the build-up ends. We couldn’t really go any further because we were running out of time on our free half hour with the bikes, so we turned back.

When we got to the Valenbisi station, we ran into a problem we remember from past years. On nice days, people grab bikes elsewhere in the city and head for the beach. They drop them off at one of the four or five stations dotted along its length, filling up all the spots, so there’s nowhere to leave your bike when you come along. Luckily you can swipe the card at the station and the system gives you an extra 15 minutes to find another spot. It took us 30 to find places for both – at different stations. We had to split up. 

We met back at a park bench on the beach walk that Karen had spotted earlier, a proper wooden one with a back on it, comfortable enough for decrepit old bodies. We spent 45 minutes or so, most of the rest of the afternoon, sitting and reading our ebooks and watching people pass.

Then we rode home.