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Valencia

J and I visited the venerable Catalonian city of Valencia on the eastern coast of the Iberian peninsula.

The city is an unusually harmonious mix of old and new: the ciutat vella (old city) is all cobbles and charm, whilst Santiago Calatrava’s extraordinary buildings rise up towards the sea, distinctive against a cloudless sky, white on blue.

Spring was still blossoming in the trees but the city was already getting hotter, with temperatures hitting eighty plus degrees. So even if the younger generation of Valencians increasingly works to European hours, there’s still much to be said for an afternoon siesta in some shady spot away from the dusty streets.

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Valencia

 

Valencia seems to be a city of successions. A hotbed of sedition in Roman times, Catalonia’s second great power was overrun by Visigoths and subsequently fought over by the Moors and the Christians who first reconquered Valencia under El Cid in 1094, then conclusively under James I of Aragon in 1238.

Valencia prospered in the centuries that followed, financing Columbus’ fateful expedition of 1492 before once more becoming the scene of prolonged fighting during the monarchic and imperial wars that tore across Spain in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Taking flight

J and I flew to Valencia out of East Midlands Airport over the May Day Holiday, courtesy of the dreadfully shabby but sickeningly cheap Ryanair.

At the other end, the sun was out and the temperatures climbing. We stayed in the Hotel Venecia whose principal advantage is its marvellous location on the Plaza Ayuntamiento.

View from the top

After the drag of flying, I obviously couldn’t resist getting up among the clouds again, this time scaling the near 300 steps of El Micalet, the stout tower of Santa Maria’s Catedral de València in breathless, bounding steps that I would later regret.

The view was practically worth it. No, it really was and I found myself drawing comparisons with the lofty heights of the Duomo Campanile in Florence.

In an oft-neglected spot off to the side of the Catedral’s nave is the chapel of Santo Caliz, in which there is one of those irresistable is-it-isn’t-it relics of the Catholic Church: the Holy Grail. We stumbled in on a religious ceremony there, but there was still enough space to sidle in and catch a glimpse of what could have inspired all those colourful legends and the odd Hollywood movie.

Down in the streets

All that climbing was thirsty work. J and I repaired to the Orxateria El Siglo for a glass of Orxata (or “Horchata” in Castellano).

It’s easy to get lost in the backstreets of Valencia’s ciutat vella, the Old Quarter. There’s a unique scene on every corner, from the Caballeros to the Barrio Del Carmen. Students meeting up for drinks, colourful graffiti, grumpy old folks arguing loudly.

In the quiet of a late afternoon, when locals are in siesta, we came across the Plaza Redondo almost by chance, as you do with most Valencian landmarks.

It was difficult to imagine that just hours earlier, the din of thousands of songbirds would have filled the air, for this is where winged warblers from around the world are bought and sold.

When evening drew in, we tended to roost at the Cafe Sant Jaume at one end of the Caballeros, drinking dobles of beer and trying to make ourselves heard over the customary Iberian racket.

From the cafe back to the Plaza Ayuntamiento, we walked down the Bolseria and the Plaza Mercato.

The latter area is home to several distinguished buildings, in particular the Mercado Central and the fabulous Lonja de la Seda, a former silk traders’ exchange turned UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Opposite the Lonja is yet another of the numerous churches dedicated to Saint Mary.

The story goes that children who were brought here were told to look up at the weather vane for a period of time. When finally they allowed their gaze to return to the street, their parents would be gone and responsibility for their welfare had passed to the church.

In the Mercado Central, the stalls buzz with activity as Valencians go about their daily food shopping. On display are the usual oranges and olives, but here you can also find such exotic fare as dried bonito.

20,000 leagues under the sea… with 20,000 kids

As Giles Tremlett warns in his superb Ghosts of Spain, kids are the most important figures in Spanish society. Indeed, though the ghosts of Napoleon’s army had long since been expelled from the Valencian gates, the irritant spirit of the diminutive dictator is alive and well in the city’s little bundles of joy.

Down at the Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències, the modern architectural marvel designed by Valencia’s very own Santiago Calatrava, the new aquarium complex L’Oceanogràfic was rammed with what seemed like most of the city’s clamouring little wretches.

While their parents flouted the rules by dazzling the poor fish with flash photography, tomorrow’s leaders of Catalonia hollered and scampered their way through every display. The awesome sight of beautiful white beluga or creepy Japanese Giant Spider Crabs couldn’t hush them.

We had to put the undignified cacophony down to the sort of cultural divide that even Calatrava’s splendid Alameda bridge couldn’t straddle.

Another example of cultural divides might explain the inspired menu at the aquarium’s self-serve restaurant. The majority of dishes on offer were fish.