El Pais is a popular national newspaper, I noted, amidst the clatter of crockery at the bar where I took breakfast. (Note from the future: I read this daily over the Internet now.)
The Intercity was late coming from Estació Francia, but departed on time. Spaniards add a smacking noise when they kiss on the cheek. The train was packed and as a result of the curtailed time for embarcation, a man helping his mother settle in her seat was still on board when the train pulled out. When the conductor came around to punch tickets, a voluble argument ensued, punctuated often by a phrase I recognised from lessons: ¡Hombre, por favor! (Mate, please! would be a local equivalent.) They went to another carriage to continue the altercation. When the man returned he was smiling so a compromise had been negotiated and he later disembarked at Tarragona. The conductor responded to questions from other passengers, no doubt to satisfy their curiosity about the outcome. I made a mental note in future to arrive early for a service, reserve a seat or risk traveling standing. Incidentally the conductor made no comment about me sitting in a non-smoking car inspite of holding a smoking car ticket, an unintentional purchase.
We passed beaches and homes in overcast weather. Around Sitges, the sun emerged and the landscape gleamed. We swished past fields of grass, caravan parks, golf courses, marinas. Where the land was open, the soil was yellow.
It looked like I was the only foreigner on the train. There was a girl with a Body Shop bag but she turned out to be Spanish. We passed new and shiny Tarragona station (where there is a Via 0, I noted) and as we headed southwest the soil darkened. It felt cooler than the stated 20C due to the dusty breeze when I stepped out at Valencia station. My first impression of Valencia was more space and light than Barcelona. At the Hospedia Del Pilar I got a good deal, a double room for the price of a single as it was out of season, but the shared shower was extra.
Valencia is the birthplace of paella and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity so I lunched on an excellent portion at Cafetería Valiente. On the way to Túria Park I noticed a Restaurant Koala. No idea about its origin. The civic park is the dry bed of the Túria, created to alleviate flooding. There were schoolkids walking there but not much else was happening. So it was back to the hospedia via Plaça de la Virgen (pictured above). More French tourists. I noted orange trees with fallen fruit on the ground all over the city.
After the siesta, I went looking for dinner in the old city but nothing looked promising. The restaurants around the Ajuntament were expensive. Eventually I settled for a bocadillo calamares (squid sub) with patatas bravas (fried potatoes in hot sauce), washed down with a cerveza at the Cafetería Xátiva. The potatoes were quite good, the sauce reminded me of buffalo wings sauce. It was a typical Spanish bar: the TV was going full blast, mostly for the benefit of the waiters, Juventus Turin beat Borrusia Dortmund 3:1; and patrons were conversing loudly.
The main streets of Valencia were brightly lit. There was a greater police presence so I felt even safer than in Barcelona but Valencia didn't have as much nightlife. Though they were showing a Fritz Lang film at the Rialto so it wasn't devoid of culture.
Spanish drivers like to honk because they are impatient. It's not a macho thing. Even the women drivers honk.
The Intercity was late coming from Estació Francia, but departed on time. Spaniards add a smacking noise when they kiss on the cheek. The train was packed and as a result of the curtailed time for embarcation, a man helping his mother settle in her seat was still on board when the train pulled out. When the conductor came around to punch tickets, a voluble argument ensued, punctuated often by a phrase I recognised from lessons: ¡Hombre, por favor! (Mate, please! would be a local equivalent.) They went to another carriage to continue the altercation. When the man returned he was smiling so a compromise had been negotiated and he later disembarked at Tarragona. The conductor responded to questions from other passengers, no doubt to satisfy their curiosity about the outcome. I made a mental note in future to arrive early for a service, reserve a seat or risk traveling standing. Incidentally the conductor made no comment about me sitting in a non-smoking car inspite of holding a smoking car ticket, an unintentional purchase.
We passed beaches and homes in overcast weather. Around Sitges, the sun emerged and the landscape gleamed. We swished past fields of grass, caravan parks, golf courses, marinas. Where the land was open, the soil was yellow.
Valencia is the birthplace of paella and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity so I lunched on an excellent portion at Cafetería Valiente. On the way to Túria Park I noticed a Restaurant Koala. No idea about its origin. The civic park is the dry bed of the Túria, created to alleviate flooding. There were schoolkids walking there but not much else was happening. So it was back to the hospedia via Plaça de la Virgen (pictured above). More French tourists. I noted orange trees with fallen fruit on the ground all over the city.
The main streets of Valencia were brightly lit. There was a greater police presence so I felt even safer than in Barcelona but Valencia didn't have as much nightlife. Though they were showing a Fritz Lang film at the Rialto so it wasn't devoid of culture.
Spanish drivers like to honk because they are impatient. It's not a macho thing. Even the women drivers honk.
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