Sunday, May 21, 2006
Report from Valencia
Valencia, where I arrived by train on Monday, the 15th of May, was a welcome change from the claustrophobia of Toledo--wide avenues, palm trees, plazas with fountains, attractive 10-story buildings with curved façades and wrought-iron balconies. And for the first time in four cities I found myself in a hotel room bigger than a monk's cell, with a carpet and a minibar for me to refrigerate my cheese.
But I came to Valencia not for the city but to see Asela, my Cuban friend, whom I met in June of 2003 during my first trip to Cuba when I rented a room in her house in Santiago, who has sent me an email almost every day since, and who is in Valencia visiting her three children, who live here because her ex-husband married a Spanish woman from here. This provides me with financial and culinary relief, as I can use the computer in the apartment of her elder daughter, where she is staying, and I can eat home-cooked meals there, not having to struggle to find something meatless.
Asela and I fall into a pattern of sight-seeing together mornings into early afternoon, then taking the bus to her daughter´s apartment (in a neighborhood that reminds me of Queens), where she cooks while I use the computer. We are a good pair for sight-seeing because she has a sense of direction and I am fearless about asking directions--most of the streets in central Valencia are on the diagonal, so it is easy to get disoriented. I discover that this region is bilingual in Spanish and Valenciano, which may be a dialect of Catalan or may be a separate language, it depends on whom you ask, and that things like street signs and the explanatory notes in museums are in both languages, or maybe just in Valenciano. (Valenciano reminds me of French in that it has the accent grave and the ç, but a lot of words end in t, as in institut.) Asela's daughter tells me that from grade school to university you can choose which language you want to study in.
We discover that the National Ceramics Museum, in the baroque Palacio de Marqués de Dos Aguas, has incredibly elaborate baroque stucco work surrounding its entrance and sumptuous carriages and room furnishings in the two floors below the (historical) cercamics exhibit. In the Plaza de la Virgen what looks like an enormous carpet appears on the outer wall of the church by the exuberant fountain whose central reclining figure representrs the local river. It turns out to have been made of dried flowers and represents the Virgen de los Desamparados, to whom the church is dedicated. The Cathedral, a misture of architectural styles, has its main altar shielded by a dropcloth and its dome concealed by scaffolding, undoubtedly in preparation for the visit by the Pope for a conclave on the family here in July. In the plaza near the Cathedral is a branch of the chocolatería in Salamanca where I discovered the joys of their incredibly thick hot chocolate with churros, which of course I introduce to Asela. The central market is enormous, an Art Nouveau work of cast iron, brick, and glass. Across the street is the Lonja de los Mercaderes, a 15th-century building whose interior is an enormous colonnaded hall, once a commodities exchange, now a free tourist attraction. Another stunning Art Nouveau structure is the train station, for some reason called the Estación del Nord although it is at the south end of the city center. The Barrio del Carmen, the oldest part of the city, has narrow streets going every which way, a café that serves green tea and two vegetarian restaurants, and from all the renovation going on is clearly in a state of rapid gentrification. The botanical garden is a green oasis of peace and relaxation.
One afternoon Asela´s oldest daughter drives us to the part of the port set up for the America's Cup, a three-year event happening here, and then through a nature reserve to a lagoon that combines the salt water of the Mediterranean with the fresh water of the river. On the way back we pass the spectacular super-modern architecture of the new City of Arts and Sciences, a museum complex. Another day we go to Sagunto, a nearby town where Asela´s son lives, and clamber around the sprawling Roman ruin known as el Castillo before eating a vegetarian comida prepared by him, including for dessert the first pineapple and watermelon (also cherries and strawberries) that I have had since leaving Mexico. Yet another excursion takes us by tram to the city beach, where the sand is not white and the water is not turquoise, but it is a very relaxing excursion and gives me an opportunity to say that I have seen the Mediterranean.
The Metro here is super-modern, without advertising, with escalators that don't run when no one is on them but start again when you step on them and with doors that a passenger has to open (which I sort of resented until I realized it was another energy-saving feature, i.e., the doors don't open when no one needs them). In what seems related to my earlier observation of there being no muchachos shining shoes, it occurs to me here that none of my hotels has had a bell boy. Either the man at the desk brings up my suitcase or I do it myself, in either case saving on a tip.
My next transition, on Monday to Seville, is the first of two by air, thanks to a low-cost airline that flies from here to there.
But I came to Valencia not for the city but to see Asela, my Cuban friend, whom I met in June of 2003 during my first trip to Cuba when I rented a room in her house in Santiago, who has sent me an email almost every day since, and who is in Valencia visiting her three children, who live here because her ex-husband married a Spanish woman from here. This provides me with financial and culinary relief, as I can use the computer in the apartment of her elder daughter, where she is staying, and I can eat home-cooked meals there, not having to struggle to find something meatless.
Asela and I fall into a pattern of sight-seeing together mornings into early afternoon, then taking the bus to her daughter´s apartment (in a neighborhood that reminds me of Queens), where she cooks while I use the computer. We are a good pair for sight-seeing because she has a sense of direction and I am fearless about asking directions--most of the streets in central Valencia are on the diagonal, so it is easy to get disoriented. I discover that this region is bilingual in Spanish and Valenciano, which may be a dialect of Catalan or may be a separate language, it depends on whom you ask, and that things like street signs and the explanatory notes in museums are in both languages, or maybe just in Valenciano. (Valenciano reminds me of French in that it has the accent grave and the ç, but a lot of words end in t, as in institut.) Asela's daughter tells me that from grade school to university you can choose which language you want to study in.
We discover that the National Ceramics Museum, in the baroque Palacio de Marqués de Dos Aguas, has incredibly elaborate baroque stucco work surrounding its entrance and sumptuous carriages and room furnishings in the two floors below the (historical) cercamics exhibit. In the Plaza de la Virgen what looks like an enormous carpet appears on the outer wall of the church by the exuberant fountain whose central reclining figure representrs the local river. It turns out to have been made of dried flowers and represents the Virgen de los Desamparados, to whom the church is dedicated. The Cathedral, a misture of architectural styles, has its main altar shielded by a dropcloth and its dome concealed by scaffolding, undoubtedly in preparation for the visit by the Pope for a conclave on the family here in July. In the plaza near the Cathedral is a branch of the chocolatería in Salamanca where I discovered the joys of their incredibly thick hot chocolate with churros, which of course I introduce to Asela. The central market is enormous, an Art Nouveau work of cast iron, brick, and glass. Across the street is the Lonja de los Mercaderes, a 15th-century building whose interior is an enormous colonnaded hall, once a commodities exchange, now a free tourist attraction. Another stunning Art Nouveau structure is the train station, for some reason called the Estación del Nord although it is at the south end of the city center. The Barrio del Carmen, the oldest part of the city, has narrow streets going every which way, a café that serves green tea and two vegetarian restaurants, and from all the renovation going on is clearly in a state of rapid gentrification. The botanical garden is a green oasis of peace and relaxation.
One afternoon Asela´s oldest daughter drives us to the part of the port set up for the America's Cup, a three-year event happening here, and then through a nature reserve to a lagoon that combines the salt water of the Mediterranean with the fresh water of the river. On the way back we pass the spectacular super-modern architecture of the new City of Arts and Sciences, a museum complex. Another day we go to Sagunto, a nearby town where Asela´s son lives, and clamber around the sprawling Roman ruin known as el Castillo before eating a vegetarian comida prepared by him, including for dessert the first pineapple and watermelon (also cherries and strawberries) that I have had since leaving Mexico. Yet another excursion takes us by tram to the city beach, where the sand is not white and the water is not turquoise, but it is a very relaxing excursion and gives me an opportunity to say that I have seen the Mediterranean.
The Metro here is super-modern, without advertising, with escalators that don't run when no one is on them but start again when you step on them and with doors that a passenger has to open (which I sort of resented until I realized it was another energy-saving feature, i.e., the doors don't open when no one needs them). In what seems related to my earlier observation of there being no muchachos shining shoes, it occurs to me here that none of my hotels has had a bell boy. Either the man at the desk brings up my suitcase or I do it myself, in either case saving on a tip.
My next transition, on Monday to Seville, is the first of two by air, thanks to a low-cost airline that flies from here to there.
# posted by Louise Lander @ 12:33 PM 
