I vaguely recalled from arriving for the Camino nine years ago how to get to the metro from within Barajas airport.It took surprisingly little time to make the two line switch to get to Goya station on Line 4, and I emerged into a rainy grey day at a busy five way intersection anchored by Spanish department store El Corte Ingles. \240My friend and local host Lu \240Zhou - a former colleague at ONTARIO MORNING till her husband took a job transfer last year - had sent me a google map and directions, but in my jet lagged haze I couldn’t figure out which of the five streets was which, and eventually called her for a rescue. She hurried over to pick me up from outside a McDonald’s (thanks for the free wifi, no fries with that!) and walked me the few blocks up to her place on Calle Ayala. As soon as I saw the big wooden doors open onto a marble lobby and a classic wrought iron elevator, I felt my spirits lift too. Welcome to Europe. I’m back where I belong,

Being a consummate hostess - and knowing me well after sitting across from me at work for four years - Lu correctly surmised that the only thing I probably needed more than sleep was food, and set about putting out some brunchables : a little meat and cheese, a yogurt and berries parfait, and the thing Spain does better than anyone else, fresh orange juice. (As my friend Fatima observed when we texted about it, ‘Your friend is beautiful and you are spoiled.’ Both statements are true!)

We sat and had a long catchup on her life in Europe since moving last year, and my news and work. I was impressed to see how comfortably casual and relaxed Lu was after her year abroad and we talked a lot about life in both deep and cursory ways. It was really the perfect way to spend a gray and rainy day and i did not at all feel guilty about not going out to revisit the town. After our chat I went and unpacked as much as I could before passing out for a much needed nap. Later on we reunited in the kitchen for a really lovely homecooked dinner, and I realized with all the Ukraine preoccupation, I hadn’t had a hot meal in over a week. Comfort food indeed.

Every now and then we heard noises from the room next door, where Lu’s \24016 year old son was imprisoned with COVID symptoms for five days…I literally saw the kid once the entire time I was there because he was so scrupulous about staying shut in. We chuckled anew about the funny connection we have because of Gabe; \240before moving, Gabe had just started \240at the high \240school where my cousin Mark is vice principal….and now in Spain, Gabe attends the international expat school where my uncle Andy was principal 20 years ago. Gabe is also tall, lanky, athletic and floppy-banged like my nephew Will, and they have often reminded me of each other….Lu and I agreed we will not be surprised if they end up bumping into each other at Queen’s sometime, as our families seem fated to intersect.

The rainy day was perfect for staying in,laying low, curling up and having \240cozy and comfortable conversation in an \240exquisitely appointed home. I was glad I have been to Madrid before because it took off the pressure to go run around taking in the town; I was very fine just living and being. We called it an evening a few hours later and I eventually fell asleep after way too much internet-checking time.

SEE: Lu in her beautiful apartment; a queen in her self-made castle indeed. Can we just talk about these floors and light fixtures please?!?

The next day I slept very late, and Lu knocked to make sure I was up before she left for the day to do her thing. I veeeeerrrrrryyy sllloooowwwwlllly got up, figured out which of the \240clothes I had hurled into my backpack actually went together, showered, and put myself together for the day. It was almost mid afternoon by the time i went out into a sunny springy day in Salamanca, and I was still so dazed that I wasn’t even sure where to go. I wandered around the neighborhood a bit, just looking around, but soon realized I was way more tired than I had expected and didn’t have a ton of steam. So I made my way back toward Lu’s and stopped at the salon next door for a much needed mani, pedi and brow wax. A bit of overdue grooming was restorative, and by the time I was back upstairs i was feeling a little perked up.

That night Lu took me to dinner to a place near the big square at Sol, the centrepoint with the famous signature statue of Madrid, a bear climbing a tree. The square was heaving with people, as were the side streets full of cafes and pubs and restaurants only just beginning to fill up with people. (It was only around 7 or so, after all, very early for the famously late dining hour Spaniards prefer.) It was a little startling, but also somehow invigorating, to see such a teeming moving crowd of people out to live life on a Friday night. Lu had picked out a very hipster-cool tapas restaurant called INCLAN BRUTAL, which was anything but….the funky bordello style decor was cool, but even better were the cocktails. Lu ordered a signature drink that came in a big ceramic jug shaped like an octopus, that you had to hold in two hands to drink — too fun! And there were was more signature dishware for the various tapas, which were AMAZING: perfectly chewy baby calamari in a squid shaped dish, potatos gajo in a special sauce served inside a giant faux potato, and burrata injected with strawberry and basil sauces at the table with giant hypodermic syringes. I mean, we hate being THOSE PEOPLE taking photos of their food , but these were dishes truly meant to be seen as much as tasted. \240It was tempting to keep ordering just to see how the food would be presented, but it was so delicious we were well sated. Amazing, perfect meal out in Madrid.

As delightedly full as we were on our way out, we did still feel like something light and sweet, so we stopped in to nearby Eccolo for a little date bite, and gelato, and an unexpectedly gossipy conversation about the mayor of Barrie that made us both laugh — what would our favourite mayor to have on the show think if he knew he was being discussed in a European cafe? What total CBC nerds we are…you can take the girls out of ONTARIO MORNING, but you can’t take the ONTARIO MORNING out of us!

When we got home, we were greeted by Lu’s husband Brian, just back from a business trip and we had the pleasure of meeting for the first time after years of hearing about each other. Nice to put a face to the legend! We all caught up and then went to our respective corners to crash for another day, me feeling considerably more normal and cheered after the reminder of regular life.

On Saturday Lu let me sleep in again and then we bustled off to her favourite local bakery cafe,MAISON KAYSER, a place that is truly a little slice of Paris in Madrid. I had my first real cafe con leche since the Camino nine (!) years ago,and I have to say it was like tasting a memory. There is something about the coffees here, the rich assuredness of the flavour, and the satisfying quality of whole milk perhaps, that makes a cafe con leche in this country distinct and delicious. I don’t even sweeten it \240as much as I do coffee at home because the full bodied flavour is so sophisticated somehow. And then there is that European thing about sitting and enjoying coffee from a ceramic cup on a saucer that adds a layer of enforced savoring…no coffee in a paper cup swigged while striding down the street or from a car cup holder will ever be as enjoyable. It’s just one of the tiny details of European life that make it so very enviable.

Because it was another perfect spring day, Lu had planned for us to take a walk through her beloved Retiro Park, Madrid’s answer to Hyde, Central, Luxembourg and High Parks. I had passed through Retiro briefly on my first visit in 1998, but had not really done a full walkthrough. And for a true introduction it was picture perfect (see: the millions of pictures Lu patiently let me collect with stops every five feet or so.) The park is full of Romanesque sculptures and structures, and features a little pond that was so full of boaters in the sunshine it looked like a Seurat painting. There were, again, tons of people, just walking for the sake of walking on a Saturday afternoon, and after the many dark days online reading bleak news about Ukraine, it was somehow so life-affirming to see everyday people living normally, and enjoying simple pleasures well. Of course, the shadow of the war a few countries over wasn’t ever out of mind…at one point, admiring the detailed architecture of some nearby buildings, I suddenly thought how Kyiv has similar buildings, but many are probably bombed out by now. Sobering and saddening to imagine edifices like the ones in front of me reduced to ruins. That was tough, as was the guilt I often felt enjoying the day so blithely when \240I am painfully aware so many other people back in Ukraine don’t have the option to take a pause or step back. I find myself feeling layers of discomfort: survivor guilt, privilege, ignorance of what living over there right no is really like — that are a whole other matter in my head beyond the front and centre stress of the news from the war, and worrying about people. I am not yet sure how to handle it, but even that makes me feel guilty because that is such a first-world-western-diaspora problem, how can I even presume to call it an “issue” ?Lot of dark feelings tangled up here, even in - and because of - a much needed getaway trip. But the beauty is impossible,and seems irresponsible, not to enjoy.

Below are just a very few of the many images I took around the endlessly scenic Retiro Park.

Lu and I wandered through the city back toward her place and then we split up to run some individual errands, Later in the day she made another dinner, this time featuring a home cooked dish from her childhood in China that she assures me would never show up in any food court, but probably should — it was delicious. She and Brian and I ended up having a really lovely dinner for three over wine and conversation,and I found myself trying to remember the last time I had been at a domestic “dinner party” with friends the same way. I can’t recall anymore. So it was really nice to be reminded. Once again Europe (and let’s face it, the endlessly classy Lu herself) made me fall in love with the grace of simple pleasures, and being present in the moment. The only reason I thought of my phone was to take another photo to remember it by, and perhaps share the pleasure a little.

After dinner, Lu and Brian retired, and I spent most of the night trying to repack my overstuffed bags (what the hell IS this mess of stuff I threw in here in my blind frenzy last Thursday morning,and why is so much of it unnecessary?! Sheesh! WORST. PACKING. EVER!). Tomorrow, on to the main event: Valencia or bust!

TRAIN WRECK

I was up very late (re)packing and up early to leave for my 9:40 am train to Valencia. Lu got up to help put me together (I.e. load me up like a pack mule), see me off (i.e, back me into her very narrow lift) \240and we double checked that I had almost an hour to get to the station, at least twice as long as the Google Map calculator estimated. I toddled off into the early morning sunshine into a peacefully quiet Sunday morning in Madrid, eager to start the next phase of the trip.

Unfortunately my peace soon turned to anxiety when I found myself waiting much longer for the subway than expected, and decided to go back to street level and hail a cab just to be safe. However, easier said than done. Because of the barriers on the corners, as is typical of Europe, I could only really get cabs going one way, and all of them seemed to be on the cross street, and occupied.

I guess my stress started to show, because a courier guy hanging out on the corner with his moped who had seen me go down, then back up with my (many, heavy) bags asked if I needed help. Through mutually broken languages we tried to explain both need, and instructions, but still no cabs were coming. Finally the (not unhandsome) Spanish guy walked me down to the cab stand of the El Corte Ingles department store, and at last a cab rolled up for me. I cannot tell you how grateful I was for the kindness of this stranger.

I smashed through the doors of Atocha station at 9:25 am, with still a fighting chance to make my train. I had bought this ticket months ago, for a sweet $42 CAD,and had been pretty proud of myself for being so prepared and thrifty . Racing down to the lower platform, I found the gate manned by a couple of ticket agents with scanners. I pulled out my phone…and realized I only had screenshotted the travel info of the receipt, NOT the QR code. I needed to open it in the app. Urgently I jabbed at my phone, damn the data charges, and fretfully watched the spinning wheel of the downloading software inch its way around. Slowly. REALLY slowly. No amount of “come ON!”ing was going to hurry this thing open. It was 9:35 now. FINALLY after four minutes the gray box appeared and I thrust it toward the female ticket agents who had bemusedly been watching me will the app open before them .They waved me through and I pointed toward Platform 8….

…and was confronted with a baggage scanner. Like you see in the airport. For the TRAIN.

Practically in tears, I somehow uncoupled my carefully arranged luggage from around myself and dumped it on the conveyor belt, then ran around to hoist it back up onto myself and continue running for the platform. I arrived a minute later, at exactly 9:40 am along with four other people….

…who, like me, watched the train we were all supposed to be on slowly pull out of the station.

One minute. I could have made it if it weren’t for my shortsightedness with the QR code and that stupid, unforeseen bag check.

GodDAMNit.

Dejected, I and the others trudged back into the station and to the ticket booth to get the next available train, My only next option was the 2:05 train, in 2nd class meaning I would pay four times as much as the ticket I’d bought in October…but I’d get to Valencia in daylight. Gritting my teeth, I handed over my card and sighed. After all my near misses and close calls in transit all this way so far, I guess my luck was bound to run out eventually.

The one bright side was that I was at Atocha station, one of my favourites in the world because it houses a huge tropical garden that makes it feel like a red brick greenhouse, and offers some welcome indoor rainforest as a respite from the concrete jungle outside. I settled in to a station cafe with a small container of rather disappointing olives (come on, you’re Spain, do better!) and took up space while I killed time till 2. This time I got to the crowded platform early, and got my seat and settled in for the two hour high speed ride to the coast. Back on track at last.

VALE VALENCIA

I arrived smoothly and safely at Joaquin Sorolla station around 4 pm and was greeted by two of the local coordinators for the Remote Year program: Julen and Iliana.They were also rounding up two other participants who had missed their train as well (well, at least that makes me feel a bit better). Soon Kuntal, from just down a few blocks from me at Yonge and College, and Leen, from Belgium, tumbled off from the platform amid delighted giggles and smiles, and cheered us all with their noisy infectious enthusiasm. Juls and Iliana apologized profusely for the unusually grey and rainy weather, as it has apparently been characteristically sunny and temperate till today, but we were just so glad to be there. I mean, I saw palm trees, which I somehow hadn’t expected but is always a cheering sign I am in a really different place. We split into cabs because we were going to separate residences.

Our apartments. are in the Ruzafa/Russafa district, a cool and funky mix of amenities, cafes and restaurants, near a park and close to the workspace for the program and downtown. As we made our way through the streets, I was a little daunted to see the buildings were not as pretty as in Madrid, and kind of slightly more bland, like apartment blocks I’ve seen in Lviv. Maybe it was the rain, but it felt a bit sketchy…not dangerous or anything, just a bit more downmarket than the main drag. I decided it to chalk it up to autentico character of a true lived-in neighborhood.

Juls let me into a fairly nondescript older building, one of two that has 11 apartments exclusively occupied by our program. He took me to a 2nd floor apartment that was newly refurbished into full IKEA showroom; it even still has new-apartment smell. The two bedroom flat is super cute with clean, brand new Scandinavian furnishings and lively patterned tile floors. Also ther was my roommate Rickie Yolanda Spivey, a woman wearing a “Fabulous At 50” type sweatshirt and who was thrilled I was there because she’d arrived yesterday and had been dying for someone to talk to. Juls quickly walked us through the wifi and other basic house stuff, handed over the keys,pointed out the welcome basket and told us to enjoy. As soon as I dropped my bags, I was right there for it!

Rickie and I chatted while I unpacked and settled in. She initially introduced herself as an empty nester from Texas, but within a few questions it was clear there was a LOT more to her than that. Turns out she is retired military, who left after 27 years of service and three tours in Iraq, two in Afghanistan. Before the military, she was a college basketball player who was good enough to go to Rutgers on scholarship before eventually leaving for her dream of active service. She has three children by three different men, all grown, with several grandchildren and another on the way, and has lived all over the world including Italy and Africa. She’s using this trip as a way to assess her plans for retiring next year at 55 from her job as a contract supervisor for a DC firm, because she really loves travel and is going to continue her time in Spain with a stint in Lisbon right after. I was frankly agog and fascinated listening to her story, especially her concerns about the upcoming Fallas festival of fireworks triggering her warzone PTSD…suffice to say, this woman’s stories of Baghdad are no Arabian Nights tale. I was genuinely gripped hearing detail after detail of her life unfold as we nibbled on the munchies in our snack basket, and I felt pretty damn uninteresting given how many lives she’s already led.

Eventually it was dinner time,which was good because we had both had had nothing to eat except the thoughtfully selected local snacks in the welcome basket,and we were ravenous. We found our way to a modern pizza-pasta restaurant about 10 minutes away called Sorsi E Morsi (which Google Translate tells me means Sips and Morsels and my stomach told me was delicious) . About 25 of us trickled in, including Juls, Iliana, and the third coordinator Florencia. We took our places around three tables and set about starting to get to know one another.

I have to admit, it has been a long time since I was in a group of strangers, and there is still a bit of that “new kid at school” feeling where you wonder whether you’re going to make friends, or be cool enough for the gang. :-D I was perhaps a bit apprehensive because in a group of 35 people ranging from about 27-53 years of age, I am aware I’m on the older end of the spectrum and didnt want to be considered a fuddy duddy. However, our end of the table soon proved to be reasonably friendly and chatty. There was Sid, a tall Indian guy from Ann Arbor who has an online academic coaching business and is very into Pilates; Camille, a quite young, serious looking and polished looking young Muslim woman who is a mix of Filipina, Black and white from North York and works in accounting; Lauren, a New Yorker who has the casual chic, glam and slightly glossy white-girl, perfect toothed charm of a Julia Roberts, and left behind the scenes broadcast journalism to oversee content for PopSugar and the like; and Julia, a very sweet, slightly shy and adorable Chinese-American from Atlanta who gave up accounting but now is an event manager for accounting firms (close enough). Being in such a diverse group, albeit overwhelmingly American overall, felt like a Toronto multicultural environment and was reassuringly familiar. It was a friendly if sometimes slightly awkward mix of small talk and transitional pauses, lit up by glimpses of commonality in travels, interests and outlooks. The meals were delicious, which helped put us all in a good mood, and since the prix fixe for three courses was an insanely reasonable 18 Euros, the tinto verranos (the red wine drinker’s spritzer) we had with our meals helped too. By the end of the night, as we hurried home in the chilly damp night back to our apartments, it felt like a pretty decent, friendly and satisfying start to our collective monthlong adventure together. All right, let’s get this party started!

Welcome to Valencia: Florencia, Julen and Iliana

We took our seats and were greeted by our three group leaders, guides and concierges for the next month: Florencia, from Mexico, Iliana, originally Dominican, and Juls, a native Valencian who has worked in hospitality all over Europe and is about to take over as the regional director for the continental bases. They did a couple of basic icebreakers and then we spent the next hour or so getting up and doing short introductions for ourselves.

Normally I find these intros tiresome, especially after 2 years of zoom meetings where we continually have to go round table and summarize ourselves in a few sentences…ugh. However, I was genuinely curious to hear who was here with me, and the tone was set well by the first speaker, a 68 year old from near Manchester called Liz, She was so casual and candid in describing who she was and why she’d decided to go on a lark and try this, it seemed to make everyone much more open and laid back in describing themselves. And it is a fascinating mix of stories. Like I said, most are American, but many have come from other places before or after living in the States - India, Botswana, Cuba, Brazil and more. I counted seven Canadians, much more than I usually encounter in things like this: \240one anglophone and one francophone from Quebec, three of us from Toronto, and two \240Vancouverites —one of whom, among other things, owns a Tornado Potato truck that you see at our local street festivals (I know her work and admire it well!) . A woman in her 50s from Slovenia sold her successful biotech company and is now deciding what she wants to do for the next 20 years. There is a couple who came together from Virginia, the man leaving the US for the first time. The two from Vancouver actually came together along with a New Yorkers,, having met doing similar recruiting work and deciding collectively to do it abroad. One woman literally got married the week before coming to this program! People left kids, spouses and partners to come try life here for a month and open themselves up to something new. I was also delighted that for once I am far from the only “unusual” name in the room: \240with a Sarae, a Kuntal, an Anushree, a Katiana, a Kizzy and more, it is really really refreshing to be in a group that not only accepts an anomalous name for granted, but also immediately knows to learn to say it properly and gets it on the first try. (Not that I hate explaining or teaching my name exactly, but not having to is a surprisingly pleasant novelty.)It took a long time to get through all the stories but it was really enjoyable. And as a lovely bonus, at the end we learned it was one guy’s 52nd birthday, so we had a little cake for the break. Such a great vibe to establish at the start of the month to come.

Liz from Manchester gets the intros going.

Happy birthday Eric!

Following some more basic orientation info, we got a tour of the very cool space. (Below, my fellow downtown Torontonian Kuntal test- runs some of the amenities and clearly approves.)

Our month ahead: I am booked to do most of these things, and more. (Insert your surprise here.)

This chair matches Kuntal’s lively personality very well.

By now it was approaching early afternoon, meaning 9 am EastCoast time in North America, so a lot of people had to get to work. I decided to go see if I could find a cheap pullover sweater to replace the one I’d forgotten to pack in my haste, and headed toward where i thought downtown might be.

Fortunately very soon I saw a sign for El Corte Ingles a few blocks away, and headed purposefully toward the Spanish Hudson’s Bay equivalent. (It even has a top floor cafeteria restaurant, like the one my grandmother used to take us to at the old Simpsons tower downtown in Toronto.) \240It seemed I had found the commercial street, which was good, but when I went into the department store, I realized it was all furniture and other housewares, no clothing department. That said, I did enjoy browsing around a bit, especially when I found the stationery section. (Raise your hand if you are at ALL surprised that I bought pens and paper before I bought groceries. ;-) )

I windowshopped around the high street a little more, just seeing what was around, but eventually the gloom and chill of the rainy day got to me, so I scurried back to the Wayco workspace. There were a handful of my colleagues there hunched over their laptops, and I took a space on the couch to join them in working on our orientation project for the next da: a collage to say more about who you are, and a second graphic for networking purposes.

Working on my phone took longer than I expected, and before I knew it it was 7 pm. I didn’t have the energy to go for groceries, but stopped at a fruit stand to pick up some bananas and strawberries to have at the house for a snack. Somehow the fruit vendor and I got into a conversation about Ukraine, and despite us communicating brokenly in two different languages, he expressed his frustration and sadness about the situation effectively enough that i felt synoathized with, which was sort of nice. I trudged home feeling the last few days of flurried activity catch up to me, and stopped to pick up a doner kebab for a semblance of a hot meal. Not a glamourous meal, maybe, but a comforting taste of home.

There was also an intriguing new development on my way back. One of the little squares at an intersection I had passed through in the morning was now barricaded off…and within were large shapes covered in protective tarpaulin. I knew immediately what these must be and was a little excited. More on those later.

Watch this space.

Of course, this is Spain, so the night was still very young. There had been a welcome drinks session planned for the rooftop at Lander, the other residence building, but because of the rain it was moved to the apartment of one of my neighbours at Les Arts. I might have passed, but it could hardly have been more convenient to just go upstairs, and at least a dozen others of us seemed to agree because it turned into a sizable gathering.

We continued our getting to know you session from the morning, over snacks and quite nice local wine, until I finally called it a night and headed home to sleep. Day one down.

First up was Pecha Kucha. This was one of the two assignments we had all had to have prepared by last night: a single slide full of images that said something about who we were as people. One by one we each got up and in 40 seconds or less, rattled through what the images revealed about us, and our personalities.

It is a surprisingly enjoyable and effective icebreaker that I would recommend to any corporate or volunteer group: it forces you to reflect inward to distill who you are and what you’re about to simple ideas and images, reveals aspects of life experiences and personality that might not have come out in a conventional intro or business conversation, suggests points of interest and commonality to connect on, and the time limit keeps it moving, and fun. I was fascinated by what people showed was important to them. In case you’re curious, here was mine:

If you’re reading ths blog, you likely know me well enough to know what most of this refers to and it \240doesn’t need explaining. I will say that I was struck by the fact that the first thing I put together was the Ukrainian stuff. Two weeks ago, I might not have felt compelled to put that front and centre as prominently, especially given this is already a multi ethnic group and there is nothing particularly special about being a Uke in this crowd. But given how the world has changed, and the awareness of Ukraine has exploded, that was hands down the no-brainer starting point for who I am. It was thought-provoking to realize that.

The second part of the community building exercises was the Unconference, something we had had to build another slide for. The focus this time was more to talk about what we were about from a goals-and-gifts point of view, ie what we are about professionally and personally, what skills or abilities we could offer to share with others and what we hoped to get out of the whole experience in Spain and learn from others. This was another challenge in self-reflection because I really wasn’t sure what I could offer to teach such an accomplished group, but also forced me to consider what the hell I was doing here. It was interesting to see how people answered these questions, and I was definitely intrigued by some of the things people said they could help with. But unfortunately because this time there was no time limit, some people started to turn it into career group therapy and run on at length, and we ended up running out of time halfway through the group. Oh well. To be continued Friday, we decided. It was still a good exercise to adopt and steal for other contexts, I thought.

We had to wrap up because at 12:15 was the final acquaintance exercise: Lunch Roulette. Florencia randomly assigned us into groups of five or six who then went to one of several nearby restaurants to chat and socialize. I found myself in a group with Sid and Lauren from dinner the first night, but also Lucinda the English tutor from Leeds, Kizzy the social worker from Virginia who was Eric (the birthday boy’s) partner, and Eddie, whom I don’t know well yet and who had to come late and leave early.

We were sent to a very interesting location: the Mercat de Colon, a former produce market not far from where I had wandered yesterday. Originally built in 1916 to serve the market needs of the growing residential area, it looks a lot like St. Lawrence market hall but with open walls. And instead of stalls, now there are restaurants at street level and below grade, like a sort of fancy food court…from food hall to food mall, you could say. There is even a Michelin Guide resto there that I might well have to try and treat myself to while I’m here.

Our lunch was booked at Burmese-Thai fusion place called Ma Khin Cafe, promising “decolonial” (?) Asian food. Not sure what that means beyond “traditional” or “authentic”,but it looked like a decent menu.

I personally was very happy with my pulled pork bao, and got to enjoy raw salmon Kizzy decided she did not like in her salad. Best of all was treating myself to mango sticky rice, something that I have missed since it was removed from the menu at Mother’s Dumplings years ago now This version showed up more like a runny rice pudding but had a really nice coconut flavour that added a lot, so I was pretty happy with that.

Lucinda, Kizzy,Sid,Eddie, Lauren

The conversation came in fits and starts — it was awkward at parts because we still only know each other to varying degrees and some of us are more extroverted than others. But having the past two days of intro activities offered good springboards for conversations and we had some fun with the discussion questions our organizers suggested as lunch conversation:

Perhaps not surprisingly, questions 2 and 3 became an amusing conversation about past exes, which was sort of funny, and loosened things up quite a bit. :-D

When we had walked in at 12:15, the restaurant had been empty but by the time our lunch ended around 3, the place was nearly full…no wonder the Spanish have dinner so late. Most of the group had to go to work, so I set off in a different direction to see what I could see.

My route wound its way through the modern downtown toward increasingly aged looking buildings, and also along a signature landmark of Valencia: \240a former riverbed turned park. The Jardin de Turia is not only Spain’s biggest park, it is also a masterpiece of turning lemons into lemonade, and an example of truly creative thinking in urban planning. In 1957, the Turia river flowing through the city had the worst of its many floods, drowning the city in something like 5 metres of water and killing over 80 people. In the aftermath, the government decided to divert the river outside the city limits, and turn the old riverbed running under all the bridges into an urban highway. But much as Torontonians stopped the Spadina Expressway, Valencians objected and demanded green space instead. Now there are 7 kilometres of parkland and bike paths wending through the city, with different sections designed by different architects,and connecting various museums, performing arts \240buildings and the like along the way. It has been in a perpetual state of development even since inauguration in 1986, with new bridges, chidlren’s play areas and new museums added. Even seeing one of its duller muddier sections on a gray day, I could appreciate the enterprise and what it adds to city life.

I kept following the riverside guided by the tops of old looking buildings to head toward and eventually came upon some ancient gates,and narrow streets indicating I was at the historic part of town.

Well, this looks familiar… ;-) A friendly sign indeed.

Eventually just by dint of wandering I found my way to one of the major squares of the city, Placa de Virgin. It is anchored by its ancient cathedral at one end, built on the site of both Roman temples and Muslim mosques, and its side entrance at the Door of the Apostles is still the meeting place of the weekly Water Court, a local tribunal \240that comes together to discuss and debate (in the Valencian language) \240water needs and issues for the city. \240The thousand- year- old \240tradition is designated by UNESCO as an intangible heritage treasure of the world, but don’t assume it’s arcane; in recent years, a company from Madrid doing infrastructure work underestimated the significance of the tribunal and failed to respect it with an appearance, and ended up paying a hefty fine for its arrogance. The elected members gather at noon on Thursdays to sit on 17th century wood and leather chairs and hold their proceedings in public, and it is something I am definitely going to have to see in action while I am here.

Across the plaza full of cafe sitters, violin-playing buskers and a fountain ringed by chatting university students are the regional government buildings, pretty in their own right. The vista is a vast marble terrace that gives you plenty of people watching pleasure.

I passed along the side of the cathedral past its famous bell tower El Miguelete/El Micalet (depending on whether you are speaking Spanish or Valencian) \240aka “Little Michael” , though I am pretty sure when it was built around the 13th century it was anything but small, and into Placa de Reina, another of the biggest squares in the city and from what I can tell, similar to the Old Town Square in Prague. Unfortunately I can’t say for sure because it is currently under massive and apparently prolonged construction, including an underground parking area, and despite best promises and intentions doesn’t look like it will be done soon. Here are photos of what it is supposed to look like, and maybe one day I will get to come back and see if it looks the same.

I wandered around some more just idly following my eye, and drifted past the giant market (this one actually a food hall) that is second only to the one in Budapest…another must see to add to my list. Eventually I came to the edge of the old city and started walking along what i figured must be the general direction back toward the commercial centre, from where I could make my way home.

Hmmm….!

The thing is Valencia has diagonal streets, and signage that marks squares at its intersections but not always street names. And I guess that messed me up because after a while I noticed I was going deeper and deeper into residential buildings and kind of lower rent ones than what I’d seen in my neighbourhood of Ruzafa - not sketchy or dangerous or anything, but definitely more reminiscent of the poorer parts of Montreal and Lviv I remembered. And I wasn’t seeing anything that looked like a landmark. Eventually after blundering around for a while I stopped outside a Domino’s to steal their wifi, and figured out I was about 29 minutes from home. Yikes - I HAD drifted off the path. I asked the staffer at the pizza shop which way to Gran Via, which i knew would take me back and she pointed left.

About two doors down I spotted a second hand store and eagerly ran in to see if I could find a cheap cozy sweater for the chilly nights at home. To my delight I picked up a men’s wool and cashmere check for only 7 Euro — a bargain in any currency. Score! What a welcome break. I double checked with the woman at the cash that I was pointed the right way to get back and set out into the late afternoon sun.

I kept an eye on street names and walked along the straight line indicated on the Google Map…and found myself along Avenue El Cid a noisy expressway alongside more lower income housing and cheap stores. The farther I got, the less certain I was that I was going the right way, and when I finally broke down and tapped my data, the updated Google Maps told me that nope, I was now 52 minutes away from home, meaning i had just spent 40 minutes going the wrong way, and was in fact walking OUT of the city toward Madrid. :-o Not, in fact, wanting another Camino at the moment, I cursed and started backtracking the way I had come, adding an hour and a half and a lot of pain to my walk, as I had been going non stop on my feet for hours now and my shoes were really starting to hurt.

I went back toward the Domino’s and clothing store, THE OTHER WAY, and now had only 30 minutes ahead of me but felt like it was an hour because my feet and legs were so weary. \240At some point I came close enough to the centre that I heard a lot of noise and came upon the Women’s Day March, a cacophony of women wearing purple chanting and cheering and pounding drumbeats . I walked downstream past the marchers, mostly women and girls but with not a few men, and was stunned at how many people there were…no exaggeration, imagine Yonge street full of people from Bloor to at least Dundas and you have an idea of how massive it was. I definitely walked along it for at least 15 or 20 minutes and could not see the front or the end of the throng…never seen so many people in the street. Unfortunately, in my pain and weariness, I was not inclined to join or be cheered by such a show of sisterhood, and instead just wished it weren’t so noisy and that I didn’t till have what felt like too far to go. I know, bad woman. But persist I did, winding past the bullring and streets lit up for the impending festival next week, clutching my phone map for guidance as I made my way back to the Wayco office.

By the time I fell into the office, it was 8 pm, and after walking non stop for five hours, somehow going the last ten minutes back to the flat seemed just too far. I stayed in the coworkng space amid my fellow travellers, just hanging out and willing energy back to my legs for an hou before I could get up and trudge home.

On my way,I noticed the shrouded structures in the local square we cut through every day had been unwrapped:

InTRIIIIGuing….!

I stopped and picked up groceries, ignoring the “don’t shop for food when you’re hungry” rule, stocking up on random comfort foods like cereal and pickles and corn chips . When I got home I took a long hot shower to try and massage out my tired leg muscles, made myself the best tasting cup o’ramen noodle soup I had ever had, snuggled into my new wool sweater, and stretched my legs and massaged my feet till I could no longer keep my eyes open. Big day for both mind and body!

As much as I am trying to make friends and engage with Valencia, this program and all it is intended to offer, there is no doubt this is not the trip it was supposed to be when I booked it last October. There are various reasons for that, but the biggest one, obviously, is the war in Ukraine. It is never far from mind, and weirdly, I both want to and don’t want to talk about it.

Before bed I watched some news coverage from Ukraine and dipped into my Facebook feed that is now 95% Ukraine related - memes, reports, personal stories, fundraisers,artwork, you name it - immersing myself more deeply in the story than I had in a few days. i also talked to a friend back home whose voice, face and heart were laden with the pain and frustration the whole community is feeling. so probably no surprise that as a result, I dreamt about Ukraine, horrible things. And in the middle of the night, when a wayward ping briefly woke me, for some reason the thought that drifted into my head was “that’s my sister writing to tell me Zelensky’s been shot by a sniper”, and even in my haze I could feel a stunning heartsink of grief and despair. Thank God that’s wasn’t the message at all, though it alarmed me that that was where my mind went, and how real it could be. Some dreams should never come true.

I am grateful for the escape and distraction life here affords, but simultaneously guilty at the privilege and the lack of constructive activity being here creates. Part of me wants to turn away because it feels relentless and hopeless, part of me wants to do more. One of the strangest things i am finding is an inability to talk about it, regardless of whether I want to. At home and online, even people I am not that close to have reached out, said they are thinking of me, expressing support and sympathy… and as ineffectual or ephemeral as that seems, it truly helps, somehow. It shares the burden of sorrow a little bit at least, even if it can’t really fix anything or take it away. Even then I \240feel sort of guilty in some ways too because , Jesus, I’M not in the war, it’s not MY actual land anyone has invaded or home disrupted, I’M not in danger…why think of me when so many people are having it so much worse? But I don’t want to turn the sympathy away because even if this isn’t tangibly my fight, it IS somehow mine too though, if only on some invisible genetic level, and I want the understanding. I’m grateful i don’t have to explain it this time, that people finally GET the shit Ukraine has put up with for years, decades, centuries. That Russia/the USSR \240is a big reason why no one knew what Ukraine was till now, really, and kept us a vague Slavic void often used as a punchline. Now I find I’m the only Ukrainian some people know, and am glad I was noisy enough about being one that I come to mind when this happens. Because their remembering me helps them understand this, and right now that empathy is the only real defense and support Ukraine seems to have from the world

So thank you, to those of you to get it. Because here, now, weirdly, in this cohort of global citizens who are otherwise perfectly nice people, I haven’t got the feeling anyone is paying attention or thinks about this, and truthfully (selfishly?) it kind of hurts. Everyone is doing their thing, no one is watching the news. Not their fault — it is not what they are here for, But seeing Ukraine stuff all over the city embraced by Spaniards I can’t talk with, while not feeling Iike the people here I have the most in common with have any idea what is going on…well, it makes me feel unseen again, like I’m back to where I have to explain again. And I don’t know how to handle it, this feeling that at all times, even in pleasant moments, I am suppressing a silent scream.I want to talk about it, I don’t want to talk about it. And you know, even if they asked me and wanted to listen, I don’t even know what I would say.

That’s all. Me and my stupid North American safe privileged angst. I can’t even take myself seriously right now, this sounds so inane against what real people are really experiencing, and yet dammit, the tears are hot and many and real. I hate this so much.Getting the world’s attention and respect has cost too, too, too much and it’s not over yet. But we have to go on.Whether people know what is going on or not. And i have to find a way to be useful, even if I don’t really want to somehow, because I have to.

Josep told us lots of interesting things over the next two hours, covering both things i had seen yesterday and showing us many more interesting quirks and corners. We learned about the Roman ruins visible underneath the city…how Valencia had been named and settled as a paradise for retired military heroes, a sort of Roman Florida (hence the name of the city, for “the brave”)…about the seven families who helped bring young women into the city to help populate it, like filles du roi to Quebec centuries later , and whose portraits were remarkably well preserved in stone portraits along one facade of the cathedral.

Josep also pointed out a five story gray building with white trim \240off a corner of the square, the entirety of which is one of the homes owned by the Valencian architect Santiago Calatrava Valls. The classic, modest Old World box is a stark contrast to Calatrava’s distinctive sculptural, geometric and hyper modern fluid structures, often in gleaming white, like the City of Arts and Sciences Museum we would visit later in the day (see further)…his work can be seen around the world in places like Athens, Dallas, Sweden, the World Trade Centre transportation hub in New York and more. But the penny didn’t drop for me until Josep added that he had done work in Toronto as well - the beautiful white cathedral atrium of BCE Place - and then both I and fellow Torontonian Kuntal squealed in delight and recognition — OF COURSE that would be the same guy! That made for a nice little thrill in the morning and one more welcome connection to Valencia to appreciate.

Calatrava in Valencia

Calatrava in Toronto

After a stop in the round courtyard the Rotonda that was a \240ormer \240fish market turned boutique \240lace market Josep then led us to another very central public space in front of city hall, which felt like a wide-open Times Square. and which was barricaded off as giant colourful structures were being erected. This was preparation for Las Fallas, Valencia’s signature festival happening all over the city next week. Part of the celebrations include enormous statues - fallas - \240stories high that each neighbourhood creates and puts up for competition. The ones at City Hall are exempt from judgement, and so can be elaborate and delightful purely for pleasure. A surprising number of people were sitting and standing around the barricades watching as if they expected something to happen but to me it was like watching paint dry…will talk more about the real action around these things next week when the barricades are down and the five days of Las Fallas are underway for real.

Next stop was a beautiful stone-walled early Renaissance building that was the home of Valencia’s legendary and powerful Silk Guild. The area around it used to be a haven of velluters, or silk artisans, and as a centre of the silk trade, the guild had 25 000 members.(Fun fact: there is only one traditional velluter left making silk fabric in \240the old ways today.) The courtyard is an orange grove, ringed by rooms that could have been sets from GAME OF THRONES (honestly, the money room made me think of the Iron Bank of Braavos right away), and from the trading floor to the meeting room you can imagine the money and power this sector must have had. (Even the prison tower is distinctive because its staircase does not have a central pillar like almost every other circular staircase you’d see, and it is a bit of a legendary architectural anomaly for that.)

The long and winding stairway \240to prison .

Cedar ceilings, wood imported \240because they’re avoided by termites.

Astonishingly this gorgeous landmark was slated for demolition at one point, and was a saved by a modern day member of the guild who found a private patron to underwrite restoration and preservation. Blows my mind to think such a treasure could have been lost.

The other vestige of the silk industry in Valencia is the former home of a \240noble family of silk merchants,This landmark is as over the top as the Guild building is simple and elegant: a masterpiece of Baroque excess that makes you marvel at how rich this family had to be to afford a home this central, this size, and with such unbelievable stonework in the alabaster facade.

Later generations were not as successful and eventually sold the building to the government, along with some of its furnishings. Now it’s the National Ceremics Museum and a place that is definitely on my list to see from the inside as well as the outside.

Falleras. More on them later.

“Knock knock” “Who’s there?” “Liz…Liz Ard.”

This giraffe fronting a design shop has his own Instagram page.

The narrowest building in Valencia (the pink one)

Our last stop was the massive market I had passed by yesterday,for \240a local treat: \240a pastry, and some horchata. I’ve had horchata often since discovering it in a Mexican taqueria years ago, \240and treat myself to the cold rice-almond-milk-sugar-vanilla mix whenever possible, because I like the sweet, faintly rice puddingy taste. However it turns out Valencian horchata is quite different, because it is made with chufas, or tiger nuts, These tubers are apparently a superfood, and are so original-recipe they go back to the age of the Egyptian pharaohs. We all got a cup of cold, light beige liquid, and agreed across the board that despite its light sweetness, it was somehow really satisfying and refreshing. I was less crazy for the traditional pastry that goes with horchata, a small sugary baguette called a farton..that was way too heavy for my tastes and bordered on sickly sweet in combination. But the drink alone I would definitely have again; a guy called Luke and I agreed it reminded us of matcha because you somehow could feel it was good going down.

Chufas, or tiger nuts.

Horchata and Farton. My blood sugar is spiking just looking at that pastry.

While we were hanging around enjoying our refreshments outside the market entrance, I noticed a vendor setting up a table outside with a big blue and yellow flag on a display. Of course i went over to inquire, and again through some combination of Spanglish between us, I learned he was an artist named Joaquin Amoros who sold painted fans, including some Ukraine themed ones. He was also quite excited when I told him i was Ukrainian because he had gone to Mykolayiv to learn from? Work with?an artist there, and was therefore feeling very personally affected by the current events. That was sort of nice, to connect with someone who got it.

At the end of the tour we split up for a short break before our afternoon walkabout, and I joined fellow Canadian Camille from Quebec on the way back to Wayco. She’s a very sweet and gentle seeming freelance digital marketer who, I remembered from her Pecha Kucha slide, was very family oriented…so it was interesting to learn she was on the road for a year with plans to go to France and then Italy after Spain.

At the man commercial street we parted ways because the morning walk had clarified a major mission I had to accomplish. People, my dogs were barking. Despite all the massage and hot shower and rest, my running shoes were still killing me. i had brought them with a hope to start running a bit again (ha! Not yet!) but because they are stabilizers they are heavy and quite structured, and it turns out not great to walk in; every step ached and the morning tour had been an exercise in perseverance and desperation to sit. Fortunately, I had clocked a Skechers store on my first day and that was where I beelined to now. I remember my friend Max converting me to these years ago citing how good they felt on cobblestone streets when she travelled in Europe and that advice sustained: I was in and out within half an hour sailing on a pair of cushy GoWalk 6s that were so slipper soft I suddenly felt like i could run to catch the group at Wayco. Honestly, you don’t need much to travel but along with a passport, good comfortable shoes are an essential. Even at European prices these were an indisputable worthy investment.

We gathered at Wayco at 1:30 for another city tour, this time led by our our group leader Julen. He took us past the market hall where some of us had lunch the other day, and then led us to the riverbed park to go walk along the path to the remarkable City of Arts ad Sciences complex. This end of the trail was much different from the more structured spaces I had seen in the other direction yesterday and much greener, especially in the welcome sunshine. Indeed, as we passed a row of palm trees in front of a gleaming white concert hall, the weather and the effect of the scene made several of us feel like we were somewhere in Florida.

It was a perfect day fo a stroll, and for us to variously fall into step in different combinations to chat with each other. I had a chance to ask Julen about something I had noticed in all the local stories we were hearing…there is a definite theme in Valencian history of citizens objecting to government ideas of urban planning or development and effecting change. Over and over all day we had heard stories of people taking on city hall and winning. Was that really how it works here? Julen, as a native Valencian, quite proudly told me that yes, in fact this city does have an exceptionally engaged public that is interactive with a transparent government - and also as he said, “the people, we like to be VERY LOUD!” - \240and the authorities seem to be very responsive to public outcry. It is fascinating to see democracy so vibrant here, especially in urban development, and the mix of preservation and hyper modernism that has resulted …Jane Jacobs would surely be impressed. I am hoping the urban planners in my circles can tell me if they know of any case studies or awareness of Valencian civic action they have heard of because it sure sounds like folks here are doing something right.

Performing arts centre that looks like a fish.

Our Alhambra group. .

Despite the pleasure of our excursion, after about 30 minutes it became clear that the second walk of the day was feeling a bit much for some of us. At first I thought it was just me, the oldest in the group (blurry!) and still recovering from my 12 mile (MILE, not KILOMETRE!) walk yesterday…but when even Julia,who is decades younger than me, started flagging, I realized that maybe the sun was getting to us more than we had been prepared for. It was neat to see the various museums and massive elaborate buildings placed along the windy path, super futuristic \240mega complexes of education and culture, but oy, why did that City of Arts and Sciences that was our final destination seem SO VERY FAR AWAY ! We tried. not to complain but not gonna lie, it felt good to arrive there and finally stop moving to take some photos and even SIT. Even in my new softer shoes, my legs were just NOT having it!

By then it was around 3, and people had to get to work. A handful of us mild moaners debated taking a cab home. I thought about it but opted to tough it out on principle and try to make it on foot as a point of pride, and when I expressed that, a guy named Luke grinned in recognition and said, “Yeah, I get that. I’m kinda the same way .” \240I instantly decided i liked him, just for that. Once again, misery loved having company enough that about seven or eight \240of us managed to laughingly cheer-complain each other home, and I have to admit I was glad not to have caved.

That said, if my knockoff Fitbit was accurate and I had actually walked about 21 miles in the last two days,plus spent a lot of time in pure, hot sunshine, I was dead right to feel tired. Once I got home, I sat with my feet elevated a while to let the blood drain from my exhausted legs, and then went to have a deep two hour nap. When I got up I still didnt feel super energized,so i just did some laundry, made myself a dinner of cereal (haven’t done THAT in ages, but it was all I could handle) and committed to a day of rest. I streamed TV in bed till I could no longer keep my eyes open and then dozed off listening to podcasts. I think they give me better dreams than the news.

After lunch Alaina took off, and the rest of us returned to Wayco and work . By now it was the start of the east coast workday, so people started drifting in and hunkering down. I stayed with them till after 10 pm, alternately focused on writing and popping up for conversations and exchanges about plans to make. It was interesting to see how the other half lived, doing their personal and extracurricular stuff in the morning and then dedicating the back end of the day for work with maybe some room in there for a late dinner. I am not yet sure how that schedule would suit me but it was good to have company while I tried it out.

I walked home with a really interesting woman called Kamaria,and detoured to go get myself a cheeseburger, but sadly apparently the burger shop guy is the only guy in Spain who DOESN’T serve dinner after 8 pm, so I missed out. Oh well, no worries. Tomorrow is another day. And it is going to be a pretty full one, and there is a full weekend of plans that follows, so I guess I am glad I gave myself an easy day of rest to rest up and catch up!

Dreamt about Ukraine again last night. This time it was almost an action movie, with Zelensky as a John McClane type underdog hero on the run but getting the best of the baddies as he dodged and hid and sometimes sabotaged their pursuit. \240At some point I imagined a (nonexistent) teenaged daughter of his also being part of the chase and him trying to protect and help her while simultaneously fending off the dangers to them both. I remember it was very breathless and stressful because even though it unfolded like a movie, it felt like life and death. I find it so interesting that even without watching news every day, he has become the face and the avatar of Ukraine for me in this war. At least he was winning when I woke up. For some reason I took heart in that.

We also got a hilarious lesson on Spanish slang and lingo, and why expressions like “Eres la leche!/You’re the milk!” are actually a compliment. I even learned a version of “I’m not having it!” that is amusing if not exactly suitable for repetition in polite conversation. So many of the idioms and expressions are so out there we were having good laughs at how ridiculous they were, and it put everyone into a good mood.

Right after we had to gather up for another welcome activity: an introduction to one of the five to seven Spanish meals we had learned about. This was the almuerzo, a sort of savory snack-based equivalent to brunch. We all trooped down to a nearby cafe and jammed in around tables at a clearly popular local snack bar, greeted by dishes of almonds and nuts and surprisingly early glasses of wine.

On the way, Kuntal from Toronto sidled up to me and Iwas glad to see her because I hadn’t really talked since the walking tour the other day; she’s been working and unable to join in the same activities during the week. Somehow the topic of Ukraine came up and she was very kind and sympathetic and willing to engage…but I realized I didn;t want to. On this bright and cheery day with everyone in a light mood, I didn’t want to be be a dark cloud or gloomy company , so I pushed the topic aside and got myself info a more open and uplifted headspace for the meal ahead.

While we waited for our various sandwiches to arrive - the main event of almuerzo, we all got into noisy conversations with our table mates and made quite a cacophony. I had a longer conversation with Isabella from Brazil/Vancouver, including the fuller story of how being a biochemistry student led to her studies in international relations led to becoming an au pair for someone who suggested she consider recruiting and NOW she feels like she is doing what she is supposed to do. I really love hearing how people make their way through many choices to get to where they are and feeling good and it was fascinating listening. Plus she is willing to share some time an insight in helping me work some professional and work stuff out, so it was nice to feel that rapport.

In fact it seems that there is a lot of that sort of clicking going on because you could tell by the energy of the conversations in the room that after four days of activities together we are settling into comfortable grooves of familiarity with each other, and there is some genuine friendliness going on.

On our way back to Wayco after the almuerzo, the BC trio I was walking with (Isabella, Jackie and Sara) noticed an older gentleman walking with his dog and carrying a bouquet of flowers. To us he looked like a man going to meet his sweetheart…or perhaps to put flowers on a grave. Or maybe he was just even bringing flowers home to himself, to add a little beauty to his home.. Whatever the story, we loved the scene and it put us in an even warmer, fuzzier mood.

That continued after almuerzo back at Wayco, where we continued the last of the Unconference skills exchange sessions we hadn’t been able to complete on Tuesday. About half a dozen people got up to present, and you could really feel how a nice lunch and friendly atmosphere loosened up the room compared to two days ago.They were all a little more candid and personal in talking about what brought them to the program, what they could offer and what they were looking for, and I was really impressed by the openness and receptivity in the room. Plus they were so relaxed by now a lot of them were quite funny and there was tons of laughter around the room.

A perhaps surprising number of people are quite spiritual or metaphysically oriented, and everyone is very active in pursuing a better quality of life….it’s a huge driver for joining the group. I liked the chill, laid back vibe of the discussions and how much more I got to know about my fellow travelers.

By this time the work day was starting back in North America, so most people got to work or went home. I hung out for a bit, then went to go walk around the neighbourhood, killing time before a meetup later in the afternoon. I wandered around our Ruzafa neighbourhood, once again getting good and lost trying to follow directions without a map or GPS, but at least I blundered pleasantly and enjoyed seeing cafes and bars full of Friday crowds in the middle of the afternoon. Eventually I found my way to the Bluebell Cafe, where one of our team leaders, Florencia, was having drop in office hours.Actually, as it turned out, by the time I got there around 4 Bluebell had closed for the day —oops! — but Flo was there so we went to a patio across the street for drinks instead.

I had been wanting to talk more to Flo because in her presentations I had learned we had certain things in common — we both did Vipassana silent retreats and loved them, she self taught herself into photography work, and I was curious about her life as a “home-less” digital nomad living and working around the world. I also like her general vibe…she is like a cross between, or perhaps the middle sister of, America Ferrera and Michelle Rodriguez, a combination of their warmth, confidence and self assuredness.We chatted about meditation and more over tinto de verranos, my new favourite drink here…it’s the red wine equivalent of the white wine spritzers I like at home, red wine cut with a lemony soda like Sprite. Like a light sangria taste sort of, and quite refreshing. For someone like me with a low threshold for red wines, it’s the perfect crime and my regular go to already.

Florencia and I talked for about an hour and then parted ways, and I wended my way slowly back to Wayco, then home. On my way, I noticed that the colourful three story \240sculpture that has been coming together in the square between work and home has now got its own spotlight:

I had a little bit of time before heading down to the lobby for 8:15 to meet the others in my building going for dinner tonight. We were booked to see a flamenco show at La Buleria, a very conveniently located place just a few minutes’ walk away. There were about 20 of us there for the dinner in the rather romantically dim steakhousey looking place, and we enjoyed dinner and conversation while waiting for the show.

At 10:30 the room went dark and only the voice of one of the male soloists could be heard, singing a mournful dirgey wailing melody that in my mind fell somewhere between fado, Islamic prayer calls and the \240folk singing of Ukraine. Then the dancers came out, two women and a man, accompanied by an additional singer and a guitarists, and put on an amazing spectacle of incredibly strong stamping feet, dramatic handwork, and complex choreography. I recognized several steps and movements from what I have learned taking flamenco at home but before long was seeing much, much, much more that I had never see before. For one thing, i dont think i have ever seen a male flamenco artist before and I was intrigued by the similarities in the costume esthetic to those of the toreadors: slim cut pants with a high waist and an emphasis on leanness. His ferocity and force in his moves was a bit breathtaking. \240The aggression and intensity of some of the moves struck me as well; I found myself thinking about the Spanish idea of masculinity, and machismo, the almost arrogant strength and confidence and grace, and how it fits into modern ideas of what a man is about.

On the other hand, applying that same intensity, strength and confidence to the female flamenco dancers felt like it created an idea of femininity we don’t see much outside of Amazons and the like. I was first drawn to flamenco years ago \240from a indie flick called HAPPY GO LUCKY,starring Sally Hawkins (of THE SHAPE OF WATER fame) in which a pleasant but meek woman is empowered through her flamenco teacher to stand proud and claim her voice. Ever since then, and every time I’ve come across flamenco, I have been newly inspired to take lessons again, and have pursued it in fits and starts for about a decade now. I admire the power and strength of the flamenco stance and mindset, and enjoy the almost angry, defiant,take-no-bullshit \240energy. It’s exhausting and demanding \240even at my basic level, and very complex in the details, but I like tapping into such a focused intensity. So seeing these two women in their elaborate feminine dresses but stomping and planting and spinning like forces of nature not to be trifled with was a whole different image of testosterone-fuelled womanhood. Luke in our group remarked on the muscularity of the dancers and how much strength they must have to go so relentlessly for the hour long set. It was exciting and exhilarating to watch, and the diva who did the showstopping finale got a standing ovation.

By the end of the evening we were well satisfied by the full day and good food and several of us had to get up early Saturday, so we parted ways. I went to bed feeling a little spent from all the activity but liking how the experience is feeling more settled in and natural. Climbing the stairs and letting myself into my place that already feels like home, I found myself marvelling, man, has it really not even been a week yet….?

Today was an early start for a Saturday, because most of us — about 25 or 27 of the 35 — were headed out for one of the two weekend excursions offered as part of the program. We gathered in front of a hotel to board our bus with our very charming guide Daniel for a ride to see some natural delights in the region.

Along the way Daniel was full of great stories about Valencia, the Maria Calderona legend of the 17th century, of a famous redhaired actress-king’s mistress-Mother Superior-leader of a gang of highwaymen in the hills around us, and more, I am also fascinated by the agricultural development in the area, as this is a major growing area for the country and the influences are still very clearly visible quite close to the city limits.

Our first stop was to the village of Navajas, a former Beverly Hills type escape for wealthy Valencians but now at risk of becoming one of those abandoned towns you hear about. Nevertheless it still has a good draw: the Salta de la Novia waterfall, meaning “The jump of the bride”. The water tumbles from a canyon that used to be a cave, with a lake on top — you can still see stalactites along the upper edges of the cliffs — but one day millions of years ago the lake collapse, creating the gorge, and the water continues to come in but falls off the edge into a 30 meter waterfall.

According to tradition, when young couples wanted to marry, the bride would have to jump across the river to prove her commitment. But one day a young woman slipped and fell and was carried away to to her death in a whirlpool downriver. Her fiancé leapt in to save her but also drowned, and both bodies disappeared. To this day they like to say the place is haunted, but it was hard to believe in this gorgeous springy sunlight.

One guy, Dan, couldn’t wait to get close to the falls and sprinted to jump across the river. However, he slipped and fell in, making this the first damp adventure of the day. The rest of us followed Daniel around the long way on dryer land, though it was admittedly muddier and slipperier than we had expected, and spent some time taking photos. It was a very pretty start to the day.

Next we drove on to Fuente de los Banos at \240Montanejos, famous for its thermal spring. This is a natural font of water laden with minerals like sulfur, magnesium and others considered to be medicinal, and was the site of a Moorish king’s hammam for his favourite wives centuries ago, to keep them beautiful. Given that it is March, and the waters are more like warm, than hot - around 20-25 degrees - we weren’t sure whether we were going to actually go sample the benefits of these waters, but the view was pretty enough to go hang out at least, so we descended to the riverside.

Once down there, a toe dip indicated that the water was kind of lukewarm, like bath water at the end of a long soak and it was worth trying out, so most of us stripped down or geared up in wetsuits and water shoes to take a plunge. I have to admit, i hesitated. I almost didnt sign up for this excursion at all, because I’m sadly not in the greatest shape,especially post COVID, and was a bit self-conscious about stripping down to swimsuit level amid a younger, healthier crowd. I didn’t even bring a bathing suit, opting instead to improvise something with a fitness tank and some synthetic bikini bottom underwear. And until we got to the water’s edge, i really wasn’t sure i was going to go in.

But I saw the sunlight on the clear water, and the temptation of feeling warm springs and swimming into a cave, and all of a sudden I just said, you know, I \240don’t give a good goddamn of what anyone thinks of me and what i look like.I am here to feel things and do things and I am not going to miss out on what looks like a delightful pleasure because of some unnecessary fear and to hell with anyone judging me, I don’t need to make friends here if that is what it will cost me. i can’t miss this. So I peeled down to the winter white flesh, slipped on some water shoes and slid myself down the shoreline into the water.

It was like almost any pool or lake you’ve swum in - there is the little “whooohooohoo!” of shock and then once you are in, you are fine and it becomes quite pleasant. And it was instantly clear if anyone was even noticing me and my shape, it didn’t matter because we were all into our own experience of the swim. Every now and then someone would find a warmer current and we would all \240rush to go stand in it. There was also a little cave that was significantly warmer, that several of us crammed into to relax and rest on the ledges.

Further along where it got shallower, Julen showed us a little patch of land with trickling streams that made mineral soaked mud, so we all slathered ourselves up with as much as we could scrape off the tree roots for a beauty treatment. Kuntal was especially avid, and was so photogenic we turned it into an SI Swimsuit cover photo session.

Overall, despite the water’s coolness everyone really got into swimming and soaking in the shallow, soothing water, and the whole canyon was \240full of laughing and good cheer at the adventure. It helped that we had the springs pretty much to ourselves for most of the time we were there and that the rainy weather of the past week had cleared to give us a pretty warm and sunny day. Perfect timing!

To think I almost deprived myself of this glorious experience because of some stupid concern about others’ thoughts. I am glad when I am only ALMOST an idiot. This was a really good reminder to just do my thang and to hell with what anyone thinks. I am better for having listened to myself and gone for it. How and why have I EVER forgotten that?

As one of the last to get in I was also one of the last to get out, and by the time I crawled back up the riverbank everyone seemed to be engrossed in some papers in their hands, Apparently a lottery card vendor had rolled up and for kicks, Daniel had bought everyone a scratch card to play. If you got a 7 in your numbers, you won a prize, anything from .50 that would get you another ticket, up to 5Euro. I got the former, scratched a second ticket and was done but some of the others who had better luck were winning a few bucks here and there and kept going back to the guy to get more tickets.

It was pretty funny to see these grown adults buzzing around the guy on his scooter like little kids around an ice cream guy, and had a good laugh at our burst of gambling addiction.

By now it was around noon and we were all getting hungry, so we loaded back up and went to a nearby town for lunch. Several of us remarked on how relaxed and mellow we were feeling, reminiscent of how I remember coming out of the baths in Budapest, and figured there was probably something to the claims of medicinal benefits. It made us very laid back as we settled in for what would turn out to be a three hour meal at the local taberna, sharing various tapas like cuttlefish, Moorish skewers, salads, patatas bravas and more.

What we were REALLY waiting for was the house specialty that several of us could not resist: \240the prospect of a kilo of beef, presented raw, and a hot stone to cook it on. They wouldn’t even let us order it unless a minimum of four people were ready to share it, and luckily my end of the table had no problem agreeing to that.

I had a very pleasant chat at my end of the table with Eddie from Michigan and Leen from Belgium over several tinto de verranos and wine for the hour or so it took for this main event to arrive…and when it did we were all suddenly wondering whether it had been worth it. The fat covered, thick slab of raw meat sprinkled with sea salt flakes looked very unpretty, straight from the butcher’s block, and like it had been mooing not that long ago.Not sure this was such a great idea.

But THEN the hot stone slab appeared, steaming and fragrant from the sprigs of rosemary singeing on top, and when we got to work taking the hank of meat apart (thank goodness it was pre sliced or we would have made a mess of it!) and throwing it on the hot rock, the sizzle, smoke and scent of herbs and fat and fresh meat cooking was DELIGHTFUL. It made such a show that the other tables stopped to look over at the drama in our section. Five of us took turns frying up the meat in its own juices and delighting in the beautiful flavour just salt and fat added to the otherwise untreated meat, and it was easily the best meal I had had yet in Valencia.

Such a fantastic experience, and so much more than a meal…between that and the tapas we were well sated by the time we slowly gathered ourselves up to continue on with our travels.

Kuntal and I wandered around the old village a bit and peeked inside the local church and alleyways before hurrying to rejoin the others. This time Daniel took us deeper into the mountains, along a road cut out of rock cliffs that reminded me of those terrifying coastal highways on the Amalfi Coast. We spotted rock climbers inching up sheer looking walls of stone and wondered what they were holding on to. The vistas of the gorges was, well, gorge-ous.I

After about 15 minutes we stopped again and headed down a little mountain path to the river at the bottom near a dam. There was a huge spray of water gushing out of the rock face. \240This is the El Chorro waterspout where a river pushes out of a hole in the rock smaller than a car windshield, but with such force that it shoots out like a waterfall - hence, the “horizontal falls” we’d been promised. The sight of this, the spray, and the scent of the pine forest around us (reminded me so much of camp!) revived everyone’s post-prandial mellowness and had us all hopped up with excited energy.

We took endless photos, including several of each of us looking like we’re spouting the water ourselves. It was hard to be in the bottom of that canyon surrounded by looming mountains on all sides, hear and feel the force of the river, in the waning light and not feel really surrounded by a powerful nature so much wiser and stronger than us…just a truly lovely feeling. \240And we even saw some ibexes roaming around nearby!

From there the bus drove us a short ways away for a view from the top of the Montanejos Dam, nearly half a kilometre high and just as wide. Daniel pointed out the castle ruins on a mountain top in the distance and the spot in the reservoir \240where there is a drowned village, sacrificed for the construction of the dam. From above we also spotted some goats down on the dam road below..apparently a local farmer decided to see how goats would fare in the wild, so he left a pair in a cave and they thrived and multiplied and now have adapted to life in the mountains. \240Kind of remarkable, really.

The sunset views of the dam were our last stop, and we piled back on to the bus for the 90 minute ride back to Valencia. You would laugh at how quiet the bus was the whole way there as everyone snoozed and recovered from the stimulating day. It was only 7:30 or so by the time we returned, and some people made plans to go out again later,but this old lady was good and spent and just wanted to get home and sleep. Besides, unlik most of the group, I had another excursion on deck for tomorrow, so sleep was definitely a good idea. But wow, what a really really good day! If you’re going to Valencia, book the same adventure and others with Daniel at Valtournative… it’s a very worthwhile experience and way to support a local business.

Vicent led us through a park across the way to the beach, and then along the water and a roadway to a local conservation area. This region is a huge lagoon bigger than the city of Valencia itself that is protected both for its natural qualities, and as a source of agricultural soil and irrigation for the rice paddies around its edges. The conservation area we hung out at for about 45 minutes or so was very typical of those we see at home, like around Port Credit and the lakeshore…there are paths to walk with local vegetation marked, pools where various birds gather (including flamingos sometime), and some lookout points. After the hubbub and activity of yesterday, this was a very relaxing quiet way to take in nature. A lovely way to spend a Sunday morning.

We got back on our bikes and pedaled over another 20 minutes or so to the edge of the main lagoon. There we met a boat outfitted with some tables, and all climbed aboard. The boatman took us for a ride around the marshes while Vicent pulled out fixings for a picnic style almuerzo, everything from olives and cheeses to deli meats, bread and sandwich fixings. I also discovered that tinto de verrano comes prepackaged in a pop bottle — NOTED! — and happily enjoyed at least half a bottle as we tootled around the wetlands and said hi to lot of mallard ducks. Rather a fun way to picnic.

We were again lucky that it was another sunny day, which made it all so much better than the overcast skies we knew were in the forecast ahead.

By the time we got off we were well fed, pretty chilled out from being in the sun and on the quiet water, and some of us were even looser thanks to the drinks on board. (It was noted that I seemed much more relaxed as a rider on the way back than i had been in the morning…just from practice, I’m SURE.;-D ) Vicent took us back along a rather long route back through the park and through more wooded areas for a change of scenery, which was nice even if it didn’t make my rear end any happier to be on the seat that long, and the midday sun kept us quite warm.

I think I underestimate the sun here, especially since we have had relatively little of it…it doesn’t fell particularly strong but there is something about the dry heat of it that I think makes it affect me more than sun at home. I really enjoyed riding a bike agaib, but by the end i was sapped and my back was drenched - I was sweatier than I’ve been the whole trip. It was a quick and painless trip back to our residence, and I tumbled into my cool apartment glad to have gotten some more exercise and seen something new but also grateful to have the rest of the day clear.

I put myself down for a much needed siesta sometime after 230 and didnt get out of bed again for the rest of the afternoon….the heat and the last three days of very full activity caught up to me and I needed a deep sleep. I dozed off until i heard some now-familiar popping coming out in a relentless stream from outside. I knew what it was, but went downstairs to take a closer look anyway.

The little square on our corner was, like so many others in our area, occupied by a huge colourful sculpture under a banner of streetlights and now surrounded by more of the barricades I had seen go up \240Friday. Within them were little kids setting off fireworks, and popping firecrackers and gunpowder noisemakers while their parents looked on.

This had been basically going on for hours all afternoon, and indeed all week…as Valencia’s signature festival of Las Fallas gears up next week, people have already been getting into the spirit by setting off little explosives all over town. \240(It’s why we had both little noisemaker bombs, and earplugs, provided in our welcome baskets on arrival,) The sound of the.whole city is punctuated regularly by pops and booms and high pitched whistling flares and \240increasingly the hiss of sparkling fireworks, and it’s clearly no big deal to have little kids playing with fire.

I watched for a bit and then went back home to have a little cereal for dinner (no energy to cook), and stream some tv to unwind. Part of me was a little regretful that I had spent so much of the day in bed and resting but the other part of me was like, look, it’s only been a week and there are three more left…plus it’s been a busy weekend. Pace yourself. And to be honest I am happy to have this little home away from home to hide away in sometimes, There is going to be plenty to do in the days ahead to get me out and about again For now, it is nice to curl up, turn my heater on and read email and watch TV til I doze off for more much needed rest.

The name of Antevasin’s Shop refers to someone who lives on the border of two worlds, the materialistic and the transcendental, but also has a Sanskrit meaning of an apprentice or a student. So I guess I should not have been surprised that the store was like a crystal and gem store, fragrant with sage and palo santo and various spiritual artifacts. I was met by the proprietor Az and her assistant Clara, who led me, Florencio and Iliana to the back where the silver workshop was.As soon as Kels, the fourth in our group arrived, Az and Clara walked us through the process.

Cuttlebone molds are a very old form of jewellery making, going back to Mesopotamia. I don’t know who figured out that the inside of cuttlefish bones — those oval things you often seen sold in pet stores for birds to sharpen their beaks on - was soft like florist’s foam and good for carving, but that is how it’s done. You carve a shape into the soft inside of the cuttlebone, and add a funnel shape leading to your design. After you wire the cuttlebone to another piece to make a solid mold, with a hole in the top, you pour in liquid silver and it cools almost immediately. The thing is that this is a very unpredictable process, using soft organic materials. The good thing is that you get the wavy pattern of the cuttlefish bone imprinted as a texture into your design. The bad thing is, it doesn’t always work out the way you imagined and so you often end up with organic, unexpected results. It’s very wabi- sabi, as the Japanese might say…you have to accept the imperfection and embrace its beauty as unique. \240A very gentle philosophy for a new learner.

We hunched over our workspaces using saws to slice the bone, scrapers to cut out our shapes and brushes to dust away the copious amounts of dust created to reveal the cuttlebone pattern. Then Az and Clara dressed us in aprons and gloves and showed us how to lift the cups containing bits of silver, lift them into the insanely hot kiln with forceps to dissolve, and then handle the red hot vessel back out and tip the molten metal into our handmade molds.

Maybe it was because of the kind of shop we were in, or maybe it was because we were all women, but something about these teachers guiding us through the use of the tools and demonstrating the process that felt particularly mystical and feminine and sisterhood-y, as if we were reenacting an ancient ritual, or learning midwifery or some such…very Red Tent somehow.

One by one we stepped up to melt our silver, wait the 15 minutes for it to liquify, and then pour what looked like glowing red honey into the holes in the bones. And then almost immediately after pouring, we dunked them in cold water and unwired the cuttlefish bones to see what had come out.

Kels was the most successful, having carved a leaf shape that she was then shown how to solder to a ring. It looked very cool, like some ancient piece excavated from an archaeological site or something. Poor Flo’s piece did not work out at all; she had attempted a flower with some black tourmaline fragments inside, but when she was trying to carve and smooth the piece that came out, it broke and was essentially lost as a piece. Mine was the one I had to learn to love; I had hoped to make a round medallion to showcase the organic pattern from the bone but I guess I got ambitious and made it too deep a mold, because the heaviness of the silver settled down and I ended up with a thick half circle instead of a full circle. However, as I considered it, I thought it looked a bit like a half moon, which is very feminine, and in the wavy pattern was a shape that almost looked like a graceful female form (to me, anyway!) . So I decided that in the end, this was actually a very appropriate result reflecting the divine feminine energy of the whole evening, and considered it a worthy souvenir of the experience. Clara helped me with the arduous task of soldering a loop to one end (I have never been able to get the hang of that very precise and detailed skill), and after polishing and hanging it on a chain, I had my piece, for better or for worse…a good reminder to accept imperfections in myself and others as I do in nature, \240you could say. Wabi-sabi. :-)

I thought that was it, but did not realized that as we stepped through the passageway between the workshop and the store that the meditation room was lit up by candlelight for us. A small feast of almuerzo-type snacks was laid out for us, within a circle of pillows to sit on, and the four of us got to enjoy snacks and conversation as a lovely little epilogue to our evening. Az and Clara also presented each of us with the gift of a crystal - jade for luck and harmony for Kels, black tourmaline for protection for Flo, and amethyst for intuition and enlightenment for me. \240I thought that was a very nice gesture, and added to the whole gentle, supportive and encouraging vibe of the entire female-centric experience.

Afterward we walked a bit through the old town and eventually parted ways and Kels and I headed back through the windy night toward our residence. We stopped in at Wayco where her roommate Audrey was still working, and together the three of us headed home, contemplating a late dinner (as it was already around 9pm). I didn’t think I was up for it, but when they texted soon after we got home to say they were going for Japanese food nearby, I perked up: I love Japanese, and I was kind of craving some protein. (The prevalence of starchy carbs at the expense of any meat other than ham, and even vegetables, is probably why despite walking over 15000 steps a day, my clothes feel like they fit the same.) I also decided it was a good exercise for me to socialize, as I don’t really see people outside the group events, so I hurried out to join then and another woman ,Sarae, at Tokyo Restaurant a few blocks away.

The 12 Euro evening price fixe was a pretty good price (about $17 CAD) for three courses plus a dessert we ended up being too full to eatI wasn’t crazy about the size of the giant bowl of rice (more carbs!), and the teriyaki chicken was kind of meh, \240but I fell on the cucumber salad like I hadn’t seen a green vegetable in days (I may well not have), and enjoyed the sushi for the pure protein fix. We also.got some unexpected laughs from thfvoresentation, when fried shrimp showed up in a tiny grocery cart. I mean, where did that idea- or for that matter, the tiny grocery cart, even come from? Were there more in the kitchen, in case multiple orders for fried shrimp came in? \240Had there been a sale on tiny grocery carts and someone said, “they’re great! Buy them all, we’ll figure out what to do with them later!” What else \240came out presented this way? We had SO MANY QUESTIONS!

Beyond discussing culinary arts, I also enjoyed chatting with them all, and learning \240a lot about the whole digital nomad options from Audrey and Kels, who had met doing a similar month in Lima not too long ago. They had a lot of insight about how it all works and about other places available to go, and gave a lot of food for thought. My friend Grace asked me the other day how I was enjoying this particular experience, and it gave me a moment of pause because i haven’t really thought about it yet in that kind of evaluative way, but it is worth considering. Being in one place like this for a month falls somewhere between living in a place for months or a year at a time, which I have done and loved, and moving around as a backpacker which has more often been my habit. And it’s coloured by the fact that I don’t have work to do here like the others, or a volunteer project, that justifies me staying in place. Sometimes it feels a little aimless or static just kind hanging out and walking around. On the other hand I am very free to just live and be without too many obligations, and settle into life in a city as a local, which has its own charm…it’s nice to appear so comfortable I am regularly asked for directions (which is both hilarious and a huge compliment!), and to have a little place to come home to that is more mine than a hotel, and to slowly know my way around. So I guess I am still assessing all that as yet, but it will be interesting to see where I end up on it all in the end. Would I do this sort of experience again, as so many of my fellow travellers here are already planning to? Watch this space…..

When I booked this escape last fall, I had no idea I was coming during the highest of high holidays in Valencia; in fact, I had never even heard of it until the orientation webinar two weeks before leaving. But as I have learned VERY well since the day we arrived, Las Fallas (or Las Falles in Valenciano) is the biggest festival you have never heard of, even though it has been recognized by UNESCO . It rivals Ukie Fest, Taste of the Danforth, and I dare say even New Year in China for how it grows to dominate city life for five days in March and the whole year before that.

Las Fallas is A THING. There is a TON to tell you about this, so buckle up.

Crash course: the festival originated ages ago, as a celebration of the Feast of St. Joseph, the carpenter; local woodworkers would celebrate the start of the spring by burning off all the old wood and bits they had saved over the winter. \240At some point people started having fun with it and dressed their piles of wood to look like people, often an effigy of some local character, for laughs. Over time these piles became actual sculptures, called falles, and local groups formed to create the most vivid and entertaining caricatures and built them taller and taller and more and more elaborately, getting competitive. Fireworks became a big part of the festivities. \240Eventually all the structures were burned in a big conflagration at the end of the festival.

Today, most neighbourhoods have at least one casal fallas, which is like a local all-ages club dedicated to creating and supporting the traditions that have built up around Las Fallas. It’s something like a cross between PLAST, sports leagues and service clubs like Kiwanis. The members all contribute money all year round (sometimes as much as hundreds of \240dollars a month in membership dues) which goes to to hire an artist and collect materials — still essentially wood but also cardboard, paper mache, and polystyrene — and create an original design that they secretively build and assemble all year long in anticipation of Fallas week (March 15-19). We’ve been seeing these sculptures appearing in our local square since we arrived, as you have seen in my posts, but ours was one of the first to start going up…since then, more and more have been appearing, every few blocks, and all over town. They are huge, ranging from about ten feet, to \240five stories tall.The one I pass every day reaches the fourth floor of the building beside it.

More and more of the traditions and infrastructure of the festival have been appearing with every passing day. Suddenly a lot of people are walking around wearing “gang jackets” for their respective casals, and increasingly populating their local clubhouses, reflecting how Fallas is a good natured competitive sport for the different communities. Lots of others are wearing signature blue and white plaid scarves, a tradition I haven’t yet been able to find the meaning of. Everything is a competition - the fallas, the decorations, the amount of music and activity around your particular block. It is yet another example of how Valencians are very civically minded and community-active.

Lights are a huge part of the events, and so several neighbourhoods have spent a fortune putting up illuminated banners and dramatic colorful light shows. Every day at 2 pm there is a mascleta, which is a show of fireworks at city hall…thousands of people all troop over to crowd the central square and count down like you do the New Year ball drop, for a five minute display of pyrotechnics in the middle of the afternoon. You see falleras everywhere, women,girls and children dressed up in elaborate brocade costumes, reminiscent of Isabella la Catolica or something — outfits that are worth thousands of dollars — \240and sporting elaborate hairpieces that make Princess Leia’s buns look like amateur hour. \240Each falla has one fallera mejor, who is like the queen of their club, and performs all the ceremonial duties and representation in what is considered a great honour. And of course, there’s the \240popping and blasts and thundering booms that we have been hearing all week have only increased, as more and more people (mostly kids and teens) randomly set off fireworks and noisemakers all over town, at all hours. During Fallas proper there are nightly fireworks in the river park that rival Canada Day and New Year’s, all five days. Dozens of traditions, rituals and festive ceremonies appear as the festival week approaches, and day by day you see more kiosks popping up selling snacks, drinks (both alcoholic and otherwise — no segregated beer tents here!), \240and souvenirs, more falles being assembled, more parades going by and more people hanging around taking time off work to join all the activity. It is a huge local event. And it all culminates with some 400 falles of all sizes being burned in a single night, all over the city, in a coordinated schedule so that city firefighters can get around and be on hand to help manage it all. It’s a pyromaniac’s paradise.

(As I am writing this at 9 pm, a marching band is going by followed by a bunch of pops and blasts like little cannon salutes, :—D it is like that every day of the festival, till well into the wee hours of the night!)

Shop window decorated for Las Fallas with the flag, the scarves,and a banner of firecrackers

Of course, not everyone loves this festival. A guide observed that the amount you are involved with your local casal usually dictates how much you enjoy this time of year. Lots of locals can’t stand the constant noise and move away for the week. The takeover of the intersections by fallas, barricades and perpetual parades makes traffic chaos. And the random bursts of explosions at all times of day and night -- everything from a colossal distant thundering, to rat-a-tat machine-gun-fire pops, to kids suddenly sparking a firecracker on the pavement in front of you as you walk — is jarring, to say the least. And to be honest, it is hard not to hear these chronic, sometimes apocalyptically loud noises burst through the sky and not think of Ukraine, where they invariably mean destruction and death instead of festivity and cheer. I’m not the only one in our group who has felt that troubling connection, which is gratifying to know…but it adds a degree of stress to the already startling noise. I have to hope whatever refugees from Ukraine are in Valencia are being kept away from what could sound alarmingly like shelling and shooting noises. And for my poor roommate Rickie, the Iraq and Afghanistan war vet, even wearing noise canceling headphones was not enough to protect her from her PTSD; she came in the other night a shaking wreck and had to call home to be talked down from the rattled nerves. it can be a very unpleasant time for the wrong state of mind.

That said, as much as I am a bit stunned by the disruption on all sides, I see the pride on people’s faces and it is hard not to be infected by how much fun they are having. COVID cancelled Las Fallas for two years, so there is a ton of pent-up energy urgently waiting to celebrate this very unique local event . And although i feel terrible that typically sunny Valencia has been hit by absolutely godawful weather \240right for the festival — we have not only rain forecast every day this week, but high winds as well, making some of the sculptures shake threateningly, and delaying the erection of others — the locals are completely undaunted and fully embracing their massive, weeks-long celebration for all it’s worth.And so I am definitely feeling lucky that if I was going to come to Valencia, that I get to see it at its fullest and greatest. it is an AMAZING festival that happens all around, everywhere we go!

Everything I just told you i have learned from locals, reading, and docents like Daniel, the Valtournative guide who took us to the thermal springs on the weekend. Today we rejoined him in front of the central post office downtown for his Fallas Insider tour, a sort of interpretation of the festival from a local point of view. He gave lots of the colour and context I’ve just shared, but the main focus was to understand the centrepieces of the whole festival: the fallas themselves, which are like enormous political cartoons in 3D. So here’s a little insight on that.

SECRETS OF THE FALLAS

With several hundred sculptures scattered around the city it was hardly going to be a comprehensive tour. Instead Daniel led us around a number of signature pieces being completed before our eyes, to interpret and explain these odd jumbles of characters more clearly.

Our first stop was the massive piece commissioned by the city, easily four or five stories high and the only piece excluded from competition because it is paid for by public funds. It and all the others must be erected, assembled and completed by 8 am on the 16th when the judges come by. There must also be a children’s falla, a miniature structure aimed at smaller kids’ sensibilities.

Each falla has a theme, often satirical or social commentary, or just telling some sort of story. In this case, the theme is climate change and environmental damage. Daniel pointed out various symbols showing the fragility of nature: \240a turtle using its shell to protect a tree of life, a penguin fragmented into cracks, a polar bear with a candle burning indicating time running out. The more you look at it, the more you see little details the artist has added, along with his signature mark of bullseyes on many of the characters.

The fish turned into a sardine can particularly caught my eye.

Traditionally, Daniel added, a falla has a colourful front facing side, and a dark side showing the shadow elements of whatever the falla is depicting, In this case, the back of the falla is all in ash gray, indicating the death and loss in nature already wrought by human indifference.

For the children’s falla, the city instead opted for a Spitting-Image type gallery of well known politicians and leaders throughout Valencia’s history, including longtime mayor Rita Barbera, who by all accounts sounded like a mix of Hazel McCallion, Mel Lastman and a bit of \240Boss Tweed of Tammany Hall.

The late Rita Barbera, Mayor of Valencia 1991-2015: literally and figuratively a \240character.

i have another story about Mayor Rita for elsewhere in this blog, \240but here we learned how she was very popular until the year she got so drunk on the festivities she gave her Fallas speech from the City Hall balcony in some sort of language that was neither Valencian nor Spanish. She pooh poohed her poor reception from the crowd from her perch above the street, and later after she was ejected from office and found to be in a corruption scandal, the balcony was opened up to the public so that anyone could watch events from there. Like I’ve been remarking all week, people power is really a thing here,

Next we went to the Chinatown neighbourhood, where the Jerusalem falla is one of the biggest and most expensive sculptures in the city. (Ed.note: Chinatown is more like Chinawhere?…it is, like, two streets and barely discernible. if he hadn’t told us it was Chinatown we would never have guessed it.) This falla also had an environmental theme, with Father Nature (? Okay, Spain, you do your macho thang) bookended by women representing \240flora and fauna (the latter looking a lot like she was inspired by the movie AVATAR.) Aside from being surrounded by vendors and kiosks, and one of the most expensive fallas that I think Daniel said cost about $250k, this neighbourhood is notable for having the only children’s falla that moves, rotating like a carousel. This was the winning falla for this year.

Worth zooming in on for all the details.

Artist’s mock-up for the full-size sculpture, a work of art in itself.

AVATAR much? I feel like James Cameron could make a case for copyright infringement for this depiction of Fauna.

Enormous rotating children’s falla, crammed with work.

Do not mess with this (or any) octopus.

The rear view”dark side” \240is unexpectedly steampunky, perhaps a comment on industrialization.

Fallera going by.

From there Daniel led us over a few streets to Calle Cuba on the edge of the Ruzafa district we live in, and one of the densest and most active areas for fallas. Even from down the street we could see the spectacular lighting strung up, and Daniel said this casal had indeed won for best lighting for their efforts. It felt like a circus, or the Vegas strip, it was so brightly and vividly illuminated.

A nearby falla depicted the economy as an life sized elephant perched on a tiny pedestal trying to balance various pressures and demands.

Another economically themed social commentary on the cost of living.

Poking fun at social media.

We stopped at a cafe for the traditional Fallas treat of thick hot chocolate, and bunuelos, \240a sort of doughnut fritter thing made with pumpkin that gives it a little different texture. (I feel like every Valencian beverage seems to have its own designated companion pastry. :-D ) Daniel also surprised us with the gift of the traditional blue and white plaid falla scarves, which was a nice souvenir and helped to make us part of the crowd. I chatted about the whole day with Jonathan, a housing worker from Charlotte, NC and who is in a wheelchair about how he was finding the tour. He surprised me by saying Valencia is actually a very accessible city, and that as a former resident of New Orleans, he thinks Fallas is bigger than Mardi Gras because it is so much more spread out and goes on so much longer. I ain’t gonna argue with that!

As we all rested we took in the enormous falla looming over us from the intersection: a vivid depiction of the legend of King Arthur. His father Uther Pendragon tops the structure riding a horse that is carefully cantilevered off the rim of Merlin’s hat; Guinevere is nearby, looking offside in a hint of the trouble she will bring, while on the dark side of the statue, you see the enchantress and Arthur’s nemesis, Morgan Le Fay. Most striking is the figure of Arthur himself in the bottom of the structure, drawing up Excalibur with the help of of the Lady of the Lake. Unlike many other fallas, this one is notably uncluttered with tiny characters scattered about; instead it cuts huge, bold figures that are more artistic and less caricatured, and is striking in its coloration. It’s a very powerful, dramatic falla and instantly tells the highlights of the story.

Just down the street we visited a clearly political falla, this one inspired by Brexit. Two old fashioned warships are clashing - one laden down with caricatures of European nations, the other a British galleon that has some reluctant Scot, Irish and Welsh shipmates dragged aboard. It is not too hard to figure this one out.

The UK…

…vs. Europe.

Oh hi BoJo and the Queen!

On and on we went, \240falleras and street treats and music and more fallas setting up every few blocks…it’s as if the Ex picked up and spread its midway across residential/downtown Toronto. And everywhere, people strolling and snapping photos and milling about, while busy falla teams play music, build their sculptures or spy on what other casals have come up with and assess the competition. It’s like a giant collection of block parties all spilling over from one to the next, and it is astonishing to imagine that our Ruzafa neighbourhood is just a fraction of what is going on city wide. Like I said, it is a helluva festival. And I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that all these designs and sculptures that entire communities have been conceiving and designing and building for a whole year are all going to go up in flames in just a few days. There really is no place like this place anyplace all right!

Satire of celebrities obsessed with youthful appearance, including Julio Iglesias on the left, the King of Spain on the right, and some very Botox-obsessed Spanish star in the middle who the artist clearly thinks has had too much work done.

Toward the end of the tour the high wind and cold was getting to everyone, so we decided to wrap a bit early. Eddie and I hustled homeward toward Les Arts to warm up and wind down the day. But as it turned out my day was not quite yet done.

A falla of the Ruzafa tower being erected very late, only the night before competition, and at risk of not getting set up in time due to the strong winds.

Later that night: they made it!

The real life Ruzafa Tower depicted by the falla, a few blocks away.

Liverpool Pub was not as far away as i had feared, only about 12 minutes walk, and in fact along a route I’d taken Sunday with Rickie and Kamaria, so that was reassuring in the dark. When i arrived it was clear from the blue and yellow pins who were the Ukrainians, and I introduced myself to the foursome at the table outside. There was Volodymyr, an expat from Kyiv; his friend or partner? Nicholas from London; Pablo from Madrid, now of Valencia: and his friend June,who was from the Netherlands and appeared to be of South Asian extraction. As it turned out, the Ukrainian refugees had been and gone before i arrived, but at least I got to meet these people and get a bit caught up.

It is kind of cool: Pablo was the one who was very active with aid efforts and he urged his friend June to get more involved and help out, She apparently said, okay, you really want me to get into helping out? and came up with the idea of the social get together. I thought it was great that she was so creative and helpful, and went to that effort without even being Ukrainian herself. I really liked the whole group and just getting to know more about what is being done to help Ukrainians both here and there.

When I went in to get myself a drink I met Natalya, from Lviv, and longtime fixture running the Liverpool, and it was refreshing and welcome to chat in Ukrainian and hear the clear dialect and familiar Western accent i recognize from the language I grew up with in my community. She was very welcoming and urged me to keep in touch, which I really appreciated.

I hung around chatting with the group outside for a little longer but soon picked up to go because it was getting cold and feeling late. They pointed me in the direction of the Gran Via to go home, but as I wandered into Ruzafa i realized i was more or less back to where I had been with my group only a few hours earlier. By now it was so much darker the lights and streetlife were different, and so I spent some time wandering around the street parties and gathering bunched around fallas every few blocks….it was really like being on the Atlantic City boardwalk or Times Square or some kind of midway but classier and more communal.

Calle Cuba’s award-winning lights.

The Arthurian falla in full showcase.

Monster versions of penny candy like sour belts and licorice tubes, as wide as my thumb and longer than my arm.

I enjoyed seeing how the first real night of Las Fallas was coming together and hoped the weather would not dampen this lively city’s spirit for the rest of this long awaited highlight of the year.

. I only got x far into the crowd pressed around the barriers to the square, and when the fireworks started I could only see a few of the sparks over the trees and heads. But the collective energy of the crowd was uplifting even despite the grey day and it was clear a lot of people were really excited to see the show. For five full minutes booms and flares filled the sky , and toward the end rattled so hard that my rib cage was vibrating, and \240the ground felt like it was shaking \240(something I haven’t experienced since 2001 when the Ukrainian 10th Anniversary Independence Day parade in Kyiv rolled its tanks, heavy artillery and other military vehicles down Khreschatyk in an aggressive show of might that seems weird to think about given what is going there today). And then everybody gave a big cheer and it was over. I may not have seen much but I was glad to have experienced it at least a little bit.

I wandered through the centre full of music, parading falleras,people randomly dancing and chanting in little circles, and general foot traffic enjoying the afternoon despite the grim skies, and meandered up to the central market. This was indeed very similar to Budapest and other food halls I’ve visited, but very neat and orderly

. I picked up what i thought was a kind of jerky for a snack, but was actually a little less cured than I expected, and some huge, gorgeous looking raspberries whose jewel-like juicy appearance was only exceeded by their full, ripe, flavour. They didn’t taste like berries up get at home or even from the greengrocers on Bloor; these had the mellow sweetness of fresh picked field berries, with a taste that took me back to picking the sunkissed wild ones in our back yard when I was a kid. It was hard not to devour them by the handful, they were so delicious, but I forced myself to savour them and enjoy their succulence. Fruit here is SO good.

FOR LATIN LOVERS ONLY

Since it was so overcast, I thought it might be a good day for other indoor pursuits, so I drifted over the old city to Plaça de la Virgin, where the archaeological museum is tucked away behind the museum. Like many others in Europe, this one was created when excavations for a development uncovered ruins that they just decided to preserve instead. This subterranean museum is a remarkable window into Roman Valencia, with clearly outlined foundations for major public buildings laid open, and showing how close they were, much as in Pompeii (a place I truly love for how it lets you literally step into Roman life.)

There are very good computer models of the forum that once stood where I did now , showing \240how the various public buildings were set up in or around it. My favourite parts are the thermae because you can still see the various chambers indicating changing room and different temptaratures of baths, and right across the narrow street the food storing building, with amphorae still stacked on the shelves as they would have been long ago.

I also loved putting some of my much cherished Latin education to use.

Another bit of Valencian colour was learning the story of St. Vincent the Martyr, a local saint from around 304 AD who was jailed and tortured here before being put to death in the usual horrible fashion beloved by the Romans. The remnants of his jail building are still here and made this a pilgrimage site for centuries.

Overall the dim light and serene quiet of the Archaeological Museum made for a soothing respite from the buzz of street life and I appreciated the restfulness and solitude. \240A good break.

Out on the plaza I noticed a new addition in the square: a giant model of the Virgin Mary, with a body made of wooden slats. This was for yet another Fallas tradition to take place later in the week, the Ofrenda. More on that later.

I started out back to Ruzafa with a stop at Five Guys because, Americanism be damned, I really needed a real dose of red meat. (One of the kitchen managers even heard me asking for vinegar and went out of his way to go into the back and find me some…so nice of him!)

I emerged back into the municipal square smack in the middle of the parade of falleras. A seemingly unending string of begowned women, men in traditional dress and marching bands trooped by, with no indication of where they were coming from or going to.

I watched for a while and then dashed across during one of the spaces so I could head home. However, two streets later I was in the path of falleras again… and then from another direction another string of paraders came and they ended up intersecting…? Where the hell do they get all these people?! \240This is the second massive parade I’ve been in in two weeks and I marvel at this town’s commitment to just walking around all the time.

I kept running into falla marchers all the way home, all playing music and chanting and singing and cheering past smiling passersby. The street parties at each intersection and on several of the side streets were filling up with revellers and it was just blocks and blocks of festivity (except within the cars trying to get through- I could practically hear the drivers cursing as they inched through the waves of pedestrians.)

I stopped into Wayco on my way home to say hi to the small group working away, and then made my way home. Enroute I checked in in our local falla, now complete with all its additional decorations and lit up for all to enjoy.

Although it hadn’t been too taxing a day, I had still walked quite a lot (I’m well over 15000 steps a day, sometimes much more) and since I had an early start tomorrow I just stayed in, had some chats with home and crashed to the now regular sound of pops and explosions from the city outside.

The day dawned with a daunting high wind and rainy sky, enough to give me pause and reconsider my plans for the day. A week ago, a woman in our group named Gerardine had decided to celebrate her birthday with an excursion outside of town and had opened the invitation to anyone interested. A handful of us had replied, including me and my roommate Rickie, but the harsh weather had us wondering whether it was still on - and whether we even wanted it to be.

A quick check with the tour company confirmed the trip was still a go, so Rickie and I \240bundled up against the elements and headed out to the nearby hotel for the pickup place. It was a nasty, wet, blustery walk, mitigated only by the fact that it was less than 20 minutes of wind blowing cold rain at us. Yuck. We arrived early enough to get a coffee from the hotel cafeteria and I guess they didn’t want to deal with us non-guests trying to pay cash so they just let us have coffee and pastries for free. Well, that helps!

One by one the rest of our group trickled in, for a total of 6 (one bailed) , soggy and chilled and apprehensive about the day given the weather. When our minibus arrived there was only one other family joining us, a grandmother, mother and 6 year old son from Brazil, so it was almost like a private tour.

We travelled maybe half an hour,maybe 40 minutes out of town to a village called Vall D’Uixo where we waited out the rain in a cozy cafe over fresh squeezed oj and cafe con leches . At around 10:30 our guide Joaquin led us to the entrance to a cave, that looked for all the world like the entrance to a theme park ride like Magic Mountain or something. And indeed as we walked into the dark cavern, it really did feel like the stone walls around us were that sort of faux rock that the Canada’s Wonderland mountain and the like are made of. I had to laugh: what does it say about us that we look at a REAL cave carved by nature out of a mountain, and think, wow, this looks just like an amusement park set? :-D It’s hilariously warped. And yet, as Joaquin kept warning us as we leaned down to pass under the lower overhangs, “Be careful of your heads on the rocks, please, this is not Disneyland!“ He would say this a LOT throughout the whole tour, making us wonder: Just \240how many people had clocked themselves to warrant such perpetual fretting over safet?

Our underground river route

Inside the cave was a river- the longest underground river in Europe, apparently - \240and a punt-style boat waiting for us for a 3 kilometre tour. The security maniacs aboard told us photography was not allowed for safety reasons, but of course we all ignored that and surreptitiously shot video and images with impunity. I have a blog to populate here, people! (And it wasn’t just us Americanos being scofflaws. At the gate the Brazilian family said their little boy was 8, not 6, so he would be allowed on the boat. What a bunch of criminals we all were. :-D)

The boatman pushed off and we drifted deep into the reddish limestone cavern, into an eerie, well-lit cave out of a movie set. It was spooky and beautiful, with water of various depths illuminated clear blue below, and various rock formations on all sides creating underground beaches and lagoons and shallow pools. It is so quiet and still inside the mountain, with the current barely palpable, and we were looking around in all directions at various rock shapes surrounding us. These caves were discovered in the early 20th century and had been open for tourists since sometime in the 50s. Apparently there are also Paleolithic or Stone Age cave paintings found here as well, though we did not see those, but it made one wonder what it would have been like to hang out here this deep underground with the coolish water to swim in, with only firelight I presume to navigate the way. Other-worldly.

Partway through the 45 minute ride we got out of the boats and walked for a little less than a kilometre through the passages, and then got back in to the punt at the other end to continue our slow-boat meander along the water. Then, at one large space in the rock, where the water opened up to create a larger than usual pool, the lights abruptly went out completely.In that second amid the shrieks of surprise you got a real sense of just how dark those caves are without electricity, Then coloured spotlights appeared on the water, and music started playing - an instrumental of John Legend’s “All Of Me”. The lights flickered around the cave in a multi coloured light show as we involuntarily sang along to the familiar tune, and it was suddenly very romantic and mellow in the otherwise claustrophobic creepy caves…I felt like this was someplace people would propose marriage or something. It was a very pretty few minutes of stillness just sitting serenely on the water, listening, singing and watching the lights, and I was not surprised that these caves are often used for musical concerts…the acoustics and atmosphere are sublime. A nice little bonus experience to be surprised with.

.

The mountain we sailed into/under.

After we clambered ashore and back into the fresh air, Joaquin took us up a long staircase to the site of the original Roman village that had been here. There is a little church there now (lit some candles for Ukraine), some old foundations of the original wall and structures, and a lookout point over the hills and valleys surrounding the modern day village

The weather here was quite a bit nicer than Valencia too, if still overcast, so we were grateful for a break from the rain. Coming down the hill, we were well entertained by the little boy Tio, who was fearlessly confident and chatty, nattering to himself and us in Portuguese as he flounced around a stuffed bat his mom had bought him…what a cute bit of energy to have along and cheer us.

We were also briefly given pause (paws?) by the sight of a cat that had apparently climbed up part of the cliff under the Roman village, but now seemed perplexed as to how to get down. I hope it figured it out , or that someone helped it. )

Overall, \240a really pleasant excursion to get out of town and start the day with, and helped make the rotten weather awaiting us in Valencia more bearable. A nice way to celebrate Gerardine’s midweek workday birthday with her by doing something a little out of the box; so appreciative that she opened it up to us all.

Kizzy, Julia, Gerardine, Eric, me and Rickie

One by one, groups of falleras in their full costume come into the square bearing coloured flowers in tribute. These are collected by the falleros at the bottom of the structure…they then toss flowers up one by one to other guys hanging off the sides, to put into place in the framework in a decorative pattern that changes year to year. (If this app ever figures out how to let me upload video, I have a great bit of footage showing the process…it’s quite something to watch.) Despite the rain, the square was full of spectators looking on from behind the barricades.

I watched for a while to see how it was starting out. Later that evening I \240got a photo from another in our \240group, Katiana, \240who showed how far it had come along in just a few hours.

Afterwards I went to Wayco to catch up on writing. There wasn’t really anyone there, so I got to have a good bit of one to one chat with Jacquie from New York, whose work is in tech recruiting but who has creative side projects as a writer and actress…it was nice to have a bit of a deeper conversation outside of the larger group activities. On the side she’s working on a sort of bucket list of scary challenges that sounds fun and inspiring.

At some point Kuntal showed up, and before long we were not so much working hard as hardly working, and chatting away. At one point she told \240a story about just falling into conversation with a local guy named Sergio \240in a cafe or something, \240who she soon buddied up with as her new Valencia friend and tour guide, andi was impressed and nostalgic. I \240remember just how that can go, being open to random encounters and having fantastic new experiences with people you meet jout of the blue, and I admired \240how quickly she’d managed to do that already…it’s not always easy but so often worth it. What a great story to have.

Kuntal invited us to dinner to a vegetarian place she had found called Copenhagen. We wove our way through cheery throngs of rowdymakers alternately (or simultaneously) celebrating Fallas and/or St. Patrick’s Day and met Leen there (rocking, it must be said, a fantastic leather shirt dress. My God, I need to get me some of this European style.) We crammed into the already busy bar and explored the rather interesting looking vegetarian menu.

Most of the food was pretty good — although I do love my B-complex vitamins, I still find vegetarian food quite satisfying — especially some little slider things and an udon noodle dish with peppers. (Something I have noticed is that in Spain, when a dish is said to come with vegetables, that doesn’t tend to include green ones. I am starting to really crave salad.) We were also particularly curious about the vegetarian garlic “prawns” and decided we had to see how this place pulled that off.

When it showed up, it was impressively plausible - \240a rather enticing looking plate of what really did look like shrimp in butter, right down to reddish-white colouring and little leg stumps carved out. Points for presentation! However, one bite was enough to convince us this would only be a visual award winner…the seitan or tofu or whatever it was made of was weirdly rubbery and was not a reasonable facsimile of real prawns at all. As Leen observed with a grimace of disdain, “This is like PROP food.” In her Belgian accent, the pronouncement sounded twice as piercing and three times as funny.

Fortunately the wine was perfectly fine, so we enjoyed that VERY well, and it was really nice to get into a real girls’ dinner chat that rolled and flowed. Despite 18 years in age range, ,various relationship histories and statuses, assorted fields of work, coutures and cultural backgrounds \240and dramatically diffferent life experiences between us, the dynamic really clicked in and we had just a great conversation, loose and friendly and lively and \240candid. The more we hang out the more relationships are jibing across the group and I was very happy to be in this vibe.

At some point we realized it was getting late — we had the 1 am fireworks to get to and it was already after midnight. So we scrambled up the cuenta and crashed out the door into the Falles street party happening right outside. The light rain was completely not dampening the party spirit - \240everywhere around us people were laughing, chatting, drinking and having a great time. We got as far as the intersection before we were sucked into a wild singing-dancing \240circle of Spaniards loudly chanting what I assume is a beloved Fallas fight song at the top of their lungs and it was hard to tear ourselves away from all the boisterous energy. But with the clock ticking we eventually broke off again, running down Calle Cuba through at least three or four other similar gatherings under the lights with hundreds of people milling around. Imagine a chain of Queen’s homecoming/Ukie fest street parties strung out over several blocks…that was what it was like all the way down.

When we launched ourselves onto the main drag for the last leg toward the fireworks, we noticed we seemed to be swimming downstream through a current of people travelling the other way. \240We stopped a guy to ask which way to the fireworks and he told us they had happened an hour earlier today due to the rain…waaah! Oh well. It had still been a right raucous outing and a whole lot of fun, and there was always more tomorrow. So with a big group hug by the glow of a street light we all bid farewell and went off homeward feeling well and truly festive. Pyrotechnics or not, I’m quite delighted to have \240had a very proper Fallas experience already. What a party.

I backtracked through the busy squares, remarking that thanks to Falles it \240felt a lot more like a lively Saturday than a Friday morning, and met Rickie and Jimmy for brunch at a place called Milk and Butter. They have been chatting a lot since even before the trip and are planning to do the next month with the program in Lisbon, so it is nice to see people making bonds. And as it happened, Kuntal and Liz were nearby having a brunch of their own in a “coffee date” matchup that the program encourages for socializing, so it was nice to see more friendly faces so early in the day. I imagine the place is popular with expats because it serves more American style breakfasts like eggs and bacon…no surprise, since it turns out the owners are originally from Vancouver, I learned. (And I guess they did some canny research for their location, because they are down the street from a store called TASTE OF AMERICA specializing in American snacks and treats like Reese’s Cups and breakfast cereals, so they know who is going to be in the neighbourhood!)

As tempting as it it was to go for a familiar trucker-style taste-of -home breakfast, I couldn’t resist my usual habit of having the menu item that sounds most unique or interesting. So instead \240I enjoyed a really tasty stack of blueberry lime pancakes in a bright creamy sauce that tasted even better combined with maple syrup, alongside some of my beloved fresh orange juice, and a good catchup chat with my brunchmates.

Afterwards the other two went to walk around and I headed to Wayco to do some writing…but perhaps because of the unusually carb heavy meal or eatlng so early (for me), I found myself really weary and unable to focus. I lay down for a nap on a couch for a while but that didn’t seem to help clear my head, so when Rickie returned from her walkabout I joined her for the short stroll home.

As soon as I got in I went to bed and didn’t get out again for about 16 hours. For some reason I didn’t feel completely right (though I don’t blame brunch), and was incredibly tired, almost weak with exhaustion. I fell asleep for a good four hours, woke up and tried to watch something in bed for company but ended up falling asleep in my clothes again.

When I woke up again it was sometime after midnight. My phone was full of messages from the group meeting up by the riverbed for the last big night of fireworks, scheduled for 1:30 am. I got up and started getting ready to head over, but then paused and checked in and realized I just wasn’t up for it, even for a walk only 17 minutes away. So instead I changed into sleepwear and crawled back into bed, watching a little TV. At 1:30 am, sure enough, the booming started, and I listened to more than 20 minutes of explosions and whistling pyrotechnic bursts while the sky outside my window flickered from the distant light. I felt a little flash of FOMO, but not a lot. At the end of the day, as much of an experience as this is, I have seen fireworks, and at that moment I just wasn’t up for the walk over and back. Instead i waited for the noise to settle down to the more conventional rumble I’ve become used to over these two weeks of Falles buildup, and eventually fell asleep again long, deep, and hard.

I’m still not sure what exactly was up with me that I was SO tired; I had not walked or done much too physically demanding to warrant this much sleep. It could have been related to the barometric pressure changes from the regular rainfall,as that can often affect me at home. But if I had to take a guess at self diagnosis, I would suspect I had a severe case of what I’m calling introversia. Introverts aren’t necessarily antisocial, but we do need to step back and recharge from large group gatherings and the exigence of sustained interactions; overstimulation is exhausting. And after two years of COVID reducing my socialization, I wonder if my threshold for big events and lots of people around has lowered,so it accumulates in me more. All this week it has been constant crowds and noise and activity. Also, while the group \240company is great, more often than not the conversations are glancing small talk or nonversations; there are only a small handful of people I have fallen into thoughtful exchanges with where I feel a copacetic click that invigorates. More often I’m having casual exchanges with people I still don’t know all that well yet, which are fine, but a lot of them in short order can be mentally draining for \240introverts. And so I wonder if that is what happened to me today: all this input and output and stimulation caught up to me abd depleted me \240from the inside,and I just needed some deep mental rest to recharge. Going to pay some attention to that going forward and pace myself a little more, maybe try alternating the lively activity and socializing with more solo down time and see if that helps…either that, or let this experience raise my extroversion game up to pre-COVID levels. We shall see…!

In the meantime, Jackie must have also felt like tonight was too much because she watched the fireworks from her rooftop at Lander and kindly shared the video. Looks like it was a spectacular show indeed…and I’m okay not having had to deal with the massive crowd and the heaving activity when it all had to disperse. I think I made the right call for me. No FOMO after all. :-)

Today is St.Joseph’s feast day, Father’s Day in Spain, and the final day of Las Fallas - the big fiery finish. And I would say we did it well. Especially with the chronic rain threatening to dampen our spirits and plans all day long!

The agenda had been to do a bit of Valencia-essentials tour - climb El Micalet and another tower for the views, see the Ofrenda, and then go to lunch. We all variously trooped through a really rotten rainfall for noon to try and find each other in the soggy Plaza de la Virgen, and one by one picked each other out amid the milling crowds admiring the now- completed floral statue. Quite impressive.

It took a while for us to spot and collect each other, especially as the fits of rain prompted umbrellas to open, and as time wore on we wondered if this was even going to happen…some of us were already contemplating calling it and going to hide out in a cafe to warm up and dry off.There was also a big run on cheap umbrellas from a nearby shop.

While we gathered, we met a new face to our bunch— a guy named Kyle from the west coast of the US appeared for the first time, two weeks in. We had seen his name popping up in our group messages lately; everyone had been asking “Who is Kyle? Where is this guy? is he real?”, and the collective joke was that he was a unicorn. And now here he was!Apparently he had been slated to join us from the start but for reasons had been unable to depart as scheduled. To his credit he still went for it, even if he was arriving halfway through, and now brought in a lot of newbie-keener energy that was a nice little shot in the arm for the now-familiar group, especially in the miserable rain.

Soon Julen and Iliana appeared and advised that the towers we had hoped to climb were closed for the day, I suppose for Fallas, so the whole first half of the day’s plan kind of went out the window anyway. Since things seemed to be clearing up a bit, and because some people hadn’t experienced it yet, we decided to go see the final mascleta display of 2 pm fireworks. The streets were crowded with Fallas revelers but even so we had the advantage of coming early enough this time to stake out a good spot from which to actually see, and not just hear or feel the show. So we pushed through the throngs, and split up; half the group opted to stay on one side of the square, while the rest of us chose a different vantage point from the opposite side. And then we stood and waited, as waves of rain came and went, prompting repeated openings and closings of umbrellas.

Kyle and Sarae (not sure whether this is Kyle’s American hoodie, or his Spanish one, but the white sure helped to pick him out in a crowd!)

Tatjana, Amber, and new guy Kyle

Lucinda’s view from a nearby Starbucks every time the rain picked up and the umbrellas came out.

Leen, Kuntal and Camille.

I can’t remember the last time I stood around and waited for something for over an hour, but if I was going to do it again I was glad to have good company. Our little cluster spent the time chatting, admiring the architecture of the buildings around the square, and catching Kyle up on things and sharing various stories from the past two weeks, including a long running drama that had been a thread for the first chunk of the program: like Kyle, Luke’s luggage had not made it from San Diego for the first week and a half of the program, prompting a lot of to and fro with various airlines, an extensive bag search, some urgent shopping trips to Zara and a lot of sympathy from the group. Luke had been pretty zen about the whole thing, considering how long the uncertainty went on, but when his stuff suddenly appeared earlier this week with his actual, favourite hoodies and pants instead of his Valencian emergency wear, the group delight made for a nice shared experience. it is nice to have these touchstones of common groun appearing more and more.

Finally the warning shots fired alerting that the mascleta was imminent, and then the last blasts of the afternoon ritual began. I was very happy that after my past attempts, thanks to our location I finally could actually see the light blooms explode into view. And in a way the gray sky was a blessing because the backdrop made them a little more visible. After the usual five minutes of noise and chaos, the final drumroll of booms rattled through the air and our bodies, and the show concluded. Yay! I am glad I gave it one more shot and got to do it right. I feel like I have properly experienced this now.

So THAT’s what all the mascleta fuss \240is about..!

We’re calling this band Standing Room Only: Kyle, Luke, Sarae, Tetjana, Amber…

…oh, and apparently I and my very ineffective rain jacket were there too, both very damp.

Afterwards our two groups reunited, and Juls and Iliana led us through the crowded streets to a place for a late lunch (late by our chilled wet hungry standards, not Valencia’s). I was delighted to see us stop at a Cuban place called Salsavana — what a friendly sight to see my familiar Cuban motifs again! Even if I have always found Cuban cuisine to be understandably limited, I know it well by now and I also really love that the vibe of the place completely captured a Bodeguita sound and feel. So for me it was a cozy landing place to warm up from the day - a reminder of sunnier shores!

The 16 or so of us left took over two tables on the top floor, and even though the menu took some dissecting (I had to remind myself that “ropa vieja”, which translates as “old clothes”, is a shredded meat \240dish that I actually quite like :-D Later I learned from Katiana, our resident Cubana, that quite often, what I thought was beef is horse meat. OH! Well, still tasty! ) , and the conversation was regularly drowned out by perpetual explosions from outside, we enjoyed a really pleasant, \240long leisurely meal over muchos sangrias and laughs. I noticed that, like the other night, the surfacey get-to-know-you type conversations are becoming more casual and familiar and going a little deeper, which I genuinely find enjoyable, and it made for a very relaxing afternoon - - a very welcome rally from the morning’s damp and gloom.

By the time we left it was around 5 and we realized we still had an evening of Fallasing to get ready for, so we gathered up and scattered temporarily. I walked home to Les Arts over a nice chat with Tetjana from Slovenia, whose accumulated wisdom and life experience and gameness for every activity I am quite appreciating. I laughed when she said she thought I was an extrovert…ba ha ha, my high-functioning facade is working! Though I had to admit after the afternoon of good cheer I was feeling more comfortable and in my groove.

I didn’t have much time at home to regroup and go out again - just long enough to check in on mail, change from my poorly chosen light, thin and very damp orange rain shell to my proper outdoor jacket,, swap out my soggy socks for dryer ones and head out. My plan had been to go hang out at a bar near the falla i had been passing at Wayco. But as I remembered that the fire parade was underway, I thought maybe I might go and try to go see what it was like, and darted in and out of the side streets to try and catch at least a little of it.

By the time I caught up to the stretch of the parade route near Mercat de Colon I could tell I was too late…the crowd was a good few people deep, most of them taller than me, and whenever passing cloudbursts showered rain, the umbrellas quickly blocked my view. Boo. Still, I wanted to have SOME idea of what this pyrotechnic parade might be like, so I hung around and peered over shoulders to catch what I could. From what I did see, it is still pretty different from anything else I’ve experienced in a parade…a lot of people in red costumes (devils? Monks? Weird cult leaders? It was hard to tell), who are handed lit flares and dance around waving them in a moving display of sparks and light, until they burn out and the team behind them hands them another lit flare to skip about with.

I gotta assume those costumes are fireproof. \240Anyway, \240after a couple of rounds of Prances With Fireworks, I figured I was unlikely to see much more with any degree of clarity and headed back toward Wayco to our favourite falla.

CREMA DE LA CREMA

One last look before it all goes down in a blaze of glory….!

The finale of Fallas is the Crema: the burning of these wild giant wooden sculptures we have been admiring all over town.It is the whole damn point of the whole crazy noisy pyromaniacal week. By now I had learned my lesson: If I had any fighting chance of actually seeing this final Fallas ritual and experiencing it properly, I needed to get into position early and hold myself a spot. When I got to our square, there was already a blaze going: at 8 pm they immolate the smaller children’s fallas first. I watched it as a preview of the main event, and was amused to find myself in conversations with various bystanders in three different languages, French, English and whatever Spanish I know.

After a short walkabout I considered the site and instead of putting myself right up at the barriers circling the statue, I picked a spot in the middle of the tree -lined boulevard. It was a bit farther away, but the elevation of the curb would alleviate my short height, even over umbrellas…and most importantly since I had over an hour to stand and wait again, there was a palm tree to lean on. So I settled in and soon fell into conversation with an American woman named Rebecca and her dad who chose the same vantage point. .She was from North Carolina, having moved to Valencia recently with her husband to a place a few doors away, and her visiting father was a volunteer firefighter from NY who was obviously interested in the blaze to come. We were in the middle of a very pleasant chat when i spotted Dan and Luke from my group, and they came to join me under the tree. Others from our program were showing up as well but they were further back in the now growing crowd, or climbing some scaffolding a few feet away to get a better view.

Once again rain came and went in varying intensity of showers,making us wonder how this burning was going to go down. (I have read that this has been the wettest Fallas on record - \240no one has ever seen this much rain throughout the festival before.) \240But obviously these people are not going to let a little rain stop their most beloved tradition! Sure enough, as the 10 o’clock hour approached \240(when all the big fallas are set to burn more or less at once) , the traffic in the street was blocked off, firefighters showed up to hose down nearby buildings (some that had people hanging out of windows waiting to watch the show) and be on standby, the fallera major and casal members showed up in full regalia and their red group jackets, and preparations got underway. Everyone who thought they had a prime position on the street had to move as the \240barricades were moved back, right up to where our group was standing on the boulevard. By sheer dumb luck we ended up being the front row after all, and I was quite pleased with myself for having guessed so well for a viewing spot. Some guys from the casal piled up kindling, pushed the random small statues circling the big falla against its base, and punched holes in the sculpture \240— we were close enough to smell the gasoline they poured in.

Then a round of local fireworks fired off in the sky for another five to ten minute display, followed by others popping off in the near distance, as each casal announced the launch of its crema.

The fallera mejor, queen of the casal, got a flare to light a fuse…

…, and like something out to a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, the flame shot along the path in a speeding sparking route directly to the falla. \240(I have never actually seen this happen in real life, and it’s crazy to watch!)

Still from the video I really wish I could upload here so you too could watch the flare fly up the fuse line..!

At the statue it seemed to pause and sputter, and we thought that the wetness would not let the blaze ignite…oh no! But then a casal guy stepped in with another light, and the next thing you knew there were fireworks popping out all over from the hole in the falla. As it flared, he ran to the other side and dropped a light in that hole, and more fireworks shot out as we oohed and clapped.

THEN the thing caught fire from within, and started to burn for real….and what none of us had anticipated was, burn REAL FAST. The flames ripped up the full length of the four story statue on all sides and we all felt a blast of heat as the blaze expanded. It was a lot closer than we had realized and I was suddenly glad when Dan reminded me of my mask, against the swirling smoke. It quickly became the biggest bonfire I’d ever seen, several dozen feet of fire that quickly consumed the exterior decorations to reveal the tall wooden framework.

And THEN, those burning pieces of material and embers going up started drifting toward US, and we \240found ourselves swatting away glowing shards floating and settling on us as we tried to see through the smoke and eye-watering heat. I heard Luke who had only a hoodie for protection, mumble, “Um, guys,this is really starting to hurt” and push past me to get away from the fire’s edge, and disappear, hopefully okay. Dan and Rebecca and her dad and I also started stumbling backwards, almost tripping over the little fence circling the greenery as we fled the searing glow from the now full-on blaze of glory. The whole crowd \240retreated a few feet to the relative safety of the boulevard while we watched the flames lick up the length of the enormous structure, completely unabated by the rain.

The firefighters shot up a waterstream around the perimeter of the blaze to keep it under control, so we now got well showered \240with water as well as embers, but we were all so dazed and amazed by the whole experience that all we could do was kind of just stand and stare and marvel. it really was quite astonishing to see this enormous thing \240just vanish before our eyes in minutes, and I have to admit it was a bit of an adrenaline rush.

The whole immolation took maybe about 20 minutes before it started to die down. Everyone \240just watched, often giving up a cheer whenever a chunk fell down and toppled into the flames. Yay! We did it! The thing we spent a whole year imagining and creating and designing and building is successfully destroyed forever! Yay! :-D i may never quite understand this festival, but I gotta admit it IS unexpectedly exhilarating and fun.

Eventually as the conflagration settled down and started to shrink, our group found each other and a bunch started out for downtown…that is where the big municipal sculpture in the central ayuntamiento square that we had been looking at all week would be the last to be \240set alight, at 11 pm. I didn’t feel the need to go see that one…I’ve been back and forth downtown so often all week, \240and spent so much of the day peering from a distance through crowds, that I was okay not repeating this close-up experience I’d just had \240from afar. So I waved them good night with best wishes. After they left I stuck around to watch the falla fire slowly die out (ever the completist!), and was there when they finally started to clean it up. The whole troop of casal members from/the community ran out with their red jackets and began sweeping up, including a bunch of gleeful teenagers delighting in the fun…I watched one girl go over to the smoking ruins and pick up an unburnt piece of the falla that had escaped burning..she ran back and showed it to the others and they took a big group photo with it. it was a bit of a charming window into how this annual ritual brings people in the neighbourhood together.

Even though I wasn’t hungry, I decided to end the ceremony appropriately and treated myself to hot chocolate and churros from a nearby truck. i munched it on the way home, pausing to stop at other squares where fallas were still alight amid cheering crowds.

The aftermath of our corner where another falla party came, got lit, and went.

When I got home, I found my roommate Rickie awake and the washing machine going. \240Apparently when the fires started falling on the crowd, she and some others had also scrambled to get away from the heat, but because they were on the scaffolding, some had fallen and she had ended up in a pile of people and covered with mud. Ouch. Fortunately, she was not too worse for wear now that she was in her pajamas, and we remarked that we still had those little gunpowder bombetas that we had been given in our welcome basket on arrival. If we didn’t use them tonight, that was it - you can’t really use the once Fallas is over. So we went to my balcony and had a blast dropping the tiny noisemakers into the empty street by the handful, delighting like little kids in watching them spark with a noisy pop as they hit the ground. It was kind of cute.

I stayed up long enough to see the city work crews come with their truck and brooms to swiftly sweep up and clear the huge mess on our corner where our neighbourhood falla party had been…they had a long night ahead clearing up the hundreds of parties that were slowly burning out all over the city. Finally dozed off to the sound of the last fireworks and explosions fading in the night sky. For all the violent shelling noise and heart stopping starts and increasing lights and fireworks and crowds around for the last two weeks since arriving, I am very very happy to have been here to experience Valencia’s beloved signature tradition…we really got to be part of something uniquely local. I feel well and truly Fallasized. So glad you’ve been along for the ride, so thank you for reading this far along!

When I returned to street level near the museum, I saw another garden behind a gate that I had not known about — the Jardin del Real or Viveros Garden. So I wandered in and was instantly enchanted by the beauty and tranquility of this urban park. It felt like a miniature of gardens I’d seen in France, or even Madrid: different styles of landscaped areas surrounding sculptures, pergolas, fountains, archways,tree lined walking paths, open spaces, and even a little duck pond behind a fence. I meandered around, wallowing in the peacefulness and stillness, and even though it was not anywhere near full bloom, there were a few trees dripping purple blossoms for a bit of colour to catch the eye.

It turns out this used to indeed be a royal garden, specifically an orchard and nursery, for a recreational palace that had been here a few hundred years ago. \240The area continued as an ornamental nursery embellished with flowerbeds and remains a municipal nursery. Apparently there used to be a zoo here as well and though I didn’t see it, there is also a natural science museum that I will have to go back and explore. But as it was, it was a delight to trip over these peaceful little oasis of quiet and calm, sitting along a major roadway running alongside the riverbed and yet wonderfully serene and removed all the same. If I lived here I would come here all the time…what a treasure.

.

ART ATTACK

The Museu de Belles Artes was right next door - indeed, it has an exit that opens into the park - but I went into the front with high hopes encouraged by the circular \240marble foyer with high ceilings and ringed by sculpture and paintings. The building has had a longstanding local history as a seminary, a military academy, a charity centre, an army supplies storehouse and military hospital before becoming a museum)

SOROLLIN’ WITH IT

.I decided first to look at the \240feature exhbition of famous Valencian artist Joaquin Sorolla (who, I only now remembered, is also the namesake of the local train station.) \240So off I went to learn more about this local luminary of the art world. He’s credited with breaking the Spanish trend of gloomy or imposing historical art in favour of more modern Realism, often depicting scenes of ordinary Valencians and others fishing, enjoying the beach and whatnot, in notably light-filled, optimistic scenes with natural coloured palettes brightened by white.

A typical Sorolla.

However, I have to admit as I entered the galleries, I felt a bit disappointed. The room was full of old school portraits and really dowdy, old fashioned looking paintings, and it really didn’t excite me much, especially presented in the long, dimly lit corridors that wound around the gallery.What’s more, there seemed to be surprisingly few actual paintings by Sorolla. I guess other museums like the ones in Madrid, Philadelphia and even Havana got most of his best stuff, because what seemed to be left looked to be a small collection of \240mostly portraiture.

One of the few portraits that caught my eye, \240of a woman interesting in her own right.

As I went along, I realized that the exhibition winding over two floors overcompensated for its lack of Sorolla art by presenting work by his early teachers and influences, his peers, and his followers and eventually breakaway critics of the Sorollista school, which was a really weird way to profile the centrepiece local hero in his own hometown. Oh well, I guess you make do with whatever you’ve got.

Some Sorolla-school images I liked below.They particularly made me notice the use of white:

But outside \240these pieces that caught my eye, \240I didn’t find the collection as a whole to be as enlightening or interesting as I had hoped… I’ve rarely been so meh overall.

That said, other various artists startled me with their muted but arresting images of violence:

Zoom in and look closely at the elements of this one, including the farmer’s hand and the lower edges of the painting. When I saw it was called “The Master”, I found it suddenly chilling.

I think this is called “The Aftermath” or something similar - apologies, I usually take better notes- but either way, the man’s bleeding head gives a layer of darkness to this \240morning-after image.

I wasn’t completely clear on what was going on in this Granell painting \240till I saw it was called “The Satyr” - and felt my stomach drop. Satyrs are symbols of beastly, indiscriminate sexuality. I realized I was looking at a grandfather accusing men of assaulting a child.

This image called “Motherhood”, I think, stopped me for a long time. The colours of the light on the water were unusual, but the tragic subject , given the title, is haunting.

The mother sinking in a flood holds her baby aloft in what feels like a futile effort to save her child.

The wild desperation in her eyes really got me.

I appreciated these narrative paintings most of all… despite their troubling subject matter they were compelling and made me feel things.

It was also surprising and gratifying to find a \240number of images of women that intrigued me:

Her weary but resigned, thoughtful .expression and the empty basket made an interesting combination.

I was kind of charmed by this dressed up lady mischievously hiding in the curtains for no discernible reason, like a little kid. \240:-D

I particularly like this one because of what I think it’s saying with the simple, subtle inclusion of the orange. It’s called “Mrs.Moncombe”. \240I like to Imagine it is a portrait of a wealthy expatriate from England showing she’s now established as a society lady in Valencia.

Reminds me of Mucha’s art nouveau women \240I saw all over Prague.

OH MY GOD….!

So okay, the rest of the museum had to be better, right? The map I’d been handed upon entering promised several eras and styles of art in the other galleries - Baroque, Flemish, Renaissance, Gothic, full array. Sounds good. I returned to the lobby and into the other main gallery entry way and was confronted by medieval artifacts from Catholic churches opening into a huge room full of enormous golden altar pieces, as if they had raided local churches and stuck them all in one room. On every side were towering doors layered with icons and religious paintings and it was a little bit creepy somehow…

Chalk it up to my Catholic upbringing, but I did not like it at all, having so many images of religiosity surrounding me. Even noticing a couple of Botticellis did nothing for me…as is typical of such art, the images were grim and in the case of one portrait, judgemental. Ugh. So morbid.

Oh hi, Judgey McJudgerson.I don’t need a painting looking askance at me!

Gaaah. How cheerful and uplifting.

Probably the piece I found the least troubling, but even this dude is on his knees looking like he’s afraid he’s going to get in some serious trouble if he doesn’t start praying, stat.

I hurried to the side galleries to go find the European art referenced in the guide, but as I went through room to room my heart sank. Yes, it was Baroque, Flemish, Renaissance etc etc etc…but it was all RELIGIOUS art. Gruesome images of martyrdoms, flagellations, violent angels and hideous demons in battle….UGH. \240Even though these rooms were better lit, the images were uniformly dark and macabre. Everybody depicted seemed to have a face or expression like this:

Nobody looks particularly happy about their situation, or to see God.

Now, let \240me be clear that I don’t categorically dislike religious art, and have seen plenty of it in galleries that interests me. But \240I do know that I have an allergy to too much of it at once. I learned this years ago on the Camino, when my friend Alison and I decided to go visit the cathedral museum in Astorga and found ourselves deeply disquieted by the morbid images of torture and suffering , distorted iconography, the various vestments spread out like empty burial shrouds as if the bodies within them had evaporated, and the unnerving medieval church music and disturbing smell of formaldehyde and incense permeating the air. That experience was so chilling it was distressing, and while this wasn’t quite as bad, it was pretty close. Every piece I passed seemed despondent, anguished, depicting horrible acts of violence in graphic detail…just \240the worst cumulative expression of imagination and \240rendering of religion. And \240with so many images all together like this, the word that kept rising with the bile in my throat was GROSS. Its an odd word, can’t help it, that was what came to mind…gross, and creepy.

For the first time I had no interest seeing a Velazquez, a Goya, a Bosch, or El Greco \240in real life - \240I just did NOT care. It was all too much. After rushing through the galleries to make sure I wasn’t missing some other, refreshingly normal category of art, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Sorry, God. You did not have the best PR guys for a really long time. I never want to see that much of that kind of artwork in one place again.

Your experience may vary, and I respect that. For me,in the end, this was a pretty disappointing museum visit, probably the most surprisingly underwhelming and uninspiring collection I have ever seen in one place. Did not love. Which is very, very rare for me to say about any art institution. I guess I’m glad I saw it and know what is there, but I can think of very few people I would recommend it to. At least it was free, so I didn’t have to add a waste of money to my poor experience there.

That said, there was a bright side: the building itself remains worth a short walkthrough, to see the ceiling of the entryway and two courtyards along the garden side of the compound. Only one was accessible, though you could see the other \240through windows, and I liked the open air atrium as a bit of a respite for fresh air. So that was good at least.

It was a relief to step outside again, regain my equilibrium with another pass around the Jardins de Real, and then walk along and across the riverbed park back toward home. On the way home the overcast skies turned grayer, colder and a bit rainier. \240I stopped in a cafe for a cafe con leche and a snack to warm up and considered going out to find some paella, since we’d had it canceled but I still wanted a taste of it. But once I got home, I realized I’d walked quite a bit, and reconsidered. After the rowdy weekend of Fallas activities, I was craving hometime even more, so I crawled into my pjs and into bed to wind down.

Rickie came into my room while I was lying in bed reading and offered me a couple of treats she’d picked up in a fancy chocolate shop in town. Then she proffered another bag, and directed me to open it and take one of each brightly coloured wrapped chocolate inside. \240I was pleasantly surprised, until she said, “Eat those and tell me what each one of those is.” I realized \240she was using me as a guinea pig \240to taste-test each variety and decide whether she wanted them. But since it was chocolate, I was happy to oblige, and helpfully \240identified milk chocolate, dark chocolate and hazelnut truffles. She nodded in approval and took the rest of the bag back to her room. I had to laugh. There are definitely worse things a roommate could ask.

Despite the museum art letdown and the return of the cold rainy weathert, it had still been a nice, leisurely Sunday and a good way to recover from the hubbub. I’d had a pleasant day of me time doing things I liked to do, so it was well spent. And now it’s spring!

I get it: into each life some rain must fall. 300 days a year of sun, and a rainy season in October, and we have this? This is seriously ridiculous for a city famous for its relentless sunshine. I mean, is this Valencia, or Vancouver? \240Even the locals have had it; apparently this month is breaking hundred year old records for precipitation. (Well, at least I am here for a newsworthy historical event, I suppose!) Some say, oh, this is good, the farms need the rain - \240but to that I say, uh, plants need sunlight too, you know. (A local expat remarked he’s never seen weeds grow faster than he has in the past few weeks.) And people need sunlight too!

I do know it could be worse…I don’t hate it exactly, and it isn’t really affecting my mood, but it is tiresome day after day, and it would be nice to enjoy the city more in its natural state. Sit at an outdoor cafe, go to the beach, take more pleasant walks, just do a few normal everyday Valencia things. I guess I am grateful to have lived in London in the winter, and have some practice with this sustained gray damp; it helps. But it is really a shame that 90 percent of our one month here will have been overcast or outright rainy. It’s quite an experience in itself to, er “weather” this, ba ha ha.

NAILING IT

The energy hangover from Fallas was really palpable today. It felt like the whole city was waking up sort of dazed and tired and dragging itself back to what it vaguely remembered normal life to be. Certainly that was the general vibe in our group. I took a long time to wake up and get out of bed. \240I might not even have done so, but luckily I had scheduled a mani pedi for 12:30 that gave me both a leisurely slow morning and a reason to do something with it. And fortunately the appointment was only across the street, which was about all I felt like I could handle right then. I gave myself enough time to grab a cafe con leche from a cafe around the corner, and had the pleasant surprise of running into Alissa from my building for a nice few minutes of one on one chat, before heading for my cosmetic rehab.

It was a good way to spend the rainy day. Giovanna took four hours to tend to my feet and hands, doing a much more thorough cleanup than I have probably ever had. I was impressed by how many tools she used and how many imperfections she tidied up. Meantime, I just sat making as much broken-Spanish small talk as I could (Giovanna proved to be a very resourceful user of Google Translate)…and, \240unable to do much else, read a book while she worked. Which I quite enjoyed. I realized I have not allowed myself an unhurried opportunity to do this since I got here, even though that sort of chilling out, and taking time to do what I don’t feel I have time to do at home, was the entire objective of coming to live somewhere else uncluttered by regular life. My problem with going somewhere new is that curiosity takes over and prompts me to go out and about all the time and explore and DO as much stuff as possible, and then the slowing down and savouring never happens. It was some food for thought to consider my perpetual impulse to be moving, exploring and experiencing and difficulty just sitting still…I wondered whether this tendency was something to correct and manage, or to just acknowledge and embrace and stop feeling bad about. Something to give more thought to.

I was also quite unexpectedly delighted when I pushed a wrong button on my phone, and music came on instead of a podcast or audiobook. It has been a long time since I consciously listened to music, but as it happens what I have bothered to download to my phone is only my very favourites. So when certain songs by Regina Spektor, Virginia to Vegas, Royal Wood and Blue Rodeo started shuffling through my earphones, I found myself transported to fond memories and feelings that cheered me very much. I had forgotten how powerfully music can affect mood, and hearing songs that were especially chosen for their meaning reconnected me to parts of myself I hadn’t thought of about for a while. Really, this whole mani pedi appointment was proving to be much more of a self care experience I needed than I had anticipated! Apparently the only way to force me to take a proper pause and reflect is to literally trap me into sitting still. :-D

Giovanna made me sit and dry my nails for an hour to make sure the polish set (MAN, was she a taskmaster!), and since she had been confined as long as I had, she stepped out to get some lunch. She returned shortly from around he corner with a light deli snack and then insisted on sharing, offering me a greasy fat chorizo sausage, some bread, a Coke to drink \240and a finger snack. It was adorable, and very kind of her, and I was charmed and appreciative of such a friendly gesture.

Eventually I was deemed dry enough to leave. By then it was around 4 pm, and since I couldn’t really think of what to do with myself, I went down to Wayco to write and just to feel like I did SOMEthing today, and be around people. It was fairly low key there - \240a lot of people were under the weather or suffering because of it, and trying to get realigned and refocused post Fallas-tivities. I buried myself in heads-down work \240and a welcome surprise video call catching up with my sister, and got so absorbed that I almost didn’t notice everyone packing up around 9:00pm to go join our next group event. (if you happen to be reacting to that weekday start time for an outing: Because Spain. :-D)

PARTY TIME!

Lauren from NY and our team leader Iliana both had birthdays today, so a group dinner had been set up at an Italian place nearby called La Lambrusqueria. This was a very atmospheric, candle-in-Chianti-bottle-lit place, and the dim lighting gave it a slightly fancy air that perked everyone up. A LOT of people showed up, about 25 of us, and I guess we were glad to see each other or be done working or just have something to do again, because everyone seemed to get into a good mood right away. I found myself sitting between a number of people I had not spent a lot of time or conversation with yet, like Dan and Amber, and \240a few of chatted with more like Sarae and (no longer so new guy) Kyle. And thanks to Kyle generously purchasing everyone’s wine (and who also very kindly indulged me with my favourite red wine choice, Tempranillo - THANK YOU!), we ended up having some really lively and interesting exchanges, and a lot of good cheer. (I guess a lot of freely flowing wine will do that!)

What I liked was that, as with the girls’ dinner last week, \240the familiarity levels by now seemed to make for somewhat more personal and revealing and thoughtful conversations that felt like real connections; \240everything seemed more relaxed and friendly than ever. \240I had begun to figure that not every trip is a friendfest and that this month could likely turn out be a series of brief and pleasant encounters with passing acquaintances. Tonight made me feel like even if that ended up being true, they would at least be genuinely memorable and worthwhile encounters, not just glancing small talk, and that friendships beyond this shared experience were possible. \240Feeling like I was slipping into my groove of genuine and stimulating exchanges made me really enjoy all the interactions around me, even some very unexpected ones, and I was really happy to feel so socially comfortable.

And it was fun too…especially when Juls let slip that he had accidentally taken a pot gummy before dinner and was now experiencing the effects for the first time in his life. We killed ourselves over his reactions, in between teasing him by demanding HOW exactly do you take a pot gummy by accident…? He was all wide eyed and alarmed by all the new (if quite pleasant!) sensations and we died laughing seeing his slow-speed bewilderment as he gently tripped. It was all so loose and lively, it felt like both the release and the uplift that we all really needed at exactly the right time. What a truly great group night out.

Sometime around midnight \240I think, we all stumbled out and I followed Kels and some of the other women from my Les Arts building home. For a day that began with rain and aimlessness, it ended with some very encouraging signs of more good socializing to come. it got me thinking about something that had come up yesterday out of the blue. One of the few extracurricular offerings I had missed out on purchasing before the trip (because I was so distracted by Ukraine) was a four day side trip to Seville and the coast for a surfing and yoga retreat weekend. On Sunday night, Geraldine texted to say that she was unable to go and did I want her spot.

This was unexpected, and prompted some thought. I had resigned myself to missing out, and had budgeted my remaining time and money accordingly, especially since I still had a lot I wanted to do in Valencia that I had not yet gotten round to. However, this DID sound like a really fun getaway and change of scenery (see earlier comment re irresistible compulsion to seek out anything new). \240Also, with my week ahead fairly footloose and open, I was particularly open to spontaneous plans, and this was a pretty suggestive opportunity. \240Given how well the night had gone, I had new faith that a side trip with a smaller group could be a good way to make some memories. I was not yet committed to going but did resolve to reconsider this idea anew. To be continued.

Future’s so bright, I gotta wear SHADES!

OMG…it was overcast when I woke up, but no rain clouds, and I could actually see glimmers of sunlight through the gray haze. WHAT a BREAK! \240This was immensely heartening and set my day off well, on top of the lingering good vibes from last night’s fun. The light spirit inspired me to not just dress, but put together an OUTFIT today, and even add a little bit of makeup. Went very nicely with my fresh new nails!

I went for a bit of a walkabout to enjoy the refreshingly warm and clear day and savoured a big shot of what I had come here to experience — the feeling of feeling settled into living here at last. My cute little apartment and familiar neighbourhood are feeling very easy to live in and even homey. I love my wardrobe that contains all the clothes I need (more than I need, really, since the weather means some of the lighter wear isn’t getting any use), my kitchen with its adequate tool and dish sets, my narrow fridge that only has food I need for now and maybe tomorrow in it, my iPad that gives me all the entertainment, information and connection to people back home that I need - \240a lovable simple life. I love that I know my way around a little bit now and can get around without relying on maps for every turn. I love that I have a bank and grocery store and late night eatery and major streets around where I live. I love that I can wave to Giovanna at the salon across the way as I pass by. I love that the staff at the Etcetera cafe around the corner recognize me. I love that I can regularly run into people I know from the group on the street, as I am going about my business and they are going about theirs, and exchange a few words. I love that people regularly stop me to ask for directions because apparently I look like I am both local and friendly enough to be able to help (this remains one of my favourite compliments as a traveller). I love that I can walk around comfortable and confident that I have places to go and things to do and can get myself there. I love that i finally really feel like I am living here and have everything I need. This is the lived experience - living experience — I came for.

And there are even a few extra bonuses: I passed a nearby apartment building and saw a Ukrainian flag hanging off a balcony in the courtyard. At the bank when I went to get some cash, there was a sign next to the ATM saying this branch collects donations for Ukrainian relief efforts. These are little things that make me feel like I personally can belong in this community and be related to and understood.

And on the way to Wayco, when I passed the green grocer I had shopped at the second or third night here and chatted with about Ukraine, he looked up from the conversation he was having on the sidewalk and met my eyes and nodded and smiled. I don’t know if it was because he recognized me from back then, or just because I was smiling myself, but either way it was a warming and friendly gesture as welcome as the day’s unexpected sun.

There was also another pleasant surprise in the day - an unexpected invitation by my neighbour Eddie to join a group for a dinner of Peking Duck in Chinatown tomorrow. Well, that sounded fun! What a treat…another spontaneous opportunity to look forward to.

I had no plan for the day except to work at Wayco catching up on posts, as the forecast had suggested another dreary rainy day necessitating indoor activity. But it was too nice to waste the sunshine at the workstations, so I took myself out to the little courtyard to enjoy more of \240the fresh air and light while we had it. Never know how long this is gonna last, so gotta make the most of it!

My outdoor office for the day.

It was a quiet day of busywork at the workspace again, with only a few people around, and eventually I was maybe the only person left. Kuntal showed up, so we had a welcome catchup chat as I had not seen her for a couple of days, and we got to talking to the Seville and surfing side trip she was going on this weekend. I told her I’d had an opportunity to join it last minute but didn’t think it was going to work out, but as we talked she started to persuade me it might be worth trying to figure out. (She is a big believer in the universe sending signs and made a convincing case that maybe this chance to go was just that…? Who knows, but it was food for thought that made me reconsider again whether i should try to go.)

MYSTERY PIZZA PARTY

Around 9pm I bid Kuntal farewell for now. There was another tipico late starting party tonight for Kels’ birthday today and so I hurried over in the cold and, yes, returning rain .(Awww. :-( )This was a smaller gathering, since we had revelled well yesterday, but still a fun idea. La Finestra is an alleyway boite of a restaurant that serves personal size pizzas maybe 8 or 10 inches around, but the gimmick was, we were not getting them made to order. A new order would be placed for each person as they arrived, and a random pizza would come out - could have chorizo, could have basil, could have tuna, could be anything! - \240and we would share whatever came out among whoever wanted some of each mystery pizza. It was kind of a pizza roulette, but with so many people ordering, the variety was likely to give everyone at least a little of what they would like so there would be no losers. :-(