An American’s First Impressions of Valencia, Spain
This is my third trip to Spain but my first time in Valencia — the city from where Hemingway would report on the Spanish Civil War and write a portion of For Whom The Bell Tolls. I am composing this blog longhand on paper, seated at a sidewalk table of a nondescript cafe called Casa Gines, on Carrer dels Sapandors, drinking espresso and trying to get a feel for how the old masters did it.
The Valencians I meet here don’t speak as much English as they do in Madrid or Barcelona. I don’t speak Spanish, but I have not found them to be rude or haughty about it, as the French can be toward tourists who don’t speak their language.
The Valencian people are proud of their heritage; the flag of Valencia hangs from balconies and is displayed in apartment windows.
As in all of Spain, Valencia has a deep Catholic history. Though I am not a Christian, I am awed by its Gothic cathedral and many basilicas and filled with a sense of the divine by them.
One cannot overlook Valencia’s prime location on the coast of the Mediterranean. The warm sand and cool azure sea offer a tranquil repose from everyday life. Not to mention the seafood is delectable; after a stroll on the promenade adjacent to the water, I popped into a restaurant and ordered prawns cooked with garlic, butter, and lemon, and a glass of albarino.
I look forward to checking out some of the music venues; I have read that Valencia has a thriving and diverse music scene. There are spots for classical Spanish music, jazz, pop, rock, alternative/indie, and electronic music. Most clubs don’t open until at least 10 p.m. and don’t close until 3 a.m. or later.
Valencia showcases a fair amount of 21st-century architecture: such examples are the sweeping crescent-shaped Palau de les Arts Reina Sofia — an opera house and cultural center, the futuristic glass-walled City of Arts and Sciences complex, and the oblong dome of L’Oceanografic aquarium.
Valencia is not the tourist hotspot that Barcelona is. But is increasingly becoming more popular with visitors. Different languages can be heard on the streets, in the restaurants and at the attractions: German, English, French, Chinese. Like many regions in Spain (and many countries in general), Valencia has its own distinct language, though most people seem to defer to the Queen’s Spanish, due to political and demographic pressures in the past (according to Valencia City Guide).
Valencia has its share of towering hotels and a few business skyscrapers but for the most part the city has managed to retain an aspect of old-world charm. I kind of like that. Though it is relaxing here there is always something to do, except perhaps during siesta hours.
My host mother lives with her husband, son, and daughter, on the first floor of a three-story building I estimate to have been built around 1900. Though there is a wide language barrier, she has been very courteous and accommodating, even offering to do my laundry once a week and refusing money when I tried to pay her.
I went to Casino Cirsa on the north side of the city on Monday night to play poker. The casino is a modern building, clean, smoke-free (except for the terrace), and has a pretty decent restaurant and an entertainment auditorium. I found the poker players to be thoroughly competent, loose and aggressive. I won a few good hands and left winning €150.
Valencia is everything I hoped it would be: cosmopolitan enough yet down to earth, entrenched in the narrative of European history — first as an ancient Roman establishment then as an integral Spanish port city, where the cava is cheap and good, the sunlight can be seen until 9:30 p.m., bullfights still go down at the Plaza de Toros de Valencia — reminiscent of Hemingway’s enthusiasm for the sport and his book Death in the Afternoon, days can be spent languidly daydreaming at the beach, and the thought of home and life back in America quickly becomes a fading memory.
