Shocking Copenhagen

Let’s make one thing clear! This is not a complaint or a whine or a criticism. Just a reality check.

Copenhagen is a stunningly beautiful city in a progressive country with architectural treasures and a great history. It reputed by one of those “scientific” surveys to be the happiest city in the world. A city of hygge.

But despite all the pluses, it was still a shock transitioning back through Copenhagen to the United States after two months in Valencia, Spain.

We had booked our flight to Valenica through SAS, Scandinavian Airlines, because they were restarting a direct flight for the first time since 2009 from Seattle to Copenhagen and offering some of the best prices to Europe we could find. We also jumped at the chance to spend a few nights in Copenhagen on the way back. We had been there several times in the 90’s on our way to and from Russia. It was time to revisit.

The first shock is weather. It shouldn’t have been, obviously. We knew better. Northern Europe is after all north. And we arrived on November 1st. We left sunny Valencia in the high 70’s to arrive in rainy Copenhagen in the high 40’s. And windy. And gray.

Shorts and tee shirts gave way to long pants, sweaters, and rain coats. Layers on top of layers. Window checks from our hotel. Were the people in the street below wearing raincoats, parkas, skull caps, scarves, and carrying umbrellas? We had been smart enough to pack warmer clothes, but still our bodies somehow felt abused.

The second is sticker shock. Most travelers know that the Scandinavian countries are expensive—really expensive—but coming from Spain and low cost Valencia in particular….oh… my….god! Two lattes and two small rolls with cheese in Copenhagen—$32. In Valencia that’s a dinner for two with two glasses of decent red wine. A 45 minute train ride round-trip for two to Helsingborg from Copenhagen—$123. A 2 hour round-trip train ride to Benicassim from Valencia—$30. For two. To Madrid on a high speed train—$60. A plain gin and tonic in our mediocre hotel bar—$22. A top of the line G&T in a fabulous Valencia bar—$8.

*An eight course Valencian lunch in a Michelin Bib Gourmand place with impeccable service and a ramen counter lunch in Copenhagen cost about the same*

Museums in Valencia are mostly free. The National Museum in Copenhagen $20. The Glyptoteket, a wonderful art museum, the same! So it goes. Of course, wages are higher in Denmark than in Spain. Denmark also has one of the best social services systems in the world—free child care, elder care, schooling, good pensions, and great health care. But as a traveler, not a local, the shock was real. We had to reset.

Then there was the different daily schedule in the same time zone. In Valencia, we got up at 9, sometimes, but not always, got out of apartment by 10, ate lunch at 2, dinner at 9:30 or later, and in bed at 1. Usually, we took an afternoon stroll around until the sun started setting around 6:30 the last week we were in Valencia—daylight savings time ended.

In Copenhagen, however, it was dark at 4:30. People started dinner as early as 5:30 and following that pattern, we could have been ready for bed at 9—about the time the restaurants in Valencia were opening. Different life cycles. A jolt to our recent biological clocks.

At first we thought there was a big difference in the street life. In Valencia, people live in the streets. They eat, play, and socialize in the restaurants and squares outside. The noise is sometimes deafening. Because of the small apartments, you have friends and family gatherings at restaurants. It was not unusual to see tables of 15 or 20 celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, or graduations partying late into the night —almost always outside. We usually went to bed at 1 am on weekends when the partying was liveliest, because that was when restaurants legally had to get their tables off the street and things finally quieted down.

Early evening two blocks from our Valencia apartment in October

In Copenhagen, dead silence around 8 pm our first night at our hotel near the city center. Almost nobody out and about. We thought at first maybe the zombie apocalypse had arrived. We slept with the windows wide open even though we’re on a fairly active street and the reception desk had warned us about street noise. However, we rarely saw a car driving down our street, just bicycles. Lots of bicycles! Of course, the late fall weather in Copenhagen precludes much outdoor restaurant seating except for a few chairs for desperate smokers. But then we began to see the life in the streets. Blankets were hung over chairs at outdoor tables. Without the rain, those seats probably would have been taken. We found Nyhavn, the tourist waterfront. There cafes, bars and restaurants line the quay. Even in November, people were huddled next heaters for lunch in puffy parkas trying pretend it was July. The locals say any sun brings people out. And in summer, we sure it’s bumped up another notch but still not the living in the street vibe of Valencia.

*Copenhagen outdoor culture in November*

So at first the transition was indeed a shock—the contrasts enormous. But once we adjusted a bit, more similarities emerged. Both cities have a bike culture. In Valencia bikes and motorized scooters were everywhere, sometimes zipping along in the bike lanes and sometimes not. Sometimes following traffic signals and sometimes not. In Copenhagen bikes are the primary mode of transportation. Commuters, students pedaling away.

Entire families head out on often with mom and the kids in the front “basket” and Dad pedaling from the rear seat. During rush hour the bike lanes are packed and riders follow the rules of the road, even using turn signals! Some bikes are specially built to move boxes and pallets. We even saw a couple wrestling a refrigerator onto their bike with a wooden passenger crate — heading to the recycle center?

Then there’s the food scene. Valencia is crammed with restaurants—we counted 25 in a short 3 block walk from our apartment. Every imaginable enthicity, not just Spanish. Every price range—from cheap kebab take-away joints to Michelin starred restaurants. We had four Michelin rated places within two blocks of our home in Ruzafa. Everyday it seemed there was a food festival. We enjoyed a rice festival with paella stalls, but missed a seafood “experience” in an old grand warehouse, an Octoberfest, a potatas bravas festival, and festival featuring the flavors of Latin America. And yes, Copenhagen has plenty of restaurants. Around our hotel we have Italian, Vietnamese, Japanese, Indian, and Danish. But not the density. Not the insane variety in price and quality. And we haven’t found any food festivals yet although we’re sure we could find a herring fest if we looked hard enough. When we walked maybe two miles from the city center we found a few blocks packed with small shops and restaurants. Still subdued compared to Valencia.

It’s a tale of two cities and we’re glad we don’t have to make a choice. Both are a traveler’s dream — flat, walkable, fascinating with deep histories, abundant culture and art, and great food. Vikings or Moors, Danish modern or Valenican art deco, Cervantes or Hans Christian Anderson, smørrebrød or paella. We enjoyed both.

“That’s so Valencia!”

Almost two months into our stay here in Valencia, we’ve come across a few quirks or idiosyncrasies of the city. Mostly small things but big surprises.

Beer! Despite being a huge wine producing region in a huge wine producing country, Valencians drink beer. Walk by any outdoor table on any afternoon or evening and you’ll see almost exclusively beer. In bottles, in glasses, in mugs. Yes, maybe a glass of wine or two, but beer is king.

Cooking in the streets! The city has hundreds of neighborhood social clubs (Falla clubs) that prepare all year for the March Fallas festival. They each have a social hall that opens onto the street. Apparently, anything is an excuse to party and close off the street. 1/2 year to the next Fallas. Party. Valencia Independence Day. Party. A local girl wins the Fallera beauty contest. Party. Paella is required. It has to be cooked the traditional way—on an open wood fire in the middle of the street. And snacks to nibble on? Chips, olives, pickles. And beer, of course. No fancy tapas here.

Grafitti doors! Lots of grafitti on the metal pull down garage and store front doors. Some are very artistic and beautiful—probably professionally done. Others not so much. But it’s on doors everywhere. And interestingly, very little graffiti anywhere else here in Ruzafa—although we have seen quite a bit in other neighborhoods (some called for provincial president’s resignation) and in the center of old town some anti-tourist grafitti.

Scooters, skate boards, motorized unicycles! They are a huge part of the transportation scene. And all ages use them—not just young people. The scooters travel quietly at warp speeds—they are a real menace for pedestrians. The city is flat, very car unfriendly, has special red bike lanes everywhere (which the scooters use), and the weather is good all year long. So it’s a great, inexpensive (if dangerous) solution to getting around. We followed well dressed woman as she carried her scooter into the big department store. We watched a middle aged guy come out of his big yacht at the marina and fly off on his scooter. Away he goes!

Dog washing laundromats! There are doggy laundromats for your dogs, your doggy blankets, and doggy paraphernalia. It’s a good business because everybody has a dog. One of our first nights here we ate dinner with five dogs. One breed, a kind of miniature labradoodle, is Valencia’s dog of choice. Cute little fellow seen everywhere.

Street names! They usually change after three or four blocks. Very few names seem to last the entire length of a street. We have friends who live on Literat Azorin which becomes Reina na Maria and finally Pere III el Gran. The street is 12 blocks long. This is the case everywhere in the city. No wonder cabbies look at you quizzically when you give them a street name. Better to use a landmark like a Mercado.

Merry Christmas! In the middle of October, the street decorations are starting to appear. It’s not the retail shops because they still have up Halloween decorations. Christmas starts early, and ends 12 days after Christmas with the arrival by boat of the Three Kings. That’s the big day! A present or two may be exchanged Christmas Day, but the real celebration comes on Three Kings day. Just imagine! The holiday season here spans nearly three months! American retailers—eat your hearts out.

Black Friday sales! But they are not necessarily on Friday. And they happen frequently. And there’s no Thanksgiving Day for the sale to follow. Apparently Valencia has stolen the term and uses it indiscriminately to advertise big sales

Small doors, big stores! Our two largest supermarkets, comparable to big American supermarkets, have two small doors—one on either side of a city block. A tiny sign over each entrance says Consum or Mercadona. Once you get in, the space is enormous and often snakes around in a warren of different halls and rooms. The stores literally take up a good portion of the interior of the city block. Usually there is underground parking as well. But good luck finding it.

We’ve gotten used the these quirks. And we suspect if we stayed here longer and were a bit less transient, we would find more. As one of our local friends said when we were turned away from a government building when it was supposedly open, “That’s so Spanish.” We would add, “That’s so Valencia.”

Restaurant-topia!

We are in a restaurant paradise. Ruzafa, Valencia. Can’t think of a place we’ve been that has a better variety and greater density of eating places. Nothing we’ve experienced compares to this place for sheer volume, quality and price. In an unremarkable stretch of three blocks near our apartment, we counted twenty-five restaurants and bars. And the variety is crazy. We’ve eaten Sardinian, Sicilian, generic Italian, Georgian (the country, not the state), Irish, Moroccan, French, Japanese, Asian fusion, Lebanese, Turkish. And, of course, Spanish—Valencian, Basque, Andalusian, Galician, Castilian.

Sardinian prawns with arugula and a ravioli-like dumpling with sage

We could live in this neighborhood for ten years and not exhaust all our restaurant choices. At one naive moment we thought we would count all the restaurants in the Ruzafa — an area of about 3 square miles. Foolish and impossible idea. We do have a friend here who maintains an annotated map of her top restaurants in the neighborhood, currently at 37. We need to start our own list.

So what’s the deal with all the restaurants?

What creates this incredible density of eating places?

We are trying to figure all this out. We have some thoughts.

Ruzafa is NOT tourist central. There are tourist traps and international big name chains in the old historic part town where all the major sights are — McDonalds, Burger King, Starbucks and HardRock. In tourist central, the signs outside are often in English. They hawk the Spanish tourist favorites—PAELLA, TAPAS, SANGRIA! But in Ruzafa, not so much. It’s not tourists that keep these restaurants hopping. These are small, locally owned places. The restaurants depend on return customers, not volume, and the price has to be right. We’ve sung the praises of the prices here—everything is dirt cheap by comparison to the US and Northern Europe. A good red wine last night at an outstanding Moroccan restaurant was 2.50€ a glass. Crazy! And the quality has to be really good with so many options to choose from.

Ruzafa is also diverse with lots of immigrants and expats. So many nationalities. So many different cuisines. Another lure to diners.

A bit of Italian influence with pesto on baby squid

But still, why so many restaurants in such a small neighborhood?

Is it that Ruzafa is reputed to be “hip and trendy”? Attractive to those looking for a lively, fun area to dine. Near enough to historic center for those adventurous tourists willing to take a hike. And also walking distance from neighborhoods of upscale apartments and neighborhoods of hundreds, maybe thousands, of mid-century high rise apartments. That helps fill restaurant seats.

It’s also a real neighborhood where locals stay close to home to hang with their families and friends. In Ruzafa itself, lots of street level space for restaurants and shops, and customers living in the apartments above.

Ruzafa was a run down neighborhood a few decades ago. In a pattern many cities have seen, in moved the artists looking for cheap space. The gay community found a home here, too. Pretty soon the bohemian vibe brought in small bars and restaurants. And “suddenly” it’s hip and trendy corner of Valencia. We’ve been told rents here for commercial properties remain relatively low. So the take-away kebab places stand next to Michelin star restaurants. Both benefitting from low rent. It’s definitely a mixed up jumble of high end, low brow and everything in between.

A pretty modest Peruvian restaurant — chicken and rice, fried fish with beans, a ceviche salad and Peruvian corn nuts

Like many European cities, particularly in the south, Valencia has an outdoor culture. People live in the streets. And that is certainly apparent in Ruzafa. The street corners are often cut-outs like in the L’Eixample in Barcelona, creating more space for outside dining.

Many of the restaurants have only five or six tables inside and another five or six outside. Families or friends shove the tables together and hang out for hours, drinking beer, wine and spritzers — often with a play area for the kids in sight of the tables.

With only a few tables, one seating a night, you’d think these restaurants couldn’t possibly survive. And yet they seem to flourish. We thought when we first arrived and saw all the restaurants we could just wander out at night and grab a table. Not so. You need reservations almost anywhere other than the most casual places on a weekend night, and, by the way, the weekend here seems to include Thursdays and Sundays.

And then there is the quality of the food. Another draw. The restaurants rely on local ingredients. A short bus ride outside the urban center takes you past small truck farms that nudge up against the city high rises. The government and to some extent the EU subsidize the local farmers keeping quality high and prices low.

An Asian fusion meal of noodles and dumplings

Across from our apartment in the Mercado, there are 29 butcher and charcuterie shops. Twenty-nine! 19 fish stalls! Everything is fresh. We asked at one stall for oranges. Come back in 10 days or two weeks and the local oranges will be in, the lady said. Maybe that’s why most restaurants change their menus with the seasons. And, in some cases, like our local osteria, the menu changes every day depending on what the chef finds that day.

Does good seasonal food keep folks coming back? Is that enough to keep all these places going?

We don’t really know. We’re here for two months, with several weeks to go. So we still have time to try to answer the question, ask our expat friends for more information and formulate more theories. In the meantime, we’ll enjoy another meal out.

Crazy Ass Opera

OK. We’ve seen some weirdo versions of operas—“Carmen” with characters in 30’s Nazi outfits riding motorcycles, “Aida” where the triumphal march consisted of dozens trays of what looked like Oscars paraded around the stage, modern clothes and settings in Mozart operas, etc. We understand the desire to make the old standards fresh and relevant.

But this version of “Faust” at the Valenica Opera House takes the cake. This “Faust”—the opera where Faust makes a pact with devil for youth and love — was absolutely bizarre. Beyond bizarre.

The set was largely made up of various circles ringed with flashing lights, images projected almost like holograms from time to time, boxes that moved from back of the stage. Lots of smoke machines, too. The colors were black and gray, mostly subdued with a few brightly lit objects like a staircase that appeared and disappeared. Some of the effects were actually pretty amazing but we’re not sure how they tied into the opera.

Costuming, well, impossible to say what the “era” was. There was no “era”. Maybe lots of eras? A timeless setting? Perhaps. Lots of folks in whiteish outfits of various eras. Several of the female characters including Marguerite, the heroine, were dressed in white tutus and ballet slippers or wedding veils. Faust wore a modified zoot suite most of the time. Marte, the heroine’s neighbor and friend, appeared in what looked like a nun’s habit. Valentine, Marguerite’s brother, was in a white clown outfit complete with turned up slippers and a sequined cone shaped hat.

Curtain call with “timeless” costuming, men on stilts and the lead singers!

The fair scene, Act II, took it to a new level of bizarre. Sequined people on stilts, circus barker outfits, lots of acrobats in gaudy tights somersaulting and back flipping around the stage. There was a large wheel like those used in knife throwing carnival acts with doppelgänger of the heroine strapped to it. From time to time, they spun it so she was upside down with her underwear showing under the tutu.

Then there were the flying tutu ladies suspended on trapezes in a later scene. And in another segment, giant black top hats appeared that covered all but the feet of the performers as they danced around. Why? Not clear. In the debauchery scene, suddenly three men in US navy outfits showed up to seduce the heroine. Later they appeared with fake muscles tops to make them look sexier, we guess. In the last act, Mephistopheles is dressed in a surgeon’s gown complete with bloody rubber gloves as a surgical gurney is rolled on to the stage with body on it.

If the costuming and sets weren’t enough, there was the over the top interpretation. Lots of apparently meaningful symbolism that was completely lost on us and maybe most of the audience. Maybe if we had program notes, or attended a pre-performance lecture, we might have had a better understanding. Or not. Of course, then there was the language barrier. A Valencian production in a Spanish country of a French opera based on German play. What possibly could get lost in translation?

One character appeared on stage throughout the opera (he was actually sitting on stage before the opera started and the house lights dimmed)— but he never sang. He sat next to Faust during the opening scene. Why? Who knows. Who was he? Who knows? In later scenes he died several times and literally lay there on the stage floor for long patches with the performers singing their arias while stepping over him or around him. He got a big applause at the curtain call.

And then there were the doppelgängers. The heroine and her brother, Valentine, had several performers dressed in exactly the same costumes who followed them around the stage—they weren’t singers—but you never knew who was actually singing. Sometimes they mouthed the arias with the singers. Why? Who knows. But we’re sure it’s meaningful.

And if this all wasn’t weird enough—the coup de grâce! At the end of Act IV, the building started shaking. There were huge, loud rumblings. We thought it was lightning storm. There was no scheduled intermission but the house lights went on and the orchestra started to leave. A terrorist attack? People pushed through the closed house doors to get out. What did they know that we didn’t?

It was a huge, monster fireworks display right next to the Opera House. Enormous explosions. The Valencians are experts in fireworks. It is, after all, the home the Fallas festival where the town goes insane with fire and fireworks. The audience stood on the balconies and watched. Some went outside. Gunpowder smoke surrounded the opera house. Turns out it’s the city’s Oct 9 celebration, Valencian Independence Day. The fireworks were scheduled to go off at midnight but because of the predicted bad weather, officials moved it up to ten. There was never any announcement. After about 20 minutes of teeth rattling explosions, the ushers shooed us back in to finish the opera. There was a faint aroma of sulpher in the auditorium and visible smoke in the spotlights projecting onto the stage. Seemed very appropriate for the last scene with Faust going off to hell.

If you could get by all the craziness, we have to say the singing and music were absolutely superb. The singers top rate. The orchestra world class. The acoustics in the Opera House are out of this world. And the building itself is an architectural masterpiece. Worth the price of admission on its own. Our seats had built in screens where you could follow the libretto in what ever language you chose. And tickets prices were half of what we might pay in our home town of Seattle. The crowd reflected that. Not quite the same as the wealthy gray haired set that dominate our local opera.

Inside Opera house where each seat shows a libretto in the language of your choice

Did we enjoy the opera? Maybe not so much as a performance. But as an experience? Yes! Absolutely, yes!

Mercado Mania

Location, location, location!

The view from our window says it all—a mercado, a public market! It’s the Mercado de Ruzafa (Spanish) or Mercat de Russafa (Valencian).

It’s in an ugly, ugly concrete building—no getting around that fact. Even a little decorative paint can’t hide that. Not pretty like the spectacular art deco Mercado Central or the even fancier Mercado de Colon. But inside, wow! Foodie heaven. A home cook’s paradise. An ocean of food stalls!

In our scientific count, we found 29 stalls selling either meat, poultry, or charcuterie. Some even specialize—there are several pork only, a couple that specialize in just chicken, one guy sells only ground meats, a dozen selling jamon and charcuterie.

Want a thick or thin chop — they cut your meat to order. Our chicken folks are amazing—like samurai warriors. They cut and debone a whole chicken in seconds. You tell them exactly what you want. Knives flash and presto—a package of perfectly cut, trimmed and sliced whole chicken. Bones saved for broth. Service and a show.

There are 19 fish stalls housed in a separate wing of the market where the temperature is kept lower to help keep things fresh. Most of the seafood is laid out artistically on beds of crushed ice. Fish sculpture extraordinaire.

Of course, there are dozens of fruit and veggie stalls. Most sell only seasonal produce. I asked one lady if she had oranges—it is, after all, Valencia. She said not today but come back in 10 days—the fall crop will be in then. One stall offers the very best romaine lettuce. There is always a crowd as each customer buys a head plus whatever else looks good. You have to ask politely “Quien es ultimo?” “Who is last?” in order to know where to stand.

A few specialize in tropical or South American produce for the immigrants—clearly not seasonal and imported. But those stalls are the exceptions.

And there’s the rest, the other stalls—nuts and dried fruits, the egg lady, bakeries, prepared food take out, spices, olives, pastries, the mushroom guy, specialty stalls with Italian, Greek, South American, Mexican foods, dry goods, candy, wines and spirits, sushi, vermouths only, coffees only, even a tea only place. We’ve found our favorite cheesemonger in one of the smaller stalls carries mostly Spanish varieties, and our young egg lady who has both regular eggs and eggs from pasture raised hens.

There is, of course, a restaurant and bar where the locals and Mercado workers hang out. A little dark and dingy. But lively. They all seem to start the day with a beer, vermouth, or a shot of something stronger.

The public market in the marina district — no surprise — is known for seafood. The area used to be a small fishing village before Valencia absorbed it. But Thursday when we wandered out there it was also flea/street market day. Since Monday is our neighborhood’s street market, we thought we knew what to expect. Nope. This one was enormous—maybe five times size of ours in Ruzafa. It ran down the main street about 10 blocks to the public market and filled many side streets. Enough underwear, table clothes, shirts, kitchenware and used shoes for the entire planet.

Then we got to actual market — Mercado del Cabañal. Newer than many markets, and still filled with jamon, fresh meats and tons of vegetables as you would expect. But the seafood! Wow! Fish, and a particular shellfish is not cheap here, but the quality and variety is amazing. The legacy of the old fishing village.

What you don’t really have at the Mercado de Ruzafa or Mercado del Cabañal are tourists. Expats, yes, immigrants, yes, tourists, very few. A real contrast to the Mercado Central and the Mercado de Colon.

The grand Mercado Central in the old city isn’t entirely tourists—our Valencian friends shop there. But because of its beauty and its location close to so many historical sites, it is included in all the guide books and on all city tours. Bottom line? The locals definitely fight their way through the selfie shots and tour groups with barely enough room for their small shopping carts.

The Colon Market is a whole different vibe. Gorgeous building. Built in 1916 as a market, it’s been extensively renovated, and beautifully maintained. Upscale restaurants and bars spread over two floors. It’s filled with little booths selling locally made fashion, artsy jewelry and pricey souvenirs. And only a few real food stalls—probably just so it could still call itself a mercado.

Tourists, yes. Mobs. Many Spanish, but sitting down to a coffee, you’re just as likely to hear Dutch, German, British English, or American English.

And dotted all around the city, there are many more neighborhood mercados, each with its own flavor.

It’s our mission before we leave to visit as many as we can. Mercado mania.

But for now, and probably always, the Mercado de Ruzafa is our happy place.

Getting to Know You, Valencia

It’s been a learning process, for sure.

Part of the challenge of living in Valencia for two months is that, yes, we are tourists and, no, we’re not quite tourists. Staying in a long term rental means there are sheets to wash, sinks to clean, floors to mop and garbage to take out as well as sights to see. All part of the deal.

Valenica, like any major city, is so much more than the “must see” highlights in the old town center. It has a huge variety of neighborhoods—swanky, working class, trendy, suburban, beachfront, and industrial. Places we would never see if we were here for just a few days or a week.

Some date back to the mid-nineteenth century and some to the post Franco era. Valencia was the capital of the Republic during the civil war, 1936-39, and bombed extensively by the fascist Franco. Even the historical center has these stunning contrasts.

We’re living in the “trendy and hip” neighborhood of Ruzafa, a twenty minute walk from the city center. Endless restaurants, bars, nightclubs, tattoo parlors, and vintage clothing shops. At night, the place is crazy. And crazy loud.

Still, people do actually live in Ruzafa. Lots and lots of them in four to six story apartment buildings ranging from grandiose and ornate to humble concrete boxes.

During the day, we hear school children, see seniors strolling, watch dog walkers, and dodge business types off to work. Many of the residents do their daily or weekly shopping in the huge, concrete public market, Mercado de Ruzafa.

The Mercado on the left with hardly a tourist in sight and supermarket on right also without tourists.

But the same folks pack the giant American style supermarket, Mercadona—which by the way, you could easily miss since the entrance since it’s a nondescript single door amid all the others at street level. Minimal signage. And there are also dozens of mini-marts and fruit and vegetable stands that stay open well after the Mercado and Mercadona are closed.

So living here we’ve learned to shop at both the Mercado and the Mercadona for our home cooked meals. We can’t eat every meal out—though it’s tempting. We’ve also relied upon someone else to do the “home” cooking and bought excellent prepared food at some of the specialty takeout stores. A real lifesaver at times.

Lasagna, paella, roast chicken & or a variety of salads — lots of choices

Another part of living here is that get togethers with friends often don’t take place at home. Many apartments are tiny, not really suitable for even small gatherings. Like ours.

You meet at a restaurant or bar for the evening or for lunch and the table is your for as long as you like—often hours. Our friends even invited us to a game night at a local Irish pub where different groups huddled around tables — ate, drank and played board games all evening.

And as for getting around, well, mastering public transit is a must—none of our Valencia friends have cars. Cars are a luxury, parking impossible, and the traffic horrific. Getting a license is a linguistic and bureaucratic challenge. The good news is that there’s a great transit system and it’s dirt cheap. Clean subways and air conditioned buses! We’re still struggling with bus routes that our friends know like the back of their hands. More good news—taxis are plentiful and inexpensive for those times you want a little more comfort.

There’s adjusting to “Spanish time”. Meals: lunch at 2:00, dinner at 10:00. Always check the hours and days for restaurants, stores, and museums. The 2-5 pm siesta still happens for many establishments, including museums in the heart of the tourist district. Also, closing days wildly vary. Seems each time we walk down a familiar street something new is open and something familiar is closed. No rhyme or reason. And in September we’re seeing signs hanging in windows saying “Closed for a vacation.” Four times so far this trip we found ourselves on the outside looking into a closed museum, closed store, or closed restaurant.

Small things call for adjustments, too. In almost all bars, coffee shops, restaurants, the waiter will come to the table to take your order. It may take time, but they’ll get to you. On the other hand, if dining outside, you may need to go inside to the register to pay the bill. Almost always you have to ask for the check. We’ve been assured by our local friends that you rarely clear your own dishes, no matter how casual the bar or restaurant is. Tipping is not expected. Cash is almost non-existent. Everybody pays “con tarjeta”—with a phone or credit card. And you can use a card for even the smallest transactions.

Perhaps one of the hardest lessons has been to navigate the streets with bike lanes. Very common throughout the city, they are usually painted red and sometimes run alongside the road, but also often merge onto the sidewalks so you’re never sure whether you’re in a bike lane or on a sidewalk. DO NOT WALK in the bike lanes! The bikes and scooters barrel along at insane speeds and own those lanes. When you’re walking along, reading a map or looking at the sights, it’s way too easy to drift into the danger zone.

Drivers in cars, on the other hand, are generally courteous, stopping for any one standing at a cross walk. Such courtesy takes a little getting used to although locals hardly look up from their phones when they hit a crosswalk without a light. It’s different at stoplights. There bicycles, and pedestrians, even moms pushing strollers, ignore red lights if there are no vehicles within striking distance.

But there is even a worse danger. In the old city large groups of tourists get on bikes and ride around the major sights. Just imagine. 10-20 people who may not have ridden a bike for years trying to follow the guy with the bright baseball cap in front of the herd. It’s fairly benign in the city parks but around the historical sites just imagine those bikes wobbling through dozens of walkers, strollers and pedestrians. All because Valencia is a flat and “bike-able” city.

These differences, especially the small ones, keep us on our toes as we try to make sense of it all. And that’s part of the adventure!

Yes, we’re starting to know you, Valencia, both as wide-eyed tourists and as everyday residents.

The Slow Down on Valencia

Something new, something different for us.

And after many years of travel, we’ve seen most of the “must see” sights. We’ve done the mini-grand tours of Eastern Europe, Italy, France, Spain, and the UK, hopping from place to place over a couple weeks. Having been teachers, we always had the luxury of time for summer travel—even if it was low budget. You know—backpacks, picnic meals, and cheap rooms with bathrooms down the hall. Early, early Rick Steves.

But as we’ve aged and particularly after we retired, we have tried to spend more time in one location—finding a home base and using it for day trips and outings. It worked spectacularly well in the Dordogne, Provence, Umbria, Portugal, and most recently in the Valencia province in Spain. Our usual stay is about two or three weeks in one place and then move, minimizing the number of days on the road, packing and unpacking. It lets us get to know better a region, maybe meet some locals, enjoy the ambiance, and find the hidden gems. Slow down.

But this year, we decided to take it one step further. And slow down even more.

We are renting an apartment in Valencia, Spain, for two months. We went through a real rental agency, not a short-term vacation rental company like VRBO. We signed a contract. And moved in.

Our apartment above a Sardinian restaurant, the church at the end of the street and the public market across the road.

Of course, we had our share of worries. Could we find enough to do for two months? What if the apartment was a dump? Could we adjust to the Spanish time for eating and sleeping? Would the language barrier be problem?

All we had was the outline of a scheme. Spend the first weeks digging more deeply into the third largest city in Spain. Master public transportation for day trips to nearby sights. Take a few overnight train trips to other towns. Maybe rent a car for further away places. At the price we’re paying for a two month rental (about what we would pay for two weeks in short-term vacation rental), we can afford to spend a few nights in other places.

Early days yet — not quite a week — but everything is working out splendidly—so far plenty to do (we’ve even joined a local gym), the apartment is comfortable and perfectly located right across from Mercado de Ruzafa.

We are already on the Spanish schedule, and with tourist Spanish and English speakers everywhere, no real language issues. Yes, we are getting used to the noise level in our hip and trendy neighborhood of Ruzafa—numerous restaurants on our street are open until around midnight. But when you eat dinner at 9:30 pm go to bed at 1 am, and get up around 9 am, noise is not really a problem. As we were told several years ago in Seville, Americans just need to move their clocks three hours. Before lunch means any time up until 3 pm. We’ve found a decent neighborhood espresso joint — not quite as easy to do here as in Italy or France — our favorite cheese guy, a grumpy fishmonger and a bakery. Yep, we’re settling in. Many, many restaurants within a five minute walk — Lebanese, lots of Italian options, a couple Mexican places and even sushi. And we have barely explored beyond our neighborhood.

Part of the restaurant scene in the Russafa neighborhood

So why Valencia?

Last year we visited the Valencia province for two weeks but the city itself for just three days. We chose Valencia because of the city’s amazing sights and history, its lovely Mediterranean seaside location and its great food scene. But more importantly, I had a former work colleague and good friend who moved there last year permanently with her husband, mother, and three dogs. Valencia is her new life.

We had two lovely, long lunches with her and her friends (all from our home town of Seattle) last year. Other than a wonderful morning tour led by one of her very knowledgeable friends, we didn’t get to see a lot of the city. When asked what we did in Valencia, we said, “We ate lunch.”

But that very, very brief encounter with Valencia the city convinced us we wanted more.

We have a long list of main tourist sights we missed last year on our “to see” list. We’ve already checked off the Turia river park, including sunset views of the City Arts and Sciences buildings.

But there is so much more — several sights we’ve “seen” that we want to get back to and spend some time with — the National Ceramics Museum, the Valencia Catheral (with the Pope’s certified real holy grail), and a dozen more. Plus on the “to do” list—shopping at the second hand stores and flea markets, eating at a vast variety of restaurants (from Michelin starred places to hole in the wall local joints), taking cooking classes and wine tastings, biking, swimming in the Mediterranean, and most importantly, spending time with our friends.

On advice from our local friends, we’ve already identified some day trips—Sagunto with its famous castle, Requena—the center of the local wine industry, Xativa—birthplace of the Borgia popes. We also want to go back to a lovely rural restaurant we ate at twice an hour and half outside Valencia, El Casa Tio David, with our friends.

Yes, we think we’ve found the right place to test our new, slower, different approach to travel.

And from first impressions, we’re already beginning to ask ourselves “Will two months really be enough?”

PAELLA! PAELLA!

Anyone who knows us, knows we’re foodies. Some have even said we’re food obsessed. So it’s no surprise that one of the first things we did in Valencia — and just about the only thing we booked before our arrival — was to take a cooking class. We knew paella, a dish most people associate with Spain, properly should only be eaten in or near Valencia and only at lunch. We had eaten an authentic version a year ago so we knew what we commonly cook at home is really what our instructor called “rice with stuff.” We were ready to be educated on how to cook real paella.

Paella is a peasant dish and like most peasant dishes the authentic version is the one your grandmother learned to prepare using what was local, readily available and cheap. The word paella actually is the Valencian word for pan and paella is cooked in a specific pan that is round, shallow and slightly concave with two handles. By definition paella can’t be cooked in just any old pan.

And the rules? Oh boy, there are lots of rules for cooking paella. According to our experts at myfirstpaella.com, never, ever, should seafood be mixed with chicken and/or rabbit paella. The Valencian style contains only chicken, rabbit and snails, and flat green beans. No onions, no red peppers, no peas. And no chorizo — that’s nearly a criminal offense! It is best cooked outside over a wood fire with just one cook (although many people may offer advice to that cook) and regardless of how many you’re serving it must all be cooked in one pan. Why? Because people would argue which pan is best.

Our cooking lesson began at the local market, Mercat de Russafa (or Mercado de Ruzafa in Spanish). The word russafa is from Moorish times—garden. In other words “market in the garden”. Not quite a garden now—a giant concrete building but housing a very impressive collection of food stalls with darn few tourists in sight. This is where the fresh ingredients for our meal originated.

And we were given a very helpful tip—don’t order fish in restaurants in Valencia on Mondays because none of the fish stalls anywhere in the city are open. The fish will always be at least two days old (all markets are closed Sundays). Reminds us of Anthony Bourdain’s famous line from Kitchen Confidential “Never eat sushi on Monday.”

Once we arrived at the kitchen, a few blocks from the market, we were greeted by tapas —patatas bravas, jamon, manchego cheese, olives and mussels. And large water glass servings of Sangria (red wine, usually tempranillo, citrus slices, a bit of rum, a jigger of sweet vermouth, a spoonful of brown sugar and orange soda served over ice). Immediately I asked for the recipe for the potatoes — a dish served everywhere in Spain—often dreadful as we had in Madrid (French fries with pink gravy) or more commonly just ho-hum. This version was fabulous. Fried cubes of potatoes, served with a large scoop of a thick sauce of garlic, lemon, salt, paprika, olive oil and tofu (I suspect silken tofu). Outstanding.

So our lesson started almost immediately with a violation of the rules. We were using two pans. There were 13 of us — a group of eight traveling together from Detroit, and then a couple from the UK, a young professional from New York City and the two of us. We were divided into two groups — the Detroit crew and the rest of the enrollees. Let the fight begin!

First an enormous of amount of oil went into each pan and placed on large gas fired ring. The oil puddled in the center of the concave pan — we fried the small pieces of chicken and rabbit in the center with the delicate rabbit liver cooking slowly on the cooler edge. But before the meat went in, the oil was salted! As each new ingredient goes into the pan, we were told, it must be salted! When the meat was well browned, we added torn (not cut) romano beans to the oil puddle as the meat was pushed to the edges. Once the beans blistered, we removed the rabbit liver and it was shared among the group — at least among those willing to try rabbit liver. Our instructor explained at home his family added several chicken or rabbit livers, maybe some kidneys and heart to the pan to be shared at this point. There were some very skeptical looks among our crowd.

The basic sauce for the paella included two kinds of paprika (a sweet version and a coarsely ground mild pepper version), finely minced garlic and grated Roma tomatoes. More salt. The sauce cooked until “pasty.” Then in went the lima beans. More salt. Then came the saffron (which had been pounded in a pestle, mixed with a bit of hot oil and a small amount of water). More salt.

And finally plain water – not chicken broth or anything fancy. “Be careful!” our instructor said “so there is no tsunami” as we poured the water to a depth of about a half inch—carefully measured by the instructor with a slotted spatula—a technique we would like to think he learned from his grandmother. And more salt. Several large pieces of fresh rosemary stewed for a few minutes but removed before the final cooking stage otherwise they might burn and leave a bitter taste.

We all had to taste the broth at this point to see if it was salty enough. Some said yes, some said no. But it didn’t seem to matter what we said, our teacher just added more salt and asked us to taste again. And added more salt.

The secret we were told to good paella is all about the balance. Not too much garlic — one clove for every two or three people. Not too much saffron — six stands per person. Not too much liquid — “Paella needs to breath.”

Only when the broth met his salt quotient, did the rice go in. “Don’t make a mountain,” he said but spread it around the pan. The flame was turned up, the pan was shaken and everything was left to cook. No lid.

Properly made paella takes nearly an hour to make, including 15-20 minutes after the rice is added. When finished the rice should be about half an inch thick with 3 distinct textures – an almost crispy carmelized texture from the bottom of the pan, a soft texture from the middle and a bit that is al dente near the top layer. Bottom line — paella is all about the rice. An experienced cook can tell by tapping the bottom of the pan with a spoon if the rice is done — a metallic sound means the rice lacks a crispy caramelized bottom layer. We’ll see when we get home if have the ear for that test.

Once cooked, the dish needs to sit for five minutes. We used that time to have a shot of a aniseed liqueur, Cazalla.

Then we all sat down to enjoy what we had prepared, plus what our instructors had made while we cooked — a small salad of tomatoes with a spicy (not very) vinaigrette and capers which seemed to balance the richness of the paella, and wine. Our confidence in our instructor was not misplaced — the rice was perfectly seasoned—very tasty. A perfect paella which everyone thoroughly enjoyed. A delightful afternoon and loads of fun.

A traditional Valencian sponge cake and orange slices dusted with cinnamon completed the meal with a small glass of moscat—a sweet white wine.

DELICIOSO!!!

Why Here??

This was the question we got from the young grocery clerk practicing his English in Ontinyent, Spain. Nobody comes here, was his implication. Another clerk had asked us the same thing in the same tone. And it was actually a very, very good question!

Ontinyent (in Valencian) or Onteniente (in Spanish) is a rural county seat in the Valencia province of no real historical or touristic interest. Population: 35,000. Yes, like all towns and villages in this area it has a past dating back to Moorish times and even before. It has a sort of cute medieval old town surrounded by Franco era apartments. Its only real tourist claims to fame are a series of clear pools on the Clarino River called the Pou Clar. People swim there in the summer, but the parking lot near the pools is closed in the high season and you need to hike about a mile and half to get there. The pools are surrounded by terraced hills of olive and orange trees. You might think picturesque but light industry, agricultural supply and farm equipment shops and rural housing projects kind of ruin the pastoral views.

So back to the question, why are we spending two weeks here?

In part, it was exactly because we wanted to be off the beaten path, away from the heavily touristed towns and cities, but close enough to make day excursions to those sites. And it turns out Ontinyent is a perfect location for exactly that. Valencia—one hour. Alicante—one hour. The seaside resorts of the Costa Blanca—one hour. The historic towns of Denia, Gandia — 40 minutes. The Albufera lagoon and El Palmar (the home of paella)—one hour. The quaint hill town of Bocairent—15 minutes. And one of the best, the castle hill town of Xativa—twenty minutes. National parks and hikes nearby. Kayaking on the Mediterranean. More than enough to keep us busy for two weeks.

Of course, a rental car is an absolute necessity. And driving in a foreign country can be stressful. But the good news is that the roads and freeways here are amazing—well maintained, excellent signage, and not very crowded. Spanish drivers are on the whole some of the most courteous we’ve encountered. With a good GPS system, we never got lost—even in the town and city centers.

One other huge draw—our manor house. It really was a big, big factor. We rented the house (an AirBnB) for two weeks just outside Ontinyent. La Baronia de Dalt. It is a grand old manor house with large, lovely grounds and a swimming pool. Five bedrooms, three en-suite. 5 bathrooms. AC. Large dining room, big kitchen and two large outside patios for al fresco meals. Lots of art work and beautiful tiles. And all at price you’d be lucky to pay at a Holiday Inn Express in the US. We were two couples, but the house could have easily had four couples or one very, very large family.

Still with all the charms the manor house had, the real attraction was the surrounding sites. A bit of the history of the Romans. Then Visigoths. Obvious remains of the Moors, and Christians in the Middle Ages. Often in the same site.

Our favorite place nearby is Xativa, a short drive away. The huge castle complex high above the town dominates. Thankfully, you can drive to the top although locals seem to use the 30 minute hike up to the top as an exercise routine. It is a defensive marvel. Steep cliffs on all sides. The Romans saw its value. Hannibal used it in his war against the Romans. The Moors expanded it. The Christians continued to use it until modern weapons in the early 1700’s and several earthquakes made it obsolete.

The medieval town far below is famous for one family—the Borjas. Two Spanish Popes were born here. Calixtus III and Alexander VI (father of Lucretzia and Cesare)—both with less than stellar reputations. Were they really that bad or were they simply victims of an anti-Spanish Italian propaganda campaign? Anyway, this is a pro Borja town.

The old town is delightful to wander around. On Tuesdays and Fridays there is a huge outdoor market that takes over several plazas and streets.

And there are plenty of top-notch restaurants hidden away in these little towns — we were surprised at the number of Michelin stars within a half an hour or so, including one where we had probably the best meal of the trip.

The area is also known for its excellent wines—not as famous as Rioja or Penedes—but very good and at prices that astounded us. A glass of excellent red at restaurant was often less than bottled water. The local grape, bobal, produces a fine red wine comparable to a Cotes du Rhône.

So “Why here??” Great sightseeing, beaches, hiking, wonderful food, good wine, fewer crowds, great accommodations, and, by the way, perfect weather in October. We think the answer is pretty clear.

Paella: Is the Original Best?

We’ve had bacalao (reconstituted salted cod) in Lisbon, cassoulet in Carcassonne, haggis in Scotland, ratatouille in Provence, buckwheat crepes in Brittany, khachapuri in Tbilisi, sushi in Tokyo, bouillabaisse in Marseilles, sauerkraut soup in Slovenia, and many other local dishes in the their place of origin. Being foodies, we assume that locals know best and the place where the dish originated will make the best version. And in most cases, it’s true.

But sometimes, the authentic version disappoints. Not because of the quality of the food or preparation, but because our pre-conceived notions are wildly wrong. For us, the bouillabaisse in Marseilles, in one of the top bouillabaisse restaurants, Chez Fon Fon, was a case in point. We expected a San Francisco style cioppino (our ignorance) and got a strong, fishy, gray-brown broth as a first course and then the fish that was stewed in the broth for a second course, followed by the potatoes that had cooked with the fish. All served with a trio of mayonnaise based sauces on the side. The fish had been caught that morning and was presented to us before cooking to allow us to confirm its freshness. End result to our palates? Overly fishy, not particularly attractive in appearance. Glad we experienced the meal, but not our cup of tea.

So, in Spain, just outside of Valencia, on a huge freshwater lagoon, the L’Albufera, surrounded by rice paddies, is a small town—El Palmar. It is reputedly the birthplace of paella—the ubiquitous rice dish that can be found in food carts, public markets, restaurants and bars all over Europe. It is probably the only Spanish dish that most Americans can name. And yet just like barbecue purists might scoff at a Texas BBQ product in Anchorage, a restaurant we walked into in Madrid had big sign in English “This is Madrid! We do NOT have paella.” We’ve had so many bad versions of the dish (one in Barcelona allegedly at one of the top paella restaurants) we were worried about what we might get. We had also heard that paella in Spain is often mass produced, frozen, sent off to restaurants to be reheated. There are so many bastardized variants—we wouldn’t be surprised to find a pineapple and ham Hawaiiana version.

We made the foodie pilgrimage to El Palmar anyway. We had to know.

Driving in from the south, once we got off the A-7 freeway, and as we got close to El Palmar, rice paddies and irrigation canals everywhere. Promising.

El Palmar itself is not much—dusty, a bit run down, one long main street along a canal that empties into the L’Albufera, a few quaint old fishermans’ huts (A-frames with thatched roofs restored to add some small character to the town), and dozens of paella restaurants. And signs everywhere announcing Paseos de Barca—boat rides on the lagoon.

Yes, we did take a boat ride on the lagoon. We stumbled onto a small boat—there were 8 passengers and it was delightful. 5 euros a person. A steal.

Lots of good information written in multiple languages. Our boatman also spoke English and told us the lagoon is now polluted even though fisherman still work the nets, it’s a meter deep, that it is flushed from time to time into the ocean. We wandered through narrow channel and chased the mallards and moorhens out of our way.

Then it was time. With some trepidation we led our friends to a restaurant with a good reputation and good reviews, El Rek. https://www.arroceriaelrek.com/ The sight of a bus load of tourists coming out of the huge restaurant as we went in was not encouraging. Uh-oh, tourist trap? Well, at least they were Spanish tourists.

Once in the restaurant we were encouraged to see several long tables of locals, dressed for a celebration, enjoying their meal. Very promising.

The waiter asked us as we walked in “Did we order the paella in advance.” “No.” I said. “No worries.” he said. When we looked at the menu, it said, in Spanish, “If not ordered in advance, the paella will take an hour.” Very, very promising.

When we looked at the menu (on our phones from a QR code like many restaurants we have been in here), the first paella listed was the traditional Valencia paella—rabbit and chicken. Yes, there were variants, including a version with local snails (not escargot) several seafood versions. The smallest size was for two people.

We ordered a bottle of white wine and the house green salad to sustain us as we waited the one hour for our traditional chicken and rabbit paella and the seafood in shells version. Maybe 45 minutes later the long-anticipated paellas were placed in front of us.

Paella is really all about the rice. The mark of a good paella, we have been told, is the crispy, deeply brown edges. And it is generally eaten communally, with a spoon from the cooking pan — in fact, paella means pan in Spanish — and we saw locals scraping every last morsel of rice from the pan. We opted for serving spoons and separate plates. American style, perhaps?

The chicken and rabbit version came with a few mature fava and romano beans. Less meat and fewer vegetables than what I have been served at home. Rice was cooked through, but not the least bit mushy, obviously enhanced by a very rich stock. No sweet red peppers, or chunks of ham, pork or decorative peas. But tasty. Very tasty.

The fish version fell into the same category as our first sample of authentic bouillabaisse. If you like canned sardines and anchovies, you might like it. A bit fishy for us. The shellfish was a bit overdone and underwhelming. However, we have to acknowledge, coming from the Pacific Northwest, catching our own crab, salmon, and shrimp, we’re spoiled when it comes to seafood.

Still, we ate every bit. We concluded that traditional version is really the way to go.

And did the paella, prepared and served in the traditional way with the traditional ingredients using the locally grown rice in the town that originated the dish, live up to its reputation? The answer is a resounding “Si!”