EATING ORANGES IN VALENCIA

I love London, but sometimes I just need to GET THE HELL OUT.

Being homeless and jobless was getting on my nerves. So one fine (meaning: cold/wet/grey) Tuesday, at about 8:30pm, I decided to start looking for flights and accommodation so I could spend a few days in Spain. Twelve hours later, my plane took off from Gatwick and I was on my way to Valencia, Spain. God I love Europe. 

I cannot recommend last-minute getaways enough. My previous record had been deciding to go to Portugal on a Tuesday and flying out on a Friday. This time, I'd barely left enough time after confirming the tickets to pack and sleep. That's a good thing. I think it's best to get out and away before you have time to change your mind and do something more sensible with your time and money.

Beautiful scenery...

This trip was the best idea ever. Spain was warm and sunny. The temperature ranged from 25 to 35 degrees. The wine cost less than two euros per glass. I ended up extending my original two-day trip by another two days so that I could see all that I wanted to see.

My first priority upon landing: eating some paella! Valencia is the home of paella, and should a traveller not happen to know that before arriving, they would surely pick it up quickly from the profusion of fridge magnets, t-shirts, and other tourist paraphernalia proudly proclaiming the fact. I had a hot tip from a local about where to find the best paella in town, and navigated my way to a little place tucked in the corner of a beautiful paved square. It was quite early for lunch, and the only other customers in my part of the restaurant were two priests having an animated discussion and sharing an enormous pan of paella. And I really mean enormous. The base of the pan was probably the size of one of those gigantic New York pizza trays. It. Looked. Delicious.

...Funky cafes

I hadn't eaten since waking at 4.30am to catch my flight, so I was really, really looking forward to this paella. Flicking through the menu, my heart sank as I realised that the enormous pan that the priests were sharing was the only size available. Nooo!!! I checked with the waitress as well, but no - that was it. Hungry as I was, ordering an entire paella pan only to discard three quarters of it just wasn't an option. I was gutted. I sadly ordered a couple of small tapas dishes to fill the gap and a glass of wine to console my disappointed taste buds.

By the time the wine arrived I'd managed to cheer myself up again and put it all into perspective. Twelve hours earlier I had been sitting inside a tiny London apartment watching the rain fall against the window outside; now I was sitting in a taverna in Valencia watching two priests chat to each other in Spanish while I sipped on wine and read a book. Life really was good.

After delivering my wine, the waitress went over to check on the priests. They had an in-depth conversation, with the waitress looking over at me a couple of times. I had no idea what was going on. She eventually walked to me to explain. Apparently the priests wanted to offer me the rest of their paella.

What What WHAT???

They had both eaten their fill, but still had about a third of a pan left (I told you they were big pans). Oh my lordy lord. I nodded gleefully, only to realise a split second later that only one of the four varieties of paella on the menu was suitable for my vegetarian tendencies. To be so close to glory and then to lose it would be heartbreaking. I crossed my fingers and asked the waitress which kind it was......VEGETARIAN! Spain became so very awesome at that point.

Off to a spectacular start, Valencia just kept on delivering. The two glasses of house white that I drank with lunch turned out to cost just one euro fifty each; the small salad I'd ordered more out of curiosity than anything else was mouthwateringly delicious (mango, prawns and cheese - who'd have thought it?); I met some fellow travellers and joined them for an epic four hour wander to and from the City of Arts and Sciences (photos below); and before heading out to dinner we found the location of a supermarket where Spanish wine was priced at only one euro fifty per BOTTLE. Good, good times.

 

The next day brought more wandering and touristing. Exploring the Catedral de Valencia, I was creeped out by their collection of relics (which included a skull, a pile of bones, and a withered old arm) before being surprised to find that one of the chapels within held the Holy Grail. Literally, THE Holy Grail. Vatican-endorsed, so it must be true. (Speaking of which, have they done anything about the whole 'infallibility of the Pope' thing yet?). A better advertising campaign by the Cathedral would have saved Indiana Jones and Monty Python a hell of a lot of time and effort in searching for it. 'The Grail' was nicer than the one that Indy found in his Last Crusade - it had handles and everything. I texted my grandma to tell her that I'd seen the Holy Grail, and she was suitably impressed. Hopefully it made up for not getting to see the Pope when I was at the Vatican last year.

I just can't emphasise strongly enough how much I loved Valencia. After four days of exploring, there were still things I didn't get a chance to do/see/eat/drink. I spent only one afternoon strolling on a sandy beach by the Mediterranean sea, but could have spent days. Even two weeks wouldn't have been long enough to get my fill of sitting in cafes overlooking beautiful medieval squares and watching the world go by.

Spain. Good.

HOMELESS BUT HOUSE-SITTING

I love finishing contracts. I love travelling without being constrained by a return-to-work date. I love having no rent to pay - except for storage costs -  and having all the time in the world to explore and relax and discover what really makes me happy.

I hate returning to London with no home, no job, and sod-all money in the bank. Reality sucks.

 

I'm very lucky, however, to have fabulous friends who took pity on me when I first returned and let me stay in their spare room while I recovered from jetlag and tried to get my job-hunting head screwed on. 

 

Since then, I've spent time cat-sitting in Southwark while a mate took a short trip back to Australia, and am now house-sitting a lovely apartment on the riverside in Vauxhall for the delightful SR. SR is travelling for the next month or so, and though she doesn't have cats that need feeding or plants that need watering, she's very generously offered her home to me while I try to find a rental property that doesn't smell like socks and have mould growing out of the wall. Just doing her part to keep down the number of hobos living on the streets, I guess. Thanks S!!