Orange is not the only fruit!
Not in Valencia,it’s not. I’m sitting facing a selection from the breakfast buffet that has me reeling with its miscellaneity,plus various tortillas-and yes,purists will tell you that it is potatoes,milk and eggs,but it seems that in Spain they think differently.
You can be adventurous here or you can be the traditional tourist,I don’t think they care too much either way. Everyone is as friendly as you could hope for,or else I’ve not yet picked up the Spanish for sod off,ya knob. Pate,cheese,tortillas and cold ham for breakfast is the dogs,but it’s not a roll and square!
Unbelievably,the trees that seem to line every street are absolutely filthy with fruit-in the middle of February! Oranges the size of your fist jooooost dreeeeepin’ aff them. I thought they must superglue them there for the tourists to gawp at,but naw,they’re the genuine article.
My Dad and I took a bit of a detour yesterday,mad search for tickets. Of course we are still hopeful of some friends coming up with the goods for us-we know you’re trying hard,fellas,thank you!-but we thought we would buy a few anyway as we are ensconced near the Valencia CF shop. Well,that’s a lovely place,laid out like a designer outlet-of which,more later-but they cannot help with tickets for this match. You must go to stadium,we were told.
So we did and as we jumped out the €4 taxi at the ticket office,a young couple,as Hoooooped up as loved up,wished us luck because unless we had Spanish id or could find someone to buy them for us,we were screwed. They were ok,the girl had lived in Andalusia for five years but she could only buy two.
Not even the silver-tongued lothario that is my Dad could weaken the resolve of the hard-hearted harridan behind the counter. Nor,it seems,the steady flow of Celtic fans with various similar requests who had approached her. We were sat beside a big Nigerian lad and his wife and young child-they live in Essex so couldn’t help with tickets either-and he reckoned that at least fifty fans had been over while they were sat there,all politely refused apart from the young couple. There were about a dozen Celtic fans sat nearby with similar tales of woe and disappointment,and we were met with still more later when we stumbled across an Irish bar.
My first pint of Guinness since leaving Blighty,and at €5 and an inch or more of head,they can keep it.
Back to the hotel for a quick freshen up,then we went out to meet some friends who were flying in. As anticipated,they were as shattered as we were the previous day from an arduous schedule,so it was really just a brief catch-up and outline of plans. I reckon they’ll include a foray into the Museum of Porcelain which is bang next door to our hotel. Amazing building,old as the hills,looks like it was designed by some freak show committee maxed out on acid. Incredibly intricate carvings all over the exterior. Gotta grab some kultchir while you can! But the rest of the area is full of designer clothing and furniture outlets so we are taxing ourselves in adventurous excursions to avoid them like the plague. With some success,thankfully-kultchir is only fine for a while…
Looked out some nice wee restaurants,tapas bars and al fresco dining areas too,got to do some exploring off the tourist trail! The trick as always is to remember how you got there so you can get back!
Anyway,wish us all luck as we head out to once more beg borrow or cajole tickets from anyone or anywhere. I’m reasonably confident,but pleasfor intercession are always useful!
Above article by your humble Valencia correspondent,BMCUWP.