499 DAYS LATER…
I’ve a habit of being late for flights. My first solo overseas jaunt entailed me almost missing a connecting flight in Tokyo and it’s been a downward spiral ever since. So in usual fashion I awoke at 4am – the time I was meant to be on the bus – had the quickest shower in the history of the world, grabbed my pre-packed bags and legged it to the bus stop. I made it to Liverpool Street in time for the 5:50am Stanstead Express but was concerned I may once again be running for the gates as my flight was boarding at 7am. It was my first time flying with Ryanair and I’d checked in on line, but with the imminent threat of terrorism we face at every turn at every hour of every day airport security checks can be nothing short of a living nightmare.
Little did I know Ryanair and I were kindred spirits, as when I made it quite painlessly through security I found my flight hadn’t even made it onto the Departures screen. After browsing the usual dreary selection of useless and unnecessary trinkets and mass-produced snacks I took a seat and waited, and at 7am on the dot my gate was confirmed and for once I enjoyed a leisurely stroll to the boarding area.
This being my first ever flight to mainland Europe excitement was high. I was off to Valencia to visit Diana, a Spanish girl I’d worked with in a London bar. While waiting in line to board I surveyed the motley crew of fellow travellers and felt relaxed. And then they came – in Bermuda shorts and specially made name-tagged football shirts. In the UK they’re called ‘stags’, in Australia ‘bucks’ – a horrid collection of men akin to the Barmy Army. Sharing my relaxing, plush Ryanair flight with 12 or so British lads in matching outfits with mischief in their eyes was made all the more disturbing by the fact that there were also not one, but two separate groups of girls looking much the same! One group were donning massive green plastic flowers, the other fake plastic Police hats.
Whether it be a stag or hens, a sports or work ‘team building’ exercise, I’ve never understood the human desire to travel in packs in matching gimmicky outfits. It’s obviously a pastime held quite dearly by the British – less than a month ago 10 or so men were arrested in Greece for running riot through a seaside town wearing Nuns habits and exposing themselves – but somewhere along the line the desire to participate in fanfare like this has passed me by.
We passed over the English Channel, France and finally into Spain. The view of the world from a plane is by far my favourite sight – from above we look so pretty and peaceful. Coming in to land however my view was not what I’d hoped for as it was raining! We were then told as there’s a storm warning we cannot disembark for half an hour, but as the rained passed we were released and I enjoyed a quick but hot walk in the 30 degree heat to my friends apartment in Manesis. After a year apart it was great to finally see Diana, even if she did have the flu. After a long awaited chat and a tour of her lovely apartment we grabbed our bikinis and head for the beach. It was to be the first time I saw a beach in 499 days…
Manesis is a suburb about 20 minutes out of Valencia City and situated right next to the airport. Diana had recently become a flight attendant, hence the close proximity to the airport. Manesis has a very small town village feel to it, with little cafes and tiendas dotted between the pink and peach coloured apartments. I also noticed when flying in that almost all of the buildings sprawled below us were the same colours – a mix of terracotta roofs, pinks, peaches and orange. I’m thinking this is a typical Spanish architectural theme as the city I called home in Central America was the same style, but in their National colours of blue, white, yellow and red.
After a short stroll to the Rosas Metro Station we were on our way through the centre to the beach. Once at the end of the line it was 2 tram stops and we were there! Walking from the tram to the promenade you could see Valencia’s beachfront is being developed within an inch of its life. Scaffolding is in abundance on the outside of flats, hotels and restaurants, plus there’s some kind of mining or digging operation taking place adjacent to the beach which tends to blot the skyline to your right. Nevertheless the main beach is a pretty collection of restaurants and bars offering an endless selection of both traditional and modern, cheaper and high-end paellas, cocktails, seafood and more.
Deciding it was more important to start working on my tan than sit down to a meal we decided on some take away on the beach. While waiting on our food I was astonished when Diana lit a cigarette in the middle of the café. Coming from a country where smoking inside has been banned for almost 5 years it was both startling and exciting, and I instantly wanted one, as it felt so rebellious to be smoking indoors! We then parked ourselves on the beach and watched the world go by. Just listening to the conversations around me helped better my Spanish and I was relieved to find when speaking to Diana and her flatmates that it hadn’t disappeared. And going for a dip in the refreshing Mediterranean Sea made me realise just how much I missed the beach!
After 4 hours of sun baking and endless layers of sunscreen we hit the centre of Valencia city, a gorgeous mix of squares, shops and beautiful buildings featuring detailed wrought iron balconies, ornate and picturesque masonry and colourful flower pots. The Spanish hold a sense of style and confidence much the same as their architecture, and families packed the streets on the warm Friday evening taking advantage of the late opening stores that encourage your indulgence until 9:30pm. We scoured various local department stores purchasing many items neither of us needed or could afford but which were a lot cheaper than London, all the while chatting away in a hybrid ‘Spanglish’ as Diana wanted to practise her English and me my Spanish. We eventually made it home in time to shower, change, sample some ‘tinto con limon’ and catch the last Metro into the city to soak up some nightlife.
I’d been demanding Paella since I landed but considering we didn’t get out of the house till Midnight Diana professed it highly unlikely we would find any. Once in the centre I really felt like I was in Spain. I believe to see a city in the hue of night is to see its true beauty, and Valencia sparkled in the yellow shafts emanating from the old fashioned lamps that lined the streets, illuminating the historical facades, churches and cobbled roads that slice through the city. Our search for Paella was proving fruitless which wasn’t suprising, but we then stumbled across a small tienda comida serving tapas and sangria, so sat ourselves down to indulge. The food was beautiful and rich, the sangria sweet and fruity, and all for a very modest price. Alas, at 2am they gave us our marching orders, plus the streets outside were calling, so we strolled around in search of a bar. By this time a lot were closing and the night was full of drunken Spaniards dancing and drinking in the streets and revelling in the warmth of the night.
We decided on a bar called Ghecko, which was decked out like a jungle with trees, leaves, stone geckos and Asian dragons and Buddha’s adorning the walls. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a drink in Spain but they’re at least 6 Euro and worth every penny as they free pour the spirits. It doesn’t take many to get you on your way! Ghecko was fun and I even managed to converse with some boys in Spanish over the blaring Spanish pop that filled the room. However I was told by Diana that all the songs playing were old and lame so we should go.
After asking around about places to go we eventually set off for Las Animas, a super club back at the beach that stays open until 8am. All it took was a short cab ride, 20 Euro entry (which included a complimentary free-poured drink) and we had entered the biggest club I have ever seen. With a large room and many couches downstairs you then head up 4 flights of stairs to a rooftop that has been transformed into a disco playground. The music was hot, the bars were ample, there were couches, podiums, laser lights – and to top it all off, another room of the same calibre across the way. I couldn’t begin to guess how many people were in there but it was a lot, and all were dancing their hearts out. And surprise surprise I even spotted one of the stag parties from my plane, who I’d also seen earlier at the beach BBQing on the sand, blinding everyone with their British tans.
We cut a rug until the first Metro started up at 5:30am then began the tiresome trek home. Not a bad effort having had only 3 hours sleep the night previous! So after being awake for over 24 hours the pillow never looked so good.
