We set out to do museums today, and started with the (redundantly named) Museu de Patriarca. I was excited to see a Caravaggio in their collection, but ended up being most charmed (in that dark and gloomy Gothic way) by El Greco and the colorful and detailed 15c Flemish tapestries in the adjacent chapel.
On the way to the museum we pass the University of Valencia with students milling about in a sunny courtyard.
The museum building lies just across the street from the university and was an experience in itself. We step through an ancient threshold from the bright sunlight into a dark little antechamber where a dignified older man in a stunning jacket presides. We pay our 6 Euros as directed and the man in the coat gets up and leads us into a courtyard through a set of massive and elaborate doors, themselves a piece of art. It’s a thrill for me to be able to freely translate the information he offers on the Renaissance courtyard. True, his spiel involved a lot of numbers and obvious contexts, but it was still good for my [Spanish speaking] ego to manage extended translation.
We move on to a the adjacent plaça following our tour. We’d planned to do a second museum before lunch (it’s now about 12:30) but instead decide to just scope out a recommended restaurant that seems to be just around the corner. I wonder if we need to make a reservation to dine at 2:00.
Bar Damas was on the list our hosts left as a cheap, family-run place. It had a nice little terrace, and I approached to ask about making reservations for 2:00. Instead, an energetic little man approaches me (no English) and runs right over my meek “reserve una mesa?” mutterings to swoop us upstairs. Kitty says “I guess we’re eating now…” and we decide that discretion is the better part of valor and go along with his plan. He leads us through the bar, through a small kitchen and upstairs to an abysmally decorated empty room with Spanish TV covering a demonstration in the corner.
Now at home we likely would have found some space for assertion. We were in a place we didn’t want to be in, and getting ready to pay money for an uncertain outcome. Then again, sometimes the travel gods throw you these opportunities, and to resist may lead away from the memorable, unexpected experiences we treasure while on vacation. We decide to roll with it and stay in the tacky room. The cheap (9.50 EUR) menu attracts us.
The news was all about the trial of Catalan politicians and the anti-Catalan demonstrations in Madrid. I wasn’t impressed with my rice, but Kitty enjoyed her Calamari. The tacky little room was somehow unique and least memorable. We were overcharged for wine (4 EUR for about ¼ of a normal glass). It’s notable that this was really our first sub-standard meal in three weeks. Perhaps after such a roll of fortune we were due a reality check. Luckily, these disappointments are rare. My little bit of Spanish typically suffices. And now Kitty knows how to say “no” in Spanish and I have the will to say “no” in Spanish. We have missed the other museum, so head across town to find the baths under construction. We retreat to our apartment and decide to read for the remainder of the afternoon and venture out at night.
We’ve been here for 10 days and have basically not been out at night. It’s just suited us to get out early in the morning and walk and walk and walk to the point of exhaustion and eat inside every evening. I’ve loved the sunsets from our terrace. Tonight, we head out about 5:00 to Café Las Horas, the number one place on everyone’s list for “Agua de Valencia.” That drink is a beefed-up version of a Mimosa (a bit of gin and vodka completes the brew).
We find that bar is closed for vacation, so head to Bar Sant Juames. We’ve gone by this place a couple of times before and it’s always been crowded as it’s wonderfully situated along a main pedestrian street. This evening it’s cool and there are few tourists, so only one or two tables outside are taken. We settle in. Kitty has her white wine and I try the Agua de Valencia, which is perfect on a cool evening and must be even better on a hot day. The fresh orange juice makes it.
I’ve got my eye on the sky as I want to get some shots at dusk at the Plaça de Virgin. It looks as though we have more time until sunset, so we go down the road to another bar, Bar Los Picapiedra. They are just opening. The woman is Dutch and she (of course) has excellent English. She tells us her story of how she and her boyfriend opened this business two months ago. As we are there the place begins to fill up. Kitty says that if I were to die right now, she would become a barfly and this bar would become her special place and my monument. I survive.
I manage to extract Kitty from Los Picapiedra and lead us down to the main square where I take photos as the light in the sky changes from blue to green to dark blue. The city lights come on. There are a few minutes when I get pretty unobstructed photos despite the crowds. A couple of other photographers work steadily to get shots as the colors change so quickly and opportunities for open shots become fewer and fewer. It’s great fun for me to fulfill this goal—I’ve looked at photos of the city for months and this sequence of shots was top on my list for Valencia.
Back home we eat about 9:00 and the lasagna is even better. I fall asleep by midnight listening to “Dateline, White House” podcasts. I remain hungry for news from the home front even as I delight in being far from the shores of our national disfunction. I can’t tell at this point if things will ever return to a level near normalcy or if we are doomed. My sense as I listen to the never-ending stream of crime & corruption is that we will never be the same as a nation and that we’ve been permanently soiled by Trump and his Republican enablers. In short, We Are Doomed.
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