K & L's Travel Blog

It’s our last day in Valencia. We are awakened by a text on my phone informing us that our flight from Amsterdam to Atlanta has been cancelled. We move into action and quickly rebook for Monday and communicate with our Asheville folks about the change of plans. We manage that before coffee. We buy more money for our cell phone, refurbish TP and PT supplies, and then retreat back into the apartment to recover from the shock of having to be responsible after 4 weeks of fecklessness.

I work on the blog while Kitty finishes her Paul Theroux novel. We set out about 2:00 for a recommended neighborhood for restaurants. We had walked through this area (Eixample) the other day and there is a dizzying array of restaurant possibilities. We play the game of walking around the block. I can’t tell if we like the area because it’s reminiscent of Barcelona’s Eixample, or if it is truly charming on its own merits. I suspect the latter, though familiarity has an impact on our feelings. I spy a cider joint and Kitty a tapas place, Rincón de Roberto. Kitty’s been longing for coquettes, so we order our wine and take a seat only to discover their fryer is out of order when we try to order. That fact demands some consideration: a tapas restaurant with no working fryer. Despite the limited menu, we do quite well with other favorites: Russian salad and shrimp in garlic. The food is delicious, if a bit pricey.

We move onto the cider place. I’ve always been curious about the Spanish cider,  which comes from the west coast, but is also very popular in Barcelona. I’d forgotten about the long pour ritual (we saw a waiter in an alley once practicing with water). Our waiter still has some skill to develop. They have a tacky automated pour machine that he sets up for us at the table so we are spared the embarrassing ritual as we work our way through the bottle.  I find the cider gross and musty with a clinging old-sock aroma. I imagine people would call it “an acquired taste” and that may well be so. My first time left something to be desired. Still, you have to try these things and I remember back to the time I didn’t like Vermouth. There may yet be a future for me with Spanish cider.

As it happened, a vermouth bar has just opened its doors across the corner and I pull us towards that fun looking spot. Kitty protests: “You have a vermouth and I’ll just sit with you.” Ten minutes later with her wine Kitty allows we should consider second round. It’s a small place but cheery with one side all glass doors and decorated in red and white and a splash of orange. We are the only patrons except for another couple, but after we’d been there a while it fills up. The woman proprietor makes over us and takes our photo (I was just asking if I could take photos in her place and she quickly offered to take a shot of us). She literally pets on me at one point, something that I usually don’t like, but I was having such fun it felt genuine and warm. The vermouth is some of the best I’ve had.

We are energized after our afternoon of restaurant hopping, and consider going back to the City of Arts and Sciences. Luckily, we our enthusiasm wanes, we recover our senses and instead go back to the apartment to clean up and pack.

Last days are always bittersweet. We have missed Sebastian, but I’ve enjoyed being far removed from the US and its politics and don’t feel particularly eager to return. Whenever we leave a place, I am always aware of all the places we have yet to visit, all the food we have yet to eat (though we’ve certainly given it our best!).

The past two nights I have dreamt of trying to stop bears from breaking into new houses we’ve somehow acquired. Kitty even shared my same bear dream last night (very odd!). I’m not sure if it’s my anxiety about returning to some pale semblance of retired responsibility at home or managing life under Donald Trump that is creating my “don’t poke the bear” anxiety dreams. Probably some combination of political and personal anxiety. And then there’s my actual history with a bear breaking into the house, so maybe it’s not all symbolic.

At any rate, following our initial panic over a cancelled flight, we are excited about getting that extra day, but will feel better once we have Sebastian’s arrangements made and have completed those final (and often unexpected) travel hurdles ourselves. We are grateful that we are both retired, and that a cancellation has minimal impact. And who can resist the promise of an extra day in Barcelona!