Arrival in Valencia

Up at 3.45am, at Parkers Piece by 4.45am. Seems the previous bus was late, so got on earlier than I expected, and to the airport early as a result. I still had to wait ages for the desk to be displayed but it seems that most other people had already worked it out. I checked in without fuss, bought a Spain book and went through security. We had another wait here, but boarded the plane on time. Then they had to wait half an hour to fix something on the undercarriage. We took off and I tried to sleep. I did nod off, but only for a few minutes. The flight was kiddie hell.

We arrived at Valencia and the warm air hit me as I walked across the tarmac. In the terminal, I turned on my phone and got Jono’s message, giving me Steve’s email address to send my CV to. I got a map and headed for the bus. I decided against that and got the metro. It was cheaper (€1.70) and easier. I got off at Xativa and walked up into the street, having no idea where the hostel was. I found the tourist office in the train station and they found it for me on a map. It was a 15 minute walk north. The city looked nice. I found the hostel with no problems and checked in, noting a few Australians. I dumped my stuff, listened to Jono’s message again, writing down the details and sending Jono a text. I went downstairs to go online and sent my CV to Steve, couldn’t get bed linen yet, so wandered out in search of food, as I was hungry and it was at least 2pm by now. I found an awesome shop called Berliz, which has foccaccias, pizzas, yummy chocolate pastries AND gelato. Yum! I had some pizza, and some pistacchio and nougat gelato. I headed back to the hostel after a bit of a walk and had a lie down. It was too noisy to sleep, but still useful.

I got up, got my bed linen, made my bed, met my room mates, and headed out with my camera. I went to the Cathedral on Plaza de la Reina, and it was beautiful, but the tower was closed. I walked all the way down to Calle Xativa again and then back in search of food. I sat down outside at one place but no one served me, so I went to another place. The waitress didn’t speak English. (I asked her ’habla usted ingles’ and she shook her head.) I managed in Spanish and ordered a Paella Valenciana. It was good but not great. A woman who I think owned the place was talking to me. I think she was asking me whether I was enjoying it, but all we established was that I wasn’t Spanish, I was English.

I asked for the bill in Spanish, paid it and headed back. Went online again but had had no reply. I had a shower and went at bed at 11.30. The clock struck 12 in giant ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ bongs.