(Valencia, Spain)…Valencia is Spain’s third-largest city, but in terms of tourism, it is way down this beautiful country’s list, far smaller places such as Toledo, Córdoba and Santiago de Compostela out-muscling it. You get the impression that the Valencianos rather like it that way. Tourists do come, and they walk to the walled old town, El Centro, and along the Turia Gardens, which used to house the city’s river until a devastating flood in 1957 persuaded city burghers to alter its course. At the southern end of this thin, attractive park full of strollers and runners are native son Santiago Calatrava’s iconic buildings, all white and light, alongside pools and his own bridges—the famous Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències, which includes his L'Hemisfèric, L'Oceanogràfic and El Palau de les Arts Reina Sofía. Friends tell me that many stand outside these edifices, but few go in, which reminded me of Oslo’s stunning new Opera House.
Valencianos consider what they speak to be a separate language, and they spell their city València. Far from me to argue, but local names take precedence over Castilian ones in such areas as Russafa and El Carmen, a trendy, slightly shabby area of the already relatively small El Centro area. The former has squats, narrow, cobblestone streets and the wonderful Caracola restaurant, which I head for every time I go. I am very happy there eating patatas bravas and drinking café con leche. Just outside this area, close to the Torres de Quart towers, is the city’s unsung botanical garden, which for €1 admission on a sunny day might be the best deal in town if you have a coffee and a good book. It felt a little like Buenos Aires, and its proper name is the Huerto de Tramoyeres. Russafa is just behind the train station and bullring on Calle Xàtiva, but it might as well be a moon’s-distance away for many visitors. It’s up and coming, interesting, full of characters and has a cool indoor market. One place I love there, on Carrer de Dénia, is the bookstore-bar, Slaughterhouse (www.slaughterhouse.es), which used to be a butchers, hence the name.
Back in El Centro there are interesting nooks and crannies around the cathedral, and the ornate, renovated post office on the otherwise crowded, to-be-avoided Plaça del l’Ajuntament square is definitely worth a perusal. The area of El Centro reached by crossing the Turia on the Pont d’Aragó bridge and immediately turning right will have you amid far fewer people, at least until you reach the cathedral and the adjacent Basílica de la Virgen de los Desamparados, or the Virgin Mary’s Basilica for the Abandoned. Two other spots I like are the small Plaza Redonda, round as its name would suggest and which locals call El Clot, or The Hole, which I also like, and, if here on a Thursday, the weekly water tribunal, an ancient court in which seven city elders pass judgement on disputes between farmers concerning water. Every time I have been to Valencia, no one has stepped up with a complaint, so all I have seen are black robes, chairs, questioning looks and a shrug of the shoulders as they go back indoors from where they’ve come from for a glass of wine. This court, on the Plaza de la Virgen, is regarded as the oldest democratic institution in Europe and was originally a Moorish initiative.
One of the cool things about Valencia for the independent traveller is that it did not even reach the levels of tourism it enjoys today until well after its small airport—Manises—built an underground rail system in the late 1980s. That means you can get straight from the airport into the middle of town in 20 minutes or so. Continue on until the station called Maritim-Serreria, very close to the Mediterranean Sea. This is the getting-off point for the Roma area of the city, Cabanyal, which is a grid of thin streets and colourful houses. The northern part is threatened by a road that will extend Avenida de Viscente Blasco Ibáñez another 400 metres to the sea so that people can reach the beach one minute more quickly than they would have done. That avenue is named after the author (largely forgotten in English-speaking circles) of Los Cuatro Jinetes del Apocalipsis (The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse), who was born in the city. Cabanyal (see photo above) was a village of fishermen, and it was here that were originally developed the distinctive Valenciano houses called barraques, which now can only be seen (and very few of them) on the large marsh of Albufera to the south of the city. The Albufera grows the bomba rice that is the key ingredient of paella, the most-known dish from the region.
A little south of Cabanyal, close to the port, is the district of Bétero, which has two museums of note. I am not generally a fan of museums, but I like strange ones, and the Museo de Arroz (Rice Museum; http://www.museoarrozvalencia.com/) certainly qualifies. For an odd reason, there are lots of Spanish posters of classic Hollywood films on the walls of its three floors, and I can only think they’re there because threshing, winnowing and watering equipment for rice, with descriptions in a language you may not read, aren’t exactly riveting, or it might be that it is a temporary exhibit; better is the Museo Atarazanas, which is in an old warehouse with arches, art and plenty of light. Museums are free on Sundays. Just behind is the Plaza Tribunal de las Aguas, which might suggest that this was the original site of the water court, not where it is held today in the city centre.
Another less-visited area is Benimaclet, which has a similar feel to Bétero and Cabanyal and can be walked to on a slightly circuitous walk back to Russafa and El Centro. This is the traditional place to drink orxata (in Castillian, horchata), a summer drink of water, sugar and chufa nut, a root plant, also known as tigernut. When it’s hot, a glass of this and a chorizo sandwich is bliss.