I got off the plane at Valencia Airport with the idea that something life-changing might hit me. A cinematic moment. Instead, the warm air came at me like an open oven door. The suitcase made it twelve minutes before the handle gave up, and I found myself dragging it over cobblestones wondering why I hadn’t just taken the metro.
Google Maps had promised fifteen minutes on foot. It turned into forty-five, broken up by me stopping to read street signs and pretending I was admiring the buildings. The Metrovalencia Line 3 or 5 would have taken me straight from the airport to Xàtiva or Colón for a couple of euros. Even a €20 taxi would have been kinder than that walk. Routes are here: https://www.metrovalencia.es/
I was due to meet the landlord, José, at ten o’clock. At ten past I wasn’t concerned. By half past, I was a little less sure. When he finally arrived at a quarter past eleven, he was immaculate, carrying an espresso, and seemed surprised that I’d been waiting. He handed over the keys, waved at a few rooms, and disappeared.
The lock-out happened later the same day. I’d stepped into the hall barefoot to throw away a yoghurt pot, the door closed behind me, and that was it. My Spanish wasn’t up to explaining it to the locksmith, so we ended up doing a mixture of pointing and guessing until he let me back in. Two minutes of work. €120 bill. I’ve since learned it’s normal for emergency call-outs, though cheaper if you arrange it through a local ferretería in daylight hours.
The next morning I tried coffee. I asked for un café, which turned out to be a short, strong espresso. The man at the next table ordered café con leche, so I tried to follow his lead and somehow ended up asking for café con hielo — espresso with a separate glass of ice. Apparently you pour one into the other yourself.
For reference: Café solo — espresso. Café con leche — coffee with milk. Café con hielo — espresso with ice, popular in summer. Cortado — espresso with a splash of milk.
A pigeon landed on my table before I’d finished, looked at me, took a sugar packet, and left. Nobody in the café reacted, which made me think this was a regular thing.
Two days in, I’d broken a suitcase, paid for an expensive lesson in key management, ordered the wrong coffee, and lost to a bird. But I’d also worked out that the metro is easy, the old town is a maze best done without luggage, and cafés here expect you to know the rules.
I didn’t come here for perfect days. I came to get slightly lost until I found my way. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can get the coffee order right. If not, there’s always a nap.
