The Road to Valencia

 When I pack up and leave I often experience a desire to thank the spirit of the place for keeping me safe and sound. A few years ago I began attending a sweat lodge near my home in Berkshire, in the UK, and it occurs to me that going in and out of my little tent is very much like going in and out of the sweat lodge. According to native american tradition six directions are honoured and acknowledged before entering the lodge, N,S,E & W and also above and below. So it feels entirely natural to honour and acknowledge these directions when I'm leaving a place that has offered me refuge. It rounds things off for me, makes them more complete.

I planned a two day ride to Valencia and had located a campsite in a place called Moncofa which was definitely open and about half way, so that was my goal for the day. For the first time I noticed orange trees growing. The mornings ride was pretty hilly and very rural but in the afternoon (I'd forgotten how high up Vilafarmes was, almost 400m above sea level) there was another superb descent into the coastal lowlands. 

The character of the landscape in the lowlands was far from rural and I discovered what was happening to all that material being dug out of the quarries north of Vilafarmes. I think this part of Spain must manufacture enough tiles and ceramics to cover the entire European Union, for there are literally scores of factories making them here, stretching pretty much as far as you can see. The tiles are piled in acres and acres of pallets waiting to be distributed to builders merchants around the world. So no shortage of lorries around here, but no shortage of fully segregated cycle paths either, which definitely makes for a more relaxed and comfortable traveling experience, for all concerned.

There was one particular factory which stood out as a company that might be a suitable place to employ all those Brits who embraced the European Union up until the point when convergence of income tax rules was put on the agenda, triggering our lamentable exit from the Union. I'm thinking here particularly of our ex prime minister the "honourable" member for Uxbridge and South Ruislip and his cohort.

The factory belt soon gives way to agriculture again and there are some serious orange plantations between here and Valencia. Very interesting to see that the trees seem to be in various stages of their growing cycle, so that some were being harvested, others ripening, some in blossom and others had obviously just been planted. I also noticed young melon plants that had had just been planted out growing next to mature plants that were ready for harvesting. The blessing of being able to grow frost free all year round, and I guess, as we are closer to the equator here, the days don't get so short in winter as they do in the UK. It's noticeable here too how every square inch of land is cultivated right up to and into the urban fringe, something we don't see in the UK partly as a result of planning rules dictated by our investment driven economy. Land at the margins of towns can only be converted from agricultural to residential use after a period of four years has elapsed when it can be shown that it has no agricultural value. Consequently there is a belt around nearly all UK towns of derelict land waiting to be sold on at inflated prices to property developers. 

The flowers growing at the side of the road also became more colourful and exotic although my attempt at close up photography does them no justice at all.

The density of housing was predictably increasing as I approached the coast and there are clearly efforts being made to update traditional agricultural communities and make them fashionable resorts. In amongst all this was the campsite that Mi Czecki Mapi had found for me, camping La Playa de La Levante, which appeared to have been there in one form or another for many years. It was run by a guy called Frank who was instantly likeable, partly because he introduced himself by name at the beginning of our conversation. He also had a very spontaneous smile which I wasn't sure about to begin with, but he very soon convinced me that he enjoyed living and working here and that the interests of his customers were also his own. While he was cleaning the toilet block his wife came down and addressed him in a very loud and emphatic way such that I thought she was giving him a telling off about something, but he responded with a chuckle in a very light hearted way and I was very impressed by his emotional resilience. She wasn't angry at all it seemed, it was just her way. And here I have to say something I've noticed about the Spanish way of communicating which is different from the French. For one thing they seem to speak from a deeper more abdominal level in the body, there is less regulation by the throat and mouth, maybe even the nervous system. Phrases and vocabulary also seem to be more economic, so that the Spanish idiom seems to be more fundamental and, dare I say, authentic. I was tempted to say animalistic, but that would be unfair and illustrates what in my view is the error of cultivating language as a means to human elevation which is what seems to have happened in France.  There are clearly costs and benefits on both sides of the language divide, and whilst I have a lot more trouble understanding the Spanish language, I don't seem to have the same trouble understanding Spanish people. There is a subtle difference.

The campsite backed on to the beach where I was able to enjoy my evening meal before putting the tent up. Once again it was just in time as the rain moved in and continued relentlessly until about 11am the next morning. The roof of the tent started leaking for the first time, not much, but enough to remind me that nothing in this life can be relied upon indefinitely.

As soon as the rain stopped I packed up (in record time) and moved on towards Valencia and the youth hostel I had booked for tonight. It started raining again almost as soon as I set out, but I didn't care at all because I knew I would be in a dry place by nightfall if only I kept going. In fact it was quite pleasant cycling in the rain, it was warm and gentle and there was almost no other traffic on the road. And the closer I got to the city the more substantial and enjoyable were the segregated cycle routes. By the time I arrived at the hostel around 6pm the sun was shining and I had a warm welcome from a very international community. I haven't yet met another person here from the UK but English is the commonly used language as everyone seems to speak at least a little.

Here's some snaps from my first day in Valencia  

This amazing tree lives in a park next to the hostel

And I've never seen a tree before that grows lilies. Exactly the same smell too!

Olives anybody?

I headed first into town but found pretty much everything closed as it's Spain's National Day and a holiday. Everyone seemed to be at the park.

This park is built in the bed of a river that has been diverted and this is one of the ancient bridges that used to span the river. Protected by the patron of Spain whose feast also occurs today

Ave Maria!

Some of the bridges have been built to carry traffic over the park after the river was diverted and this one appears to have been built around two pre existing rows of Palm trees. Respect!

Some of the bridges, gateways to the old city, are guarded by demonic forces, the siblings perhaps of Cerebrus? 

Eventually the horticultural gives way to the industrial and the climax to the walk is the immense complex of buildings known as the City of Arts and Sciences. It's breathtaking in its scale and it's modernity and is a fitting link between the town with the river bed, and the huge shipping port of Valencia, the cranes of which can be made out in the background of some of these photos.

Interesting that the sculpture features the theme of a dismembered royal male, one of the recurring myths that emanates from Mediterranean culture, as far back as the Egyptian Isis and Osiris. In this case the unfortunate figure is apparently Daedalus. According to Robert Graves in his book "The White Godess" this myth, and the struggle to preserve it in its many and varied forms, is at the foundation of all subsequent story telling. Interesting that the story of Christ which superseded what we call paganism so quickly and thoroughly can be considered as a re telling of this ancient symbolic tale.

Many opportunities here too for quiet reflection

Here is the reflection of water against the mosaic that is plastered over a lot of the concrete buttresses. A beautiful detail that must have been preconceived by the design team.