Street Art, Valencia Style

 We happened upon Valencia's burgeoning street art scene by accident but once you start looking for it, it's hard to miss. The El Carmen neighbourhood, another area having a bit of a cultural resurgence, is filled with mega pieces that adorn the sides of buildings at all angles. Plenty of bloggers have paid tribute to the multinational artists who have poured their hearts into these street pieces. Culture Trip covers it here and it's also possible to take street art tours. 

Rosa and I opted for our own wanders and were not disappointed. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Another reason to love Valencia--you don't have to pay to go into a museum to see some beautiful art. 

A Weekend in Valencia

From one Spanish speaking country to another, a week after arriving home from Mexico, I made my way to visit Rosa in Valencia for a long weekend. She's been teaching there since September and although her school is a crazy place, she's loving the Spanish way.

I've been to Valencia before, back in the early days of life in the UK and dating Dave. His parents had retired and emigrated to the British haven of the Costa Brava an hour down the coast so we spent the end of a family visit pottering around Spain's third largest city on tiny student budgets. 

That statistic is somewhat misleading in that Valencia feels simultaneously grand but manageable. Its city centre has the grandeur of many other Spanish cities but lacks in the tourist hordes that Barcelona and Madrid attract. It's all for the better--ten years on, the city remains affordable and distinctly laid back. There's a hundred little plazas to pause, sit and perhaps sip on the local tipple, agua de Valencia, a disarming concoction of orange juice, cava, gin and vodka. Two glasses in and it doesn't matter where you are or where you need to be.

Upon my arrival after a stupidly early morning flight, Rosa picked me up at the train station and we made our way to her abode in the up-and-coming Ruzafa neighbourhood. What was once a bit rough around the edges has turned into a tangle of streets with pavement cafes, hipster breakfast spots and tapas bars to boot. One bag drop and quick change and we made our way to Ubik Cafe, a bookstore, gallery, cafe and bar all in one. 

From there, Rosa took me on the whistle stop tour of Valencia's greater sites. In the centre of the city, we started with the Mercat Central, a delight of all foods Spanish housed in a feat of beautiful architecture. 

On Monday, when Rosa was at work, I came back to nibble on a cup of olives and wander the stalls of meat, cheese and fish. Perhaps an odd thing to do for a vegetarian but I love to see how cultures interact with food. It's like a beautiful insight into a national psyche. 

A walking tour of the city yielded lots of ancient architecture including the cathedral, the city's only remaining ancient wall and lots of cobbled, charming streets. There was a lot of stops for drinks, chats and a general appreciation of the beautifully blue skies and sunshiny weather. Valencia is very much a place to pause and appreciate. 

Our last stop on the first day took us to the Ciutat de les Arts y Ciencas, a complex of Sydneyesque architecture built in the oxbow lake that formed after the Turia River was dammed. The surrounding park is green and equally beautiful and we chose our day right. Berklee College of Music has a sister campus in Valencia and they'd set up a series of free concerts throughout the year. We bopped around to the music and had a drink with Rosa's colleague before decamping for a little siesta before our evening's Spanish wanders. 

That evening, we met up with two of my colleagues (and a few of her Valencian friends) who, by serendipity and coincidence, happened to be in town on a school trip. The kids were on homestay and so the teachers had the evening to join us for dinner and a properly Spanish wander. After a 10pm dinner, we made our way to the pavements for a wine/coffee/dessert/chat crawl. In what can only be described as the Valencian way, we accumulated people as we went. Old friends, friends of friends and new friends grabbed a seat next to us and our party of 8 turned into a party of 12. It was nothing like the late night drunken British pub crawls I've grown accustomed to. The mood was one of genuine warmth; Spanish flowed freely and the streets were filled with wanderers of all ages. At 2am, with everyone eager to move on to another spot, I bowed out and managed to get Rosa to take me home. My 4am start had caught up with me and I was asleep on my feet. 

We regrouped the next day for a self-guided graffiti tour of the city and more drinks in more plazas. There were stops for shopping and tapas. Everyone was moving nowhere fast and I got a good insight into what people love about Spain so much. With good weather and good friends, it's a place you could spend a good amount of time 'just being' in. For anyone who knows me this is something I struggle with and so this is no faint praise for a city outside the tourist spotlight. 

Playa Zipolite

After a busy week of city-to-city wandering the beach beckoned us forth. Originally, Paul was interested in heading to the Yucatan peninsula and although the beaches here ARE beautiful, I was keen to stay away from the hordes of American tourists who call their resort-fueled hedonism 'authentic.' 

So after lengthy debate and a recommendation from my friend Whitney, a well-travelled hippie at heart, we made our way to Oaxaca Airport and to the state of Oaxaca's coast at Huatulco. Beautiful beaches abound in this part of the country but we took the specific recommendation of going to Zipolite, an enclave for nudists, often of the gay older gentlemen variety. A 45-minute flight and one-hour hairpin turn, vomit-inducing taxi drive later, we arrived at our literally on the beach hotel, El Alquimista. 

The hotel's placement at the end of the beach in a little cove made it particularly cozy. We opted for an on-stilts room with a sea view and air conditioning but lots of people took to the beach huts below. 

I generally don't say much about the places I stay but this hotel was special: yoga chalet; day spa with the world's best massages; a sand-floored beach restaurant with the BEST EVER prawn tacos and guacamole. Honestly, best ever. And none of this broke the bank. 

My first view out the window revealed a weathered lifeguard, in at least his mid-70s, clad with his lifeguard flotation device, flowing white beard and naked, naked brown butt. It set the scene for a magical week. Over the years lots of people have wandered to this little corner of the globe and just got stuck--they never left. They took off their clothes, downed tools and refused to leave. 

Within hours we understood their decision. The beach itself is a sheltered 2km stretch of sea and golden sand. Wooden structure beach bars dot the landscape but not in an overbearing way. The road feeding into the town is not particularly over-trafficked. It's a mostly cash economy, which got us into a bit of trouble when the town's only ATM stopped working.

Since we arrived on Easter weekend, the beach was packed, a term I use loosely, with Mexico City's sun seekers. By Monday, most of them had left and we had the beach largely to ourselves. Paul and I took to our regular spot, under a rattan roof-like umbrella and made friends with a gay couple from CDMX. Putting my crap Spanish to use again, we struck up several days' worth of unconventional conversations and even waved our friends goodbye when they checked out before us. 

We spent our days reading books on the beach, wandering the strip of sand, having massages and taking the occasional yoga class. Paul dabbled in public nudity. No one even blinked. It's a hard feeling to put into words but Zipolite gave me confidence and peace. Go naked or don't. Eat lots of food or don't. Just be who you are. I've never had quite that beach experience before.

We briefly wandered off the sand into 'town', another very low-key experience.

The most activity we found ourselves doing was walking to the other end of the beach and partaking in a sundowner at sunset. 

Our time in Zipolite drew to an end far too soon but Paul did agree that it was the Mexico of his imagination. We settled the bill with our hotel (who gratefully did accept credit cards) and made the reverse journey back to the airport and then up to Mexico City for two final days of wandering before a flight back to London. I'm generally not someone to travel back to the same place twice but I must admit that Zipolite is the kind of place I'd return to. Those ageing hippies got it right--stay, relax, enjoy watching the world go by.