Hola Valencia
It was time to go on the next leg of our trip to Valencia, a city that I knew nothing about, apart from my mate Dave saying that it was “nice”. We had breakfast in the wonderful Roccablanca, and had churros and coffee, a breakfast that is both bad and good at the same time.
The train journey was dull, but I had a great book called “10% human” which is about all the bacteria that live inside of us. It wasn’t a page turner, and will never be made into a film starring Jennifer Lawrence, but it’s the nerdy kind of science book I (and a handful of other geeks) enjoy. I kept saying to Julie “did you know that..” and see her eyes roll ready for the next dull fact about gut bacteria.
From Sorolla station, we got a 27 bus to the Central Market and then found our way (using Google Maps) to our apartment at 12 Carrer de Naquera. In Madrid, the streets are called “Calle” in Valencia they are called “Carrer” because the local language is Valencian, which is a dialect of Catalan. Francisco, the owner, met us outside the flat and showed us up the ninety five steps up in the loft of a Victorian building. I think the phrase “bloody lovely” would be enough to cover the description. It was furnished tastefully from Ikea, had a big comfy bed, an induction hob in the kitchen and a fabulous roof terrace overlooking the Torres de Serrano, a fortified gate to the old city.
We had a late lunch in a restaurant, an indifferent paella containing chicken legs and sea snails of some sort. Valencia is the home of paella because the rice is grown close by, but it isn’t that great in cheap restaurants. The rest of the afternoon was spent chillin’ on the terrace and watching the mortals below.
Since the flat had a kitchen we decided to dine in and got a pizza in the local Carrefour Express, which is like a Tesco Express with more jamon and fewer biscuits. I made us a nice tomato and leaf salad to go with it, but the discovered a basic flaw, in my plan, there was no oven. So I fried the pizza in a griddle pan, which worked until I had to turn it over and the topping welded to the pan. I scraped it off and put it back on again, but Jamie Oliver would have been outraged. The end result was sort-of OK, but I don’t want to eat it again.
timharnesstravels 
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