[NOTE: To enlarge any image, right click it and choose “Open image in New Tab” or similar.
From Castellón, it’s only about an hour to my next stop, Valencia, and I zip down the highway, paying no attention to anything else, including my phone. On arrival at the home of my BeWelcome host, Ariel, I finally look at my messages and see the price of the delay in reading them. Although Ricard and I met for the express purpose of returning his apartment keys, we got so involved in talking that, at the end, I hopped up and drove off — without returning the keys! Ricard realized this within minutes and messaged me about my omission. Had I read it promptly, it would have been a minor diversion to go back and drop them off. But no, I paid no attention and it’s clear I now have to make the redundant 2-hour round trip. Estupido!
Ariel, comes from a multinational background, and speaks a variety of languages well. He works from his large, comfortable home, surrounded by agricultural fields.
Our conversation gradually turns mostly to English as my Spanish skills are quickly eclipsed. I have a comfortable, airy guest room and from the roof, the view is unobstructed in every direction. It’s a vegan household, always a bit of a challenge for a dairy lover like me. As the initial hours go by, I see there’s a steady trickle of interesting people coming and going.
Ariel and girlfriend, Claudia, are attending a philosophy discussion group this evening at a downtown bar. The topic is Consciousness and since it will be conducted in English, I decide to go along. At the venue, there are dozens of participants and we get divided into tables of about 6, each initiating their own little meeting. My group is quite interesting and a lot of time is devoted to trying to define the term. Nothing gets resolved, but the interaction among educated people is stimulating and fun.
Wednesday morning, I’m going to make the run to Ricard’s to return the keys, and Ariel says there is some good swimming not far from Castellón. He suggests we incorporate that side trip into the itinerary, so off we go. After 30 minutes or so in the bar with Ricard — and this time not forgetting to give him his keys — we head out of town to the Sitjar reservoir. Although it’s not a natural lake, it feels that way today by virtue of being 100% full — no “bathtub ring” of exposed mud. We stop at a picnic area along the shore and go for a long swim. The clear water, while not exactly warm, is far from cold and feels clean and refreshing. Finished, we drive around the rest of the lake/reservoir. While swimming I notice that although my cold symptoms are gone, except for the occasional cough, my energy is noticeably low, so I’m still fighting off something.
Thursday, Ariel, Claudia, and I go for a hike in some coastal hills along the Camí de Bonilles trail. The lower elevations are lightly forested and the higher terrain is bone dry with only sparse trees. In some areas the trail is lined with thickets of rosemary, one of my favorite herbs.
Although the shade temperature is very reasonable, the sun is strong, so I go into cockroach mode, scrambling from one spot of shade to the next and recovering my heat balance. My water consumption is unusually high but the views are extensive. We limit the hike to about 6 km to prevent me from becoming just puddle of sweat. I am such a heat weenie.
After the hike, Ariel guides us to a Valencia neighborhood famous for horchata, one of my all time favorite beverages. It’s a water extract of the tuber of chufa, or tiger nut, growing widely across the Eastern Hemisphere, but uncommon in the west. In the US, horchata is mostly found in Mexican restaurants. Today, I’m in the cradle of horchata, indeed on Horchata Avenue itself, home to a selection of well known horchata cafes. Ariel and I each order a liter of the beverage, with ice on the side. I am in heaven, sitting in the shade sipping away at an unending, frigid supply of my favorite drink. I get a small bag of unprocessed chufa as a souvenir.
As we sit outdoors, a person walks up soliciting donations for a charity. He has a professionally produced information sheet, but I get the feeling he’s a fraud. Claudia gives him 10€, though. After he walks off, Ariel calls the number on the sheet and determines that the solicitor isn’t associated with them and has scammed us. Getting in the car, we chase him down and Ariel retrieves the donation. Good for him.
I should say here that throughout my visit, Ariel was dealing with a rapidly escalating household crisis about which, for privacy reasons, I will say nothing further. However, given the severity, it was extraordinarily generous of him to have me stay 4 nights. In similar circumstances, I might have said, “Things are falling apart here. It’s better if you move on immediately.”
On Friday, Good Friday, I head out on my own northward toward an area my son, Eric, has recommended as scenic but not over-touristed. As I drive and choose a specific trailhead, I realize it’s too far for this time of day. Impulsively, I follow a brown sign (these generally point to tourist towns or natural areas) marked Montanejos. The road winds up into picturesque hills and pine forests. As I approach the town, the roadside is lined with parked cars and RVs, with no obvious attraction. Thinking perhaps there are secret swimming holes in the canyon, I ask a driver and she says, no, these vehicles park here because Montanejos is full. Now I’m, intrigued. Whatever is there obviously makes parking 2 or 3 km, away worthwhile. I continue on into town and easily find a place to park. I’m now aware that one of Montanejos’ attractions is public river swimming, a locale named Fuente de los Baños. I’ve parked at the wrong end of town, so a leisurely 2 km walk through hilly streets gets me there. There is an entrance fee, but no one seems to be selling or collecting tickets today, so I follow the busy path down to the water.
I find a pavilion and river beach at the mouth of a steep walled canyon just upstream. There are some hundreds of visitors but I imagine in summer it’s far more intense. Ignoring regulatory signs prohibiting most activities, “No food, no ball playing, no…..”, people are having a grand time sharing trays of home made food, kicking football (soccer) balls along the beach, and lounging about in various levels of undress. I go into the water, which turns out to be never more than chest deep, but adequate for swimming. The slow current gives some hope that it’s clean, but judging by the number of bathers, including many children, I suspect the water is at least 1% urine. Nonetheless, it’s a really nice experience on a hot day.
Once out of the water, I walk back via a streamside promenade and then climb steeply toward the car, with a supermarket stop to pick up some non-vegan picnic food — meat, cheese, bread, and some of the worst chemical “fruit” drink imaginable — which I devour with dispatch. I arrive back at Ariel’s in late afternoon.
There is a literary “open mic” in Valencia tonight and Ariel asked me yesterday if I’d like to hear him and friend, Arthur, perform. I agreed, but during yesterday’s hike, Ariel received a text from the organizer, imposing substantial prohibitions on what people could say. The text was:
Free speech absolutist that I am, I reacted strongly to this and said I wouldn’t attend an event that imposed prior restraint on speech. “Triggers” is a word that triggers me [grin]. Ariel, who also rails at the rules, urges me to come along and make a statement objecting to the instructions. This has some appeal, so I spend about 30 minutes writing a short objection piece with some humor. As the 7 PM start time approaches, I bus into downtown Valencia to meet Ariel. The speaking order is chosen at random from a bowl, and the limit Is 3 minutes, except Cata, the organizer of the event series, gets to go first and, despite her stern warnings, neither she nor most of the speakers adhere even vaguely to the time limit. Arthur and Ariel do two long dialogs. In Arthur’s mind, they’re comedy sketches (prohibited by a separate rule) but both way too esoteric for my brain.
Near the end, it’s my turn and I start my expression of indignation at the topics and styles that Cata has prohibited in the name, presumably, of non-controversy. As soon as she realizes where I’m going in response to her declarations, she asks me to leave the stage. Ariel is disappointed that I acquiesce, but it’s not my event, so I do.
Saturday morning, I pack up and head south. It’s been a very hospitable, if unusual, visit.
