Inadvertent Meeting
We arrive in Valencia, Spain on a balmy late afternoon. The taxi driver is not happy when we ask him to take us to Torres de Serranos, the old city gate, where our apartment is located. We soon find out why. Tonight marks the beginning of the biggest fiesta of the year in Valencia, the Fallas, and our apartment sits above the square where the opening ceremony is to take place. The Fallas are all about fireworks and firecrackers and fires. The streets are barricaded and our taxi is unable to get near the towers so he drops us off as close as he can get. We walk with our packs, dodging intergenerational groups of neighbors and families and friends all merging onto the bridge that leads to the towers. Finally, we descend below the bridge to the garden, cross over to a further set of stairs, and eventually arrive through the back alley. But our landlord who was supposed to meet us forty-five minutes ago is nowhere to be found and as we try to regroup and decide what to do, young boys are setting off firecrackers right down the street.
We walk two doors down to try to get wifi and ask to borrow a phone from the business owner of a segway rental but no luck. Instead, we head to the nearest watering hole, Cafe de las Flores, where both of the servers do all they can to help us out and make us feel at home. At an outdoor table, we drop our bags and drink our first glass of Valencian wine, eat some olives and roasted almonds and slow down to Spanish time. We remember the easy, don’t worry attitude that is part of the culture here. From our chairs in this pedestrian street, we take in the towering fireworks above us. Finally, I return to the apartment and find the landlord and we have our keys in hand. After a long day of travel, it feels good to be back in a familiar place, our home away from home in Valencia.
A week flies by. Varied and delicious tapas, paella, walks around the old city and the new city and along the Mediterranean, the hourly ringing of the bells, intricate street art, the history that the stone buildings around us carry, the decorations that adorn the streets for the Fallas fiesta and more wine: we soak it all in. Along with the sun and wind and balmy weather, we slowly relax and let go.
On our last day, we return to the local 13th century convent now transformed into a contemporary art center. As we follow the old cloister walls, we come upon an artist working on a mural. I think I recognize the art. It looks quite similar to street art I have seen in the heart of the old city and that I really like signed by the artist Disneylexia. We walk through a few other installations but I need to return and watch him at work. Finally, I get up my courage and get his attention. He takes off his earphones, pauses in his painting, and I ask, “Are you Disneylexya?” “Yes, I am,” he replies. I tell him how much I have enjoyed his work, he thanks me and off I go, happy to have met him and put a face to his art.
Tomorrow, we leave for our next destination. In my heart, I will carry all the images of the past week and on my face a smile from my inadvertent meeting with the artist Disneylexya.
