Between my month-long stay in Valencia, Spain, and the date that I was to meet a friend in Italy, I had a two-week window. I initially thought I would go up the coast north of Barcelona. Then I changed my mind and my itinerary. When visiting with some Spaniards, they mentioned skiing in Andorra. Who doesn’t love a tiny country? I had previously visited Luxembourg, such a cute, pint-sized country. Andorra had been on my to-do list. Time to go there. The beginning of November was too early for skiing, but being shoulder season, it was a great time to get a bargain rate on a hotel room. Hotel de L’Isard is located on Avenida Meritxell, one of the main drags in Andorra la Vella. After the three-hour bus ride from Barcelona and a steep climb up the hill, I arrived at the cozy, family-owned hotel. Remember, I mostly stay in small rental apartments, but sometimes the change to a hotel is refreshing. The remainder of this post is a photo dump of Andorra la Vella. I highly recommend a stop if you are in northeastern Spain.
Bus window shot on the way to AndorraCharming Hotel for less than $100/nightChestnuts roasting…It was chilly, just above freezing.St. Steven Chruch at nightMorning river walkTea and perhaps the World’s best gluten-free pastry with Frida at 0% GlutenA city of many sculpturesHouse of the Vall MuseumBicycle Museum: Bici LabOld TownSola Irrigation Canal Trail up above the cityGardens below the Sola Irrigation trailThese photos just scratch the surface. So much to see and do in Andorra la Vella!
Cab drivers in Spain are an interesting group of people. Occasionally you will get the silent one, but most of the time, they like to chat. Some love to tell you about their city and the places you should visit, and some will suggest other towns you must see. They are usually a thoughtful and kind-hearted group of people.
A couple of weeks ago, I met a driver who was an artist and author. We talked about writing, and I told him I dabbled a bit. He gave me his business card and encouraged me to go on a writing retreat in the future. (Add that to the to-do list.)
Last week, I brought my friend to Madrid for a couple of days before she headed back to the US. I got up early with her and called a cab at 2:45 in the morning. Then I went back to sleep for a few hours and called my own taxi to the train station. Usually, I would save money and take the bus or Metro, but rest felt like a better option! It took about ten minutes for the driver to arrive. He explained that the traffic was terrible, and he had done his best. I thought I had given myself enough of a traffic buffer when I summoned him with the app, but I was beginning to panic a little as we drove. He asked me what time my train was, and I said, “10:15.” He assured me that he would get me there in time to have a cup of coffee before getting on the train. He skillfully dashed in and out of traffic without making me feel unsafe.
He was right. We arrived at 9:57. I had plenty of time to get through security and board my train.
When I arrived in Sitges today, I decided to get groceries first since it looked like the apartment I’d be staying in was a way out of town. (Funny. I was sure I had carefully chosen a place within close walking distance, but that’s another story.) I was rather loaded down with my backpack, suitcase, and two bags of groceries. My Cabify App would not work in Sitges, so I went to the taxi stand.
Beautiful Sitges!
The driver who picked me up seemed happy to see me, almost as if we were old friends. We chatted a bit as we drove, and then I heard him sigh. I asked if he was tired. He then unloaded on me a bit about how hard it is to drive a cab and work with the public. I told him that I could relate. I had just retired from teaching. He then became enthusiastic and told me he has three children, 17, 19, and 24. He has insisted that they all receive some higher education to have a better life than he has. He commended me for teaching and congratulated me on my retirement. We found out that we are the same age, too. I felt like I had made a new friend.
The office where I checked in for the rental apartment was at least a mile from the apartment. It was a long walk!
Tomorrow, I leave the apartment I’ve been renting in Valencia for the past four weeks. Yes, I’m a bit sad, as this has become like home. Since I started my wandering life four months ago, this has been my most extended stay in one place.
What will I miss most? The sounds.
There is a daycare center nearby. On weekdays, I hear the children playing and laughing.
There is a church in the distance whose bells ring at off times. I find it delightful that no one has bothered to fix them.
People talking in the street. (Okay, not the 3:00 AM conversations.) Sometimes I hear the excitement in their voices.
Music from the church across the street. It is a relatively new church without a bell tower. On Sundays, Mass is offered several times a day. I love hearing the hymns.
The cars and busses on the boulevard around the corner. I think about everyone headed here and there, to work, to school, and home for lunch.
I have never felt lonely in this apartment because so much is happening around me.
The Avenue around the corner form my Valencia apartment
What else will I miss?
Francisco (Frank), my neighborhood produce guy. He always strikes up a friendly conversation when I stop in. I went down to say goodbye to him this morning. (He opens until 2:00 on Sundays since the supermarket is closed.) He teared up a bit. I think I did, too.
The ability to walk to so many beautiful places. I have never lived centrally located in a major city. Within a twenty-minute walk, I could visit many of the significant sights in Valencia, from the city center to the Arts and Sciences area and from the train station to several parks. Aside from that, I could easily get on a bus to the beach or a metro to places further out.
Valencia’s Central ParkOctober sunshine in Valencia’s Central Park
I’m really not a city person. Maybe that’s why I have embraced the change.
View of la Plaza Redonda from Torres de QuartMonfort Garden
When you travel for several weeks, or in my case, months at a time, there is a certain pressure to go and see things every day. After all, I’m in a new city, state, or country; I can’t just sit around and read a book all day. There is always some downtime in the evenings—usually required due to aching feet—which is certainly welcome. But I absolutely treasure days when I have no particular agenda.
My days in Valencia are numbered. Today is Thursday, and I leave Monday morning. You might think I would be rushing around to see and do things before I go, but I’ve been here for almost a month. I have seen much and don’t feel any pressure to see or do more. I do need to do some shopping, but that’s it. I can get to that later.
One of my favorite features of the Valencia apartment: the tiny balcony
So today, I’m enjoying the ultimate leisurely morning.
I love breakfast. I wake up starving every day. Believe me, I consider myself lucky to have a strong metabolism at my age. (By the way, my dream man would wake up just a bit earlier than I and serve me a splendid offering of fruit, tea, and an omelet. That’s not asking too much, is it?)
Today, I got up, put on the tea water, peeled a Mandarin orange, and took some blueberries out of the frig. So, here’s the quirky part: I eat my fruit and drink my tea first. Then, ideally, I wait thirty minutes or so to eat breakfast, part two, the omelet, or whatever I’m craving that morning. (Today’s consisted of bacon, mushroom, and avocado with a small slice of Spanish tortilla on the side.) Then I finished with a second cup of tea, my vitamins, and a small piece of chocolate. I guess that’s another quirk. Dark chocolate is my coffee replacement.
I also ran a load of laundry at one point and will get into my morning yoga routine after I finish writing.
It may be noon before I get out the door. But I remind myself that I’m free. I’m no longer tied to the intense schedule of a classroom teacher. As my friend the produce man said, I’m “living.” I get to choose how to spend my days. And I cherish each one of them.
I went into the city that afternoon to buy a new suitcase and boots.
Today I arrived back at my apartment in Valencia after spending a couple of days in Madrid with a friend who was visiting over the past two weeks. Returning to a place that feels like home after being so busy playing tour guide was a relief. I had a free afternoon to do whatever I wanted. My friend here in Valencia, who recently moved here full-time from the US, had suggested that I spend as much time as possible walking around the city to get a feel for streets and neighborhoods. Now that I have been to almost every church, museum, park, and cultural monument in the city, I can slow down and stroll around these last few days before continuing north. I decided to walk down some streets in the local Ruzafa (Russafa) neighborhood. I stopped at a clothing shop and picked up a nightgown for later in the journey when I will meet up with an old friend for a couple of weeks. It was fun to walk into, rather than by, one of those local clothing shops that sells cotton granny panties, bras, pajamas, and bathrobes. The woman asked what size, and I said, “medium?” She asked if it was for me, and I confirmed (in Spanish, of course). She agreed that medium would be fine and showed me five options with short and long sleeves in my size. I picked a long-sleeved cotton one that was a bargain at ten euros.
I then spotted Saint Valero and San Vicente church just behind the Ruzafa Market. I had never ventured beyond the market because every time before, my hands were full of groceries, and I needed to get them home. It’s a lovely old church, and I sure wish it had been open. I wonder if it is the church whose bells ring at the wrong time all day long.
As I continued toward the apartment, I walked by more shops and restaurants that were local hangouts. I can see why Ruzafa (Russafa) has become a popular place to live. It’s close to downtown, but not too close, and still has that cozy neighborhood feel. Far from perfect and polished, yet welcoming.
As I sit here typing, those familiar bells ring in the distance. It’s 8:23, right on time.
Today my friend and I went up to Port Sapalaya. It’s a coastal community just north of Valencia, where the houses are built along canals. It’s known as the “Venice of Valencia.” Indeed, someone had a clever idea in creating it. The residents can safely store their boats alongside their homes and cruise out to enjoy the Mediterranean in minutes. Some houses are two- or three-story while others are pisos or one-level apartments.
We enjoyed our stroll through the neighborhood and took in the beauty of flowers blooming in October.
Then it was time to find some lunch. Since we’re now into the off-season, the restaurant wasn’t crowded. We struggled to communicate with the non-English-speaking waiter because the online menu was stuck in English; I couldn’t get it to flip over to Spanish to place the order. An older couple from the table next to us stood up to help. They spoke a bit of English, and I ensured we were getting what we wanted for lunch. I thought the two of them must have been the restaurant’s owners or managers.
My friend wanted to try a glass of the amber-colored rosé that was on the table, but it was only available by the bottle. They offered red or white wine by the glass. Since they didn’t have any gluten-free beer, and they were trying to talk us into a bottle, I said, “Sure, why not?” Neither of us is a big drinker; we hadn’t yet splurged on drinks.
The funny thing was that the server brought a completely different bottle of wine to the table. My friend was initially disappointed because she wanted to try the other wine. The manager said that we could try it, and they would take it back if we didn’t like it. It was delicious, a little sweet, but light. Perfect for a warm afternoon at the beach.
Seeing that we were happy, our hostess began to chat with us, in Spanish, of course! (My friend doesn’t speak Spanish.) Our hostess told us how we needed to enjoy our retirement years because who knows how many years we have left? Her advice was to get up every morning, give yourself a virtual kiss, and say that you are a princess. In the evening, you must go out, drink wine, dance, and “brin-brin.” (I’m still not exactly sure what brin-brin means, but I felt like it meant to sparkle.) She kept talking and talking. Would she leave before our food arrived?
Finally, she said she needed to go prepare our food and left. Clearly, she wasn’t the chef because she found another table to chat up.
She was 77 years old and looked like she was in her 50s. Maybe we should all heed her advice.
We enjoyed our leisurely seafood lunch and sipped that delicious wine in the afternoon sun. Afterward, we strolled down the beach to the city beach of Valencia. The wind picked up, and the clouds came in as we walked, creating artful skies. It even sprinkled a bit, a glorious afternoon!
This picture has nothing to do with this post except that it’s in Valencia, Spain.
This morning I walked to the Ruzafa market to pick up the produce on my list and maybe a little meat. (I wanted to have an abundance of food on hand for my friend who is arriving this afternoon.) It was 10:00, but it was quiet for a Wednesday. Some shops were closed, and others were open. Hm…
When I reached the market, I remembered that today was a national holiday. Not to worry—I have enough food on hand. I stopped at a little health food store/bakery and got some avocados. They didn’t have much gluten-free stuff, but there were some interesting items, and the woman working there was friendly. Finally, I checked to see if the Consum grocery store was open. Nope.
On my street, there is a small fruit and vegetable shop. I stopped there the evening I arrived, and the owner scared me off a bit. I had forgotten eggs at the grocery store and was going to grab a half dozen from him. They seemed expensive—2.20 euros. I only had a 20, and he didn’t have the correct change. I didn’t have anything smaller. He told me to take the eggs, and I could pay him later. His delivery was a bit abrupt, though, and I got nervous. I decided to go without the eggs until the next day.
So, the veggie man’s shop was the only other place where I could pick up some produce today. I walked in and grabbed a lemon and some bananas. Then he asked if I wanted any spinach. Oh, he’s hiding some vegetables in the back! I asked if he had broccoli. He opened a refrigerator, and there were two beautiful broccoli crowns. Forget the spinach.
Then he asked where I was from and how long I would be staying in Valencia. We talked about the differences between the US and Spain. He understood that it was more stressful to live in the US. In fact, he brought it up. I told him I had visited Spain several times and studied here twice. Then he grabbed his map from the top drawer and suggested places to see on the Mediterranean Coast. Very kind of him! He also complimented my Spanish and thought it was great that I was “living” and enjoying my travels. Who needs the big market? The veggie man just got a new customer.
I’m truly enjoying my time in Valencia despite my aching feet. Since visiting with the Spanish family last weekend, I have probably been thinking too much about where I want to live when I return next year. In fact, I’m a bit obsessed. I keep researching smaller towns in eastern Spain. Then I look at the real estate sites. But do I really want to live in a small town? Won’t I get bored? Would I have social life? Is there a city that is big enough but not too big? If I were closer to the mountains, I could ski…
Valencia’s Botanical Garden
Then I worry about Valencia being too noisy for me. In some ways, I like the noise. I never feel entirely alone. Other neighborhoods would be quieter, though. I like the botanical garden. What if I could get an apartment that backs on the garden? That would be sweet!
My friends talked about the possibility of finding an area that was accessible by metro on the outskirts of the city. But again, I don’t want to live in the suburbs, and when people visit, they want to see the city.
Now, do you understand what I’ve been going through? I know. It has to be where I want to live. Don’t choose your home based on potential visitors.
How many Airbnb’s have a bookcase like this?
I fell in love with this apartment the moment I walked in. It has super-high ceilings, over ten feet, more like twelve. The desk sits in front of the “wall of windows.” I love the natural daylight, but I have the privacy of frosted and colored glass. Throughout the apartment, the walls are bright white with sparse décor. It’s clean and happy without being cluttered. The preserved original tile mosaic floors are charming, as are many other details in this turn-of-the-century home. I couldn’t imagine a better place to write. And the built-in bookcase has some interesting reading material. It would be great if the owner were willing to lease it to me at a lower rate for a longer term.
Sometimes the Universe, God, or our higher power hears us. Yesterday, I received a message from my host:
Hi Shannon.
Hope you are well, I wanted to ask you because I thought I understood that you wanted to stay longer in Valencia (maybe you were thinking of staying a year, or am I wrong?).
I mention it because I’m interested in long-term rentals and you might be interested in staying at my house longer.
We then proceeded to message back and forth. Me with questions and he with answers. He’s looking at the numbers and has promised to get back to me with a price and terms. I’ll stop obsessing for a while.
January 24, 2023
By the time my month-long stay in Valencia had ended, I had come to an important realization. I’m not ready to settle in one spot—adventure is what I want now.
Cape Sagres, Portugal
When my host got back to me with a number, I had already decided to continue my wandering life. There’s so much more of the world that I want to see. I’ve loved Costa Rica for decades, but somehow, I have never visited. Machu Pichu, the Galapagos…the list goes on.
I have to confess that I’m not a huge paella fan. I love a Spanish tortilla, some olives, flan, and jamón, but I’m not a big rice fan. It just feels like filler. In fact, the rice dish I had in a restaurant recently was a lot of rice and a little meat and vegetables. I prefer to fill up on healthier things. Today, my high school friend, who is in Valencia for a week, invited me to join her and her husband on a visit to her “Spanish family.” I felt honored to tag along to meet her Spanish mom and brother and his family. They had just bought a house outside the city, and it even had a pool in the backyard! And her brother’s wife was making paella for us. The house was beautiful; I could see how proud they were of their new place. They had enjoyed spending time there this summer, and the two teenage girls loved the pool and the ample space of the house. She had some of the ingredients out for the paella: artichokes and giant beans. Already, it promised to be a different kind of paella. After some social time and appetizers, she got out the gas burner and paella pan. The pan was almost two feet wide. She considered using a bigger one but decided this would be big enough for eight people.
Lots of olive oil, chicken pieces, and green beans… Then add the artichoke hearts.Spanish paprika and tomato sauce (She uses turmeric instead of saffron.)Add rice (I missed that picture!) and sauté. Then add chicken broth and simmer.A sprig of rosemary is a must!
In the end, there was plenty for all. Everyone had seconds or thirds, including me. As you can see from the photos, it was delicious! It may have tasted better combined with good company.
Yesterday there was rain in the forecast. The skies were cloudy, and a few drops fell here and there. I enjoyed a three-hour Spanish lunch with an old friend from high school and three of her Spanish friends. The most expressive of the group kept joking about the threat of rain, saying things like, “I think four drops just fell.”
Murals in the neighborhood where we had lunch (near the port)
Throughout the afternoon, it was like that, a little spit from the sky here and there.
After I arrived home, I decided an early evening walk was needed to work off the three-course lunch. The spit turned into a steady sprinkle, and once I sat down for a light dinner of soup and salad, it was legitimately raining.
Making the most of the fresh produce from Ruzafa Market
It rained steadily through the night, and I woke up to that familiar pitter-patter of perfect rainfall this morning—not an out-and-out downpour, but pleasant, steady drops that require a rain jacket or umbrella.
Valencia needed a shower in the worst way. Just yesterday, my friend commented that the streets seemed dirtier than she remembered. She was concerned that her favorite Spanish city was going downhill.
At lunch, her Spanish friends told us about the rising electricity cost and water scarcity. I imagine people aren’t going out and washing down the sidewalks in front of their businesses as Spanish usually do. Also, dog ownership grew dramatically during the pandemic. Even though most people clean up after their pets, there is residue of poop and pee. It all made sense now.
The rain is supposed to taper off by 9:00 or so. After I finish this second cup of tea, it looks like a good day for the archaeological museum.
Valencia’s Archeological Musem is not to be missed. You’ll want to see what is under the water feature!
Wandering Shannon 