The Holy Grail (Valencia Old Town)

And Hurricane Gabrielle has left the building, dear reader. The day dawned bright and beautiful with cracking blue skies. The perfect day to visit Old Town of Valencia. We had discussed this previously with the conçierge and he recommended the Metro as the walk could take around 50 minutes. On such a stunning day and still needing to work off the excesses of the Catalonia tour, we opted to walk. After breakfast of course.

The walk to the second gate of the Old Town took a little over 35 minutes but no doubt, more time would be required if we walked to the far end to work our way back home. The gates, like many of the buildings in Old Town, are difficult to frame in a photograph because of their size and the need to shoot long and wide. Clearly that is not always possible and it introduces the problem of too many people in my photos. Still, I did the best I could.

Shell marks are clearly visible.

The gates are all that remains of the old fortification. The city walls have come tumbling down but two of the original gates remain. The other is in better condition. This one bears the scars of warfare.

We went old school and used a paper map to navigate the precinct. First stop was the Silk Exchange. What a grand building to be conducting trade in. The garden was tranquil, well, it would have been if not for the multiple school groups and coach tours. 

The contract room.

The chapel and its stained glass window pale into insignificance next to the contract room. A space with vaulted ceilings and massive columns. Silk was obviously big business. The Consulate of the Sea, whatever that means, was upstairs and had an ornate carved ceiling.

The ceiling in the Consulate of the Sea.

Again, the building was on such a grand scale that it was impossible to capture in one photo.

The Silk Exchange.

From the exchange we explored the Central Mercado or Central Market, another huge building. It is, as the name suggests, a market for fresh produce. There were stalls selling fresh meats, seafood, nuts, sweets, fruit, vegetables, cheese, cured meats, bakery items, gelato, and premade rolls. I'm pretty sure if you can eat it, you will find it here.

The market.

The centre ceiling is a dome, of course, and is magnificent. It was reasonably crowded with tourists although there were plenty of locals shopping for their dinner.

The cupola in the centre of the market.

At this stage, it was necessary to pause momentarily for a lunchtime beer in the shade. As welcome as the sun was, it was getting quite warm. We found a less crowded café not far from the markets and settled in to regather our energy. Happily no one smoked. Unhappily a man arrived with a guitar and shattered the peace by serenading the tables. Rock Around the Clock and Love Me Tender, not quite our demographic. He departed after two songs. I'm not sure how successful he was, I didn't see anyone contribute to his waiting hat.

The Old Town is really quite grand and everywhere you looked was a photo opportunity. Many of the old buildings have been well preserved and are beautifully presented. There are parks and gardens and a rather statuesque Town Hall building, complete with the batman symbol. Not really, but the emblem for Valencia is a bat and it does look like the one used by Commissioner Gordon or on a bottle of Bacardi.

The Town Hall.

Beyond the Town Hall were the former bull fighting ring and Central Station North. They were on the very edge of the Old Town. Traffic, cars and people, had notably increased in this area.

The bullfighting arena.

Turning our backs on bullfighting as the Spanish did in the 1970s, we mapped our course for the Cathedral and came across more spectacular buildings. Mostly they were banks. That figures, plenty of cash to splash.

The Bank of Valencia.

There were a number of churches passed before we made it to the Cathedral. Well, we are in Spain. One, the church of San Juan De la Cruz had the usual domed ceilings, but had around 9 side altars. Five down one side and four on the other; one gave way to become a doorway. The church itself contained numerous ceramic tiles, one of the most important collections in Spain.

Ceramic tiles depicting a story.

We edged ever nearer to the Cathedral past the bell tower of another church. Finally we arrived to discover there was a €10 entry fee. That was general entry, if you wanted a guided tour the price doubled. That's about $36 for both of us to walk around inside a Cathedral. Yeah, nah.

The Cathedral.

We sat in the shade to reconsider our plans. I wandered away to snap a few more photos while Jayne eavesdropped on the English tour guide, speaking to the couple seated nearby. From memory, everyone is searching for the Holy Grail. Certainly Monty Python were, as was Indiana Jones and I believe Dan Brown in the Da Vinci Code - never read it or saw the movie. I have standards to maintain. Anyway, they should have looked here, it's in the Cathedral, the Holy Grail. Hence today's title by the Hunter's and Collectors.

I know you are sceptical, dear reader, but no, it is true. Google has verified it. And so has the Vatican, allegedly. I struggle with the concept of a golden chalice decorated with pearls in the time of Jesus. I mean, using something like that instead of stone or wood rather flies in the face of everything for which he stood. Just saying.

Roman ruins below?

From the Cathedral precinct we walked towards the other gate in the former wall in order to orient ourselves to find Plaça del Carmen, an area of street art and quaint shops. On the way we passed a viewing platform that was covered in water that protected the site of some Roman ruins. Well, that was the story, we couldn't see through the water so I'm not sure what was underneath.

The gate appeared beside one of the main thoroughfares and as I indicated, it had been restored to its former glory. It was getting late in the afternoon and we had decided not to eat dinner tonight so we went looking for El Tap, a restaurant that had been recommended by friends. It was found, but alas, it was not opening until 8pm, by which time we would be long home.

Gate number 1.

We did discover Plaça del Carmen but the street art? Well, there is a fine line between street art and graffiti. After a while, we did see murals that we would consider street art but the quaint shops eluded us. Either that or they weren't open.

We were now in the university sector and stopped at a Tapas bar for another beer, hydration purposes only, and a couple of plates, before we made the ill considered decision to walk back to the hotel. It was about 3km, but it was quite hot and while the Spanish sun doesn't burn, its heat bites deeply.

Street Art.

Anyway, we survived and recovered in our air conditioned room before venturing up to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset on Valencia and our time here.

Tomorrow is a transit day. Yay. On a positive note, I have rejigged the system in the car so it now speaks English and have synced my phone so we can use Waze for navigation on the big screen. 

Until next time.

 

Life styles of the rich and famous (Port Douglas)

Yes, dear reader this post will cover both New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. Why, you ask? Well, nothing much happened aside from relaxing, eating and drinking. And today's title? Thankyou to Good Charlotte circa 2002. Well, somewhere in advertising they suggested that the rich and famous all end up at Port Douglas, so you may never know who you will see around here. My problem is I wouldn't recognise them. And if I did, hey, I'm Australian, so I won't acknowledge them anyway.

Following our big day tour of the Daintree and surrounds we thought we might have a chilled day close to home. Sunday is market day in Port Douglas so after a leisurely breakfast by the pool we applied sunscreen (yuk) and hats and sweated our way toward the far end of Macrossan Street where the market stalls inhabited the park. It was all one way traffic and, at one point, the path was blocked by people making a decision about whether they would enter a shop. As we stepped around the women, the man with them apologised. "Was that John Hewson?" Jayne asked. And yes it was.

The markets were remarkable by being unremarkable. Although they did have a slight FNQ flavour, I'm sure markets around Byron Bay would be similar. There were henna artists creating pseudo tattoos (for the sensible), tarot card readings, palm readings all the usual shysters. There were also massage therapists using crystals, hot stones and the like, and one stall offering Thai massage. It was quite open so I'm not sure how they ended the massage; perhaps not in the traditional Thai way. Not happy Jan.

There were the usual stalls all selling the same style of jewellery. The more noticeable one here was red coral, but sharks' teeth and crocodile teeth were also prominent. There were clothes, coffee, carved timber, an indigenous set up with boomerangs and the usual tourist draw cards. Not a lot of fresh produce except for it being squeezed into cups of juice or frozen, refreshing on a hot, humid day.

Being enticed to purchase nothing more than a cup of freshly squeezed OJ we turned back toward the main street and home, where once again we saw John Hewson.

The front of the hotel. The bar area.

Back to the hotel and the beach side bar to sit in the shade and enjoy lunch with a beer or two while I blogged, Jayne read and the day drifted toward fireworks. Yes, they have them up here too, one session at 8:30p.m. and another at midnight. I think fireworks might define us as Australian.

Post lunch and after a nana-nap (hey, it's tiring being on holiday), we went for a walk along the beach and watched a stupid tourist testing the theory about box jelly fish and crocodiles. Sadly for the gene pool, he lived, but perhaps only because his six year old daughter was becoming increasingly frantic with her cries for her father to come out, the further into the water he went. Watching the Osprey catching fish was far more interesting and there were several games of beach cricket being played.

The Low Isles

By now it was time to dress for dinner. We ate at our hotel because we hadn't got around to booking anywhere else. This was fine because the food here is great, the wine inexpensive and the view to the Coral Sea (with breeze) in interrupted only by park and trees. The meal was lovely: a massive antipasto plate for entree, followed by perfectly cooked rib-eye fillet. I didn't need dessert, but i had it anyway and then thought I was going to explode like Mr Creosote of Monty Python fame (google that one kids).

The 8:30p.m. fireworks were going off as we went to bed and I heard the midnight fireworks as well as the illegal ones later in the night. Happy new year dear reader, I hope you have a wonderful 2018.

The new year dawned as has every other day since we arrived in Port Douglas. The early morning cloud burnt off quickly and the forecast storms have been pushed back another day. After the regular breakfast by the pool and new year chats with family on FB Messenger, we ventured into town to secure dinner for this evening. There was no guarantee as to what would be open or closed on New Year's Day.

We walked down to ANZAC Park where the markets were yesterday and which was also a prime position to watch last night's fireworks. Against all advice, in the water, up to his armpits was a man fishing. Clearly he was a local. Really? Have I been conned all this time about the dangers of being in the water up here at this time of year?

After pointlessly waiting for the fisherman to attacked by crocodiles or box jelly fish, we walked across the park to book for dinner at On the Inlet, the next on our recommended list of restaurants. Except they were not open. No note on the door, just closed. We then set out for our next choice, Salsa, except, stupidly, I believed my geographically challenged wife and turned in a direction away from the restaurant. So, Watergate, the next choice was located using Google. Dinner booking assured, we returned to the Court Hotel for refreshments and to phone my brother and wish him a happy new year.

It was pleasant at the Court, except for the Gen X people next to us who found it impossible to speak at normal volume. I kid you not, I could not hear what Jayne was saying when they were in full flight. At this point my beer was gone and it was time to replenish supplies so we moved to a different part of the beer garden where we could speak to each other without shouting. A cheese platter and a bottle of French rose was now the plan. Executed well.

Back to the hotel for some pool time and a nap before a beach walk and dinner.

Dinner tonight was at Watergate. Curiously I didn't see Nixon or Woodward and Bernstein. However, every other American in the country was there. Not that there is anything wrong wth that. I guess they would be drawn to a place named Watergate.

The restaurant is totally cool. It is a mixture of indoor and outdoor, bar and restaurant. The smell of citronella, which I assume is burning in each of the torches, pervades the air . The citronella and the indoor ceiling fans keep the mozzies at bay and also cool the place down - well the fans do, the torches add to the ambience.

This place has an eclectic menu and is seriously worth visiting. You can choose from meals with crocodile, cuttlefish and prawns for entree through to kangaroo, duck and fish for mains. Believe me, it is a lot more interesting than I have stated here. And tasty. Oh, yum.

And that is probably enough for today. I'm exhausted just eating and drinking my way through the day. Until tomorrow.