Winter 2026

 

Fallas During Monsoon Season

I was pedaling around for the first day of Fallas and happened upon this scene a block from my house. It made me laugh that they included an ambulance in the tableau, as if to warn kids of the dangers of bulls in the street, which, if you haven’t heard or seen, is actually a thing in Spain.

There were kids dressed up as doctors and nurses standing by, and one little guy in a suit told me he was the coroner. I thought that was going a bit too far, especially when he kept saying, "Forget the ambulance; call the meat wagon."

 

Perhaps my favorite Falla ever.

 The weather is still horrible.

Antediluvian photos:

 

Mediterraneo by Joan Manuel Serrat

 

Mediterráneo

por Joan Manuel Serrat

Quizás porque mi niñez
sigue jugando en tu playa
y escondido tras las cañas
duerme mi primer amor,
llevo tu luz y tu olor
por dondequiera que vaya,
y amontonado en tu arena
guardo amor, juegos y penas.

Yo, que en la piel tengo el sabor
amargo del llanto eterno
que han vertido en ti cien pueblos
de Algeciras a Estambul
para que pintes de azul
sus largas noches de invierno.
a fuerza de desventuras,
tu alma es profunda y oscura.

A tus atardeceres rojos
se acostumbraron mis ojos
como el recodo al camino.
soy cantor, soy embustero,
me gusta el juego y el vino,
tengo alma de marinero.

Qué le voy a hacer, si yo
nací en el mediterráneo.

Y te acercas, y te vas
después de besar mi aldea.
jugando con la marea
te vas, pensando en volver.
eres como una mujer
perfumadita de brea
que se añora y que se quiere
que se conoce y se teme.

Ay, si un día para mi mal
viene a buscarme la parca.
empujad al mar mi barca
con un levante otoñal
y dejad que el temporal
desguace sus alas blancas.
Y a mí enterradme sin duelo
entre la playa y el cielo...

En la ladera de un monte,
más alto que el horizonte.
quiero tener buena vista.
mi cuerpo será camino,
le daré verde a los pinos
y amarillo a la genista.
Cerca del mar. porque yo
nací en el mediterráneo.

Like everyone else who lives on the Mediterranean basin, I love this song. I wasn’t born on the Mediterranean, but I’ve spent a very good portion of my life living on its very edge. I love that through this song I learned the name of these gorgeous flowers, the genista, that I see on my bikes rides along the coast here.

Genista

File Under: Learn Something New Every Day

On a recent cycling tour around Valencia’s surrounding villages and fields, I screeched to a halt to take in the beauty of a green, feathery field that looked as soft as a newly made bed. I had no idea what it was, but my companion told me it was hinojo, or “fennel” in English.

On closer inspection, I recognized the root bulb, something I’d seen in the market, but had never ventured to bring any home to cook, or whatever you do with a fennel root bulb. I’ve used fennel seeds, sometimes mistaking them for cumin (comino) when I’m congested and my sense of smell vanishes. The two seeds look very similar but trust me, they are not in any way interchangeable in the kitchen.

Oddly, both the English “fennel” and the Spanish “hinojo” come from a common Latin root (pardon the pun, but there’s really no way around it), feniculum, a diminutive of fenum meaning “hay.” While “fennel” bears a vague resemblance to the Latin fenum, the Spanish “hinojo” doesn’t, but the word “hay” in Spanish, heno, brings the circle around.

One click of the mouse and twenty-some centuries earlier, we have yet another revelation. The Greek name for fennel is “marathon” (μάραθον) or marathos (μάραθος), and the place of the famous battle of Marathon literally means a plain with fennel.

Two yummy things to do with fennel:

Shave and toss with Valencia orange wedges and a light vinaigrette for a delicious spring salad.

Slice in half crosswise, top with buttered breadcrumbs and grated Parmesan cheese, then bake. 

This house was next to the field. I was overcome with bougainvillea envy as I have a couple of sickly versions of this plant on my little balcony.

 

The (my) Last Word on the Spanish Corner Bar

What if I suddenly found myself living somewhere other than Spain? What would I miss about life here? That is the wrong question because I would miss almost everything about living here. I’d need to narrow down the parameters somewhat, like asking myself, "What things would absolutely break my heart to live without?"

How could I possibly live without the Spanish corner bar? Like fingerprints and snowflakes they’re all alike yet different in subtle ways. And like an FBI fingerprint expert I’ve spent many years studying these differences. I’ve become, if not a connoisseur, then at least an inspired amateur on the subject. In my exhaustive investigation into Spanish bars, I’ve developed my own set of rules and insights which I feel I should share with the world.

Here is a very abridged list of reasons why I go to certain bars.

-       If people are nice to me when I go into their bar, I feel an overwhelming obligation to return. When I first arrived being “nice” simply meant listening to my bad Spanish, but now this means people have to listen to me pontificate on shit like the Catalan independence movement or why they should monitor off-sides electronically and get rid of the line judges.

-           A good terrace is the easiest bait if you want to lure me into your place. Tables with shade in the summer and sun in the winter are always welcome. Sitting outside is something bordering on a basic right among people in Spain, no matter the weather. I love reading at a café and I enjoy the hum of the background noise.

-           The clientele can be a deciding factor when choosing a hangout, but this rarely is a concern when you’re just popping in for a coffee or a quick beer in the afternoon.

-           A big reason why you may want to stop in for something in a bar is to use the bathroom. Public bathrooms are in short supply so if you find yourself out in the street when nature calls, the corner bar is the best alternative to getting arrested for urinating in public.

-           Almost all football matches in Spain are on pay channels that most of us lowly slobs don’t have at home. If it weren’t for football matches in bars I’d never see most of my friends.

-            I use this excuse for going to a bar less than almost every human in Valencia, but most bars have wifi. I’m one of the few people who don’t feel compelled to look at the internet when I close the door of my apartment and enter out into the world.

-         Coffee. I have never understood why they have Starbucks here in Valencia when you can get great coffee almost anywhere (several Starbucks here have closed their doors).

-           Food is way down the list for me when it comes to reasons I go to cafés simply because I don’t eat out much. With that said, a bar with a great looking tortilla de patatas earns my respect.

-            Beer, wine, brandy, gin and tonics, rum, and other alcohol-based beverages are one of my top reasons to go to bars.

-    In Spanish they call it climatización which means heat and air conditioning—two things I don’t have at home. Valencia has beautiful weather where these comforts are rarely needed so this excuse is only valid for about four weeks a year. The good news is—as you have been reading—I have a lot of reasons for going to bars.

What the Clothing Pin Industrial Complex Doesn’t Want You to Read

This is the view below my window where I hang my clothes to dry. As you can see there are dozens of clothing pins that have fallen from above yet people on the first floor make no effort to return these lost items. Clothing pin manufacturers obviously pay them to sit on this dormant resource so that chumps like me continue to give money to the man to replace the pins we lose. Can I blame Trump?