VALENCIA: Where we were criticsKen talked the last of us into a day-trip to Valencia to see the bienale. Given the schedule we were on, it was more of a late afternoon trip by the time we got up, showered and figured out who was riding with who. As Jef and I wondered which car we'd end up in, I pointed out that it was either ride with the Italians without air conditioning or ride with the Americans in an air-conditioned car while listening to gangster rap. We wound up in the American car. Brett rode shotgun as usual and played the tunes. He interspersed some comedy CD's with the rap, for variety.
We made it to Valencia in time to catch a meal before siesta began. I liked Valencia, but the feeling I got there was entirely different than the feeling I got the next day in Barcelona. Cities certainly have personalities. To me, Valencia felt more like a movie set than a real place - as though we were actually wandering through Valencia-land at Disneyworld. The alien-eyed Mickey Mouse flag at the museum only added to this odd feeling. Valencia even seems fakey in some of the pictures I took, like the one of Jef where it looks as though he's standing in front of a backdrop.
It was such a strange sensation. Suddenly my life back home didn't seem real; would I really be standing at a cash register dealing with tourists for hours on end in a few days? FIB seemed like a great big fib by then, too. Had it even happened? I spent much of the day musing over how easily one's life can be erased and re-written. Perhaps that's what makes travel so refreshing to the psyche. I'd certainly been jarred out of all my old habits overnight and it gave me the space to think about who I wanted to be when I returned. It reminded me of a conversation Eryk and I had at El Termet over one of our lengthy lunches in which we laughingly concluded that our time at Villa Vicente shared many of the same characteristics as cult indoctrination: 1. Sleep deprivation 2. Being awakened randomly (i.e. the leaf blower man) and 3. Being isolated from family and friends (the ISDN line was cut, and there was no phone on the premise).
The first museum exhibit we went to was distressingly dull. A large portion of the display consisted of banquet tables strewn with dirty plates, ashtrays and half-eaten sandwiches. It reminded me of the media lab at Villa Vicente - except nothing was going on! Everyone looked rather flattened after they emerged from that museum. "So that's where the big bucks go," I heard one of us mutter.
We collectively decided to check out the exhibit curated by Peter Greenaway. If it also sucked, then we'd head up to Barcelona. This one, however, was much more intriguing and we ended up wandering through it until closing time. Afterwards, we found a restaurant specializing in paella because, according to Michi, Valencia is known for this dish. After our meal, we had a brief nightcap. Jef and I returned in the 'early car', which meant we arrived at Villa Vicente around 4 a.m. The 'party car' got home around 9 a.m.
| ||||
|
Travelogue Sections: |
