Christmas in a city where orange trees in every street carry an abundance of ripe fruit, where families of at least three generations go to mass together, the women wearing fur coats while the outside air temperature is a balmy 17 degrees Celsius, the men sporting the new fragrances Papá Noel has just surprised them with, where the sun shines on so many days each year that not everybody remembers to take off their sunglasses on the occasional cloudy day, where buildings compete in opulence while supermarkets can be recognized from afar by the presence of beggars on the doorstep, where the number of whole smoked boar legs, hooves and all, that are carved on the Christmas table is surpassed only by the unimaginable numbers of these hams that were on display in the butcher’s shops, supermarkets and market stalls that sold them. Christmas in Valencia. There is a bit of a contrast between the interior and the coastal regions, as we were to find out.
The cierzo dries this country out. And helps us along.
After Sos del Rey Católico and a climb to another pass just to the south, most of the ride to Zaragoza was downhill, into the wide plains of the river Ebro. 
When the pressure differences are just right, what is locally known as the cierzo can develop. A dry wind, it blows from the northwest, and as it is channeled by the Ebro valley, it picks up speed, dessicating everything in its way, until it thunders into Catalonia. We happily thundered along with it in the direction of Zaragoza, through visibly dry terrain in which brave farmers were nonetheless trying to make things grow. Flocks of vultures kept an eye on two cyclists who must have been an unfamiliar sight but were obviously not quite ‘meal material’ yet.
We had met Lin, who had left her native Canada to embark on a round the world trip, while studying to become English teachers in Chiang Mai. After the course, she had spent several months in Borneo and some time in India, and she had just arrived in Madrid, from where she took a train to Zaragoza to come spend a few days with us. We were happy to catch up and talk about old times and new, and visited the old city centre together. Lin had grown quite used to tropical climates and decided not to stay in Europe in December but instead move on to Ecuador, while we weighed our options for continuing to Valencia. The most obvious route was only partially available for cyclists and would entail long detours and high mountain passes. We decided against this and instead, opted for more or less following the Ebro to the Mediterranean coast and then heading south. We didn’t know it then, but had we tried to cross the mountain passes west of Valencia, we would certainly have been stuck for many days in what was to be the heaviest snowfall in twenty-five years.
Into Catalonia
The weather caught up with us as soon as we reached the coast. For several days, we looked at the weather forecast and said, nah, not today. During those days, we saw footage on tv being repeated over and over, of towns that were cut off from the outside world by snow and of roads that had become impassable. A quiet spell allowed us to finally continue south to Valencia and see some of the devastation the wind and sea had left behind not far from where we had spent a few days: streets adjacent to the sea, covered with mud and gravel or still partially flooded. Devastation that had not been sufficiently major to make it into the national news. About at this time, the same weather started to affect the rest of Europe and Northern America, but apparently, the news of each country mentioned only what was going on at home, thus, strangely, creating the impression that it was a local phenomenon. Only by consulting websites of newspapers in each country did the extent of this early and serious winter weather become apparent.
Valencia. This is a haven. While the rest of Spain is either being flooded, blown away, or getting snowed in, Valencians are saying to each other, ‘It’s cold, isn’t it?’, when in fact, this seems to be the only part of Spain that isn’t suffering from any of the extreme phenomena that are making headlines nationwide. We have decided to stay here for a while. We have explored the city, immersed ourselves in culture (whatever that means…), found this to be a city to spend some time in. We have rented an appartment. We have found a language institute where, from early next month, we will be taking Spanish lessons for two months. O yes, we like it here. We like the centuries of history that can be seen everywhere. We like the climate. We are in a country and a city where English is hardly spoken and where, as a result, all it takes is to learn some of the local language to immerse yourself in something genuine. Of course, the local language is Valencian, not Spanish. Never mind, Spanish is understood by all and will be of use later on. Good enough for us, good enough for now.
During a demonstration of traditional dances
