A grand day out - NOT!

The stunning Valencia railway station building

Deep into my immature adulthood I'm still fascinated by trains, to me they're one of those things just like Christmas and peanut butter on toast I don't think I'll ever grow out of. When the girlyfriend suggested we head off to Valencia on the old choo-choo I had a bit of a job not to bite her hand off, instead, I made do with a nonchalant "yeah why not?" Until she left the room; at which point I leapt up and punched my right fist in and out at waist height various times in celebration.

Rather conveniently, the following Tuesday, October the 12th, was a National holiday in Spain, not just any old one though, only the grandly titled "Dia de la Hispanidad" the national day of Spanish speaking nations around the world. But, and and just like Jennifer Lopez it's a big butt, the five day weather forecast looked a bit ominous, That didn't stop me booking the tickets though, quite possibly something to do with my huge excitement at the notion of a lengthy railway journey. An eagerness that completely ignored the worries of her inside the doors, who, being the voice of reason, quite sensibly suggested we postpone the trip and stay home in the dry.
 "Nah, we'll be fine"  I said,  "if worst comes we can always dive into a cinema until it stops"



Don't buy shit umbrellas - they're dangerous

Unfortunately, half way to the regional capital spots of rain began to spatter the carriage window, and on arrival it was absolutely wazzing down. First priority then was an umbrella apiece, simple enough because Valencia Nord is one of those railway halts that resemble a small sized town centre with one of every conceivable kind of shop. Six euros apiece later we were prepared for the worst mother nature could hurl at us as the proud owners of a couple of nifty looking umbrellas. How wrong the pair of us were. Attempting to inflate my bargain five quid brolly prior to stepping outside, the stupid thing badly sliced my right index finger, rendering it unable to operate the shutter on my camera. Quite an important part of our day out. While the girlyfriend took care of my haemorrhaging finger, I caught sight of three opportunist coloured lads knocking out umbrellas at two for a fiver. By now I was starting to regret persuading her Ladyship not to postpone the trip.



Paris on the Costa Blanca

Even on the wettest October day since records began Valencia is an incredible city, it's tree lined avenues and unbelievable architecture put me in mind of Paris; the only difference being Valencian natives actually give a shit about visitors to their city and do what they can to make them feel welcome. However hard the locals tried to do that, and believe me they did, the weather was starting to become somewhat depressing and getting worse. By about the third museum and fourth cafeteria, my shoes and socks were wet through and the damp had reached knee height on my jeans. Even our attempts to seek respite aboard the open top Valencia tourist bus were thwarted as the damned thing pulled away just as we reached the stop. Just as well I guess because looking at the empty top deck, the fifty people jammed in dowstairs had steamed all the windows up anyway.

My new footwear - ideal for the beach and wet days

Eventually, two hours after we should have done we gave it up as a bad job and headed back to the railway station, soaked through and thoroughly pissed off, three hours early for our return train. A massive queue and a tenner extra secured two seats in first class on the slow train leaving for Alicante departing an hour earlier at half six, a further ninety minutes to hang around, time well spent trying to purchase over priced dry socks which, by this point, had become a high priority. It suddenly occurred to me nice new, and not cheap, socks would be a bit daft inside wet through shoes, so the dripping wet socks went straight into the nearest bin, my very moist truzzie legs were rolled up to reveal half my shins and I emerged from the store resplendent in spangly new red and blue flip-flops.

Just time then for yet another unnecessary coffee, which was a good call in the end because the platform-side cafeteria put a smile on my face for the first time in what had become a deeply disappointing day out. Or rather, it's mixed sex bog did! To the side of the single lavatory door was a microscopic notice requesting patrons ask at the bar for the key. A steady stream of both ladies and gents, all keen to spend a penny, tried and failed to gain access because they failed to see the tiny little sign, their increasingly perplexed facial expressions caused me untold mirth, one gormless berk failed to figure it out even after I pointed to the side of the door four times. I sussed it out immediately and dived inside just as the previous occupant vacated the premises.

A grand day out ? - Had better!!