Day 4 was mostly spent on a bus from Madrid to Valencia, so I’ll keep this one short.
Let me just say that I’ll never be entirely sure how I managed to negotiate my way onto a bus with a driver that spoke no english and a ticket that was only on my phone. It was a tad miraculous, I think. The bus was nicer than my apartment, though, including my seatmate who didn’t let anyone steal my camera even when I was dumb enough to leave it sitting right out in the open while I went to the restroom. Soy estupido.
I got to Valencia (sidenote: the Spanish insist on pronouncing their v’s as a sound halfway between a b and a v—I’m sure there are solid etymological reasons for this, but for now I’m assuming it’s just to annoy me—meaning ‘Valencia’ is pronounced ‘Ba-len-thia’) just as it was getting dark. I immediately fell in love.
The city is bisected by a giant park; a long, skinny park that’s part jogging trail, bike trail, kid area, basketball courts, tennis courts, and, of course, futbol. So freaking cool.
And my hostel was in the old part of downtown, attached to an ancient church.
I didn’t do much but find food and crash, since I had to wake up early the next day to find the school.
Spanish for the day: “Que es esta?”
Translation: “What is that?” Used in combination with pointing, I’m able to figure out what kind of food I’m about to order.