The final morning in Valencia greeted us with wind and clouds, but that did little to dampen our spirits. A hearty breakfast set the tone for the day before we headed toward the Mercado Central.
Even the journey there turned into part of the adventure. Our Uber driver had to weave through a maze of blocked streets because so many areas were closed off for the weekend’s festivities. At one point we crept down a narrow alley where a lively brass band was playing while crowds lined both sides of the street wearing matching shirts and enthusiastically urging every passing driver to honk.
Our driver laughed and explained that honking would be a serious mistake. The moment you do it, the crowd swarms your car and begins shaking it in good fun. He admitted he had tried it once. Only once.
The Mercado Central itself was bursting with life. People filled the aisles strolling, eating, chatting and occasionally breaking into dance as live music echoed through the vast hall. The atmosphere was infectious.
The building itself is a masterpiece of early twentieth century design. Completed in 1928, Mercado Central is one of the largest and oldest running food markets in Europe and a striking example of Valencian Art Nouveau architecture. Its iron structure and soaring glass domes allow natural light to flood the interior, illuminating the hundreds of stalls below. Colorful ceramic tiles and the great central dome give the market a distinctly Mediterranean elegance. Even before considering the food, the building itself is worth the visit.
Inside, the market is truly a feast for the senses. Every stall seemed brighter than the last, overflowing with fruits, cured meats, cheeses, spices and sweets that filled the air with irresistible aromas. I tried to take it all in but the sheer number of people eventually caught up with me. Halfway through the market my claustrophobia quietly announced its presence. Surrounded by the crowd and momentarily losing my sense of direction, I gratefully clung to my daughter’s arm as we navigated our way back out.
Once free of the throng we wandered through the surrounding alleys, watching the revelry continue in the streets. Everywhere there were groups of friends laughing, music drifting through the air and people celebrating together. It was all harmless fun, joyful and communal. Watching the younger crowds reveling with such enthusiasm, I felt a flicker of envy for their boundless energy. Festivals like this are more than spectacle. They are expressions of community and cultural pride, and Valencia wears that pride beautifully.
A little later we stepped into the wonderfully named Iglesia de San Martín Obispo y San Antonio Abad. The church, originally established in the 14th century and later rebuilt in the Baroque style, is dedicated to two beloved saints. Saint Martin of Tours was a Roman soldier who famously cut his cloak in half to share with a freezing beggar, later becoming a bishop known for his charity. Saint Anthony Abbot, a much earlier figure from the third century, is considered the father of monasticism and is often associated with animals and rural life.
We arrived just as Mass was ending and lingered quietly in the back. Hearing the service in Spanish again stirred something deep inside me. The cadence of the language carried me straight back to my childhood in Mexico. For a moment the years folded in on themselves and memory wrapped around the present. It was unexpectedly moving.
Stepping back into the daylight we found ourselves once more in the Plaza de la Reina near the cathedral. From there we made a final pilgrimage to Daniel’s for one last horchata. This time we skipped the pastries, still thoroughly fortified from breakfast, but the horchata felt like the proper farewell drink to the city.
The old city of Valencia is rich with architectural wonders. The best way to discover it is simply to wander without a map. Turn down whichever street catches your eye and sooner or later you will stumble upon a quiet square, a hidden church or a view so picturesque that you cannot help but stop for a photograph.
I write this now from the airport, waiting for my flight back to Lisbon. As always happens when leaving a place that has charmed you, I already have a growing list of things I want to do on my next visit.
And make no mistake. I will definitely be back.
Some cities you visit once. Others quietly claim a corner of your heart. Valencia, I suspect, has just done exactly that.
For now I say goodbye, but Valencia should consider this merely an intermission. This Frog will be hopping back.
And as every traveler knows, the best journeys never really end. They simply lead to the next adventure.
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