Never Retire: One Week In Valencia, Spain And How Does It Feel?

We have been in Spain for 10 days. Today marks one week in Valencia. To commemorate the occasion, a summary of where we are in the process and how it feels to be new and—refreshingly clueless—here.

Tomorrow will be one week since we submitted our residence permit application. We can’t do a whole lot until we receive a response. Particularly a positive one that says you’re residents of Spain for—presumably—three years. At that point, we have a whole slew of administrative tasks to complete, not to mention the job of securing a long-term apartment. A lot will have to happen fast so I expect it to be somewhat dizzying.

Dizzying is a good way to describe how it feels to be new here. I say I am refreshingly clueless because I am the type of person who likes to have a solid handle on what I am doing and where I am doing it. When you move to a foreign country—as anticipated and come to find out (!)—you have no choice but to let go of this.

I knew I would have to. I have. And it feels good to have risen to the challenge so far. To not have freaked out because of the lack of familiarity that keeps you feeling somewhat off-kilter. Part of the reason for doing this was to embrace feelings of discomfort as a way to retrain your brain right at a time when it might be ready to settle into some semblance of the status quo.

There’s no doubt that we’re in that process.

Along similar lines, I am learning to not to get prematurely attached to a place. Melisse is helping big time with this. When we came to Valencia two years ago, we stayed in the Russafa neighborhood, which is where we’re staying now. Which is where I have said we’ll probably rent our long-term apartment. There’s no doubt that this tentative decision came—at least, in part—from a relative sense of familiarity and comfort with the area.

Not only is it the part of town we’re most familiar and—subsequently—comfortable with, but it’s also a pretty predictable place thanks to its (mostly) grid street pattern and village-like feel. You get to know a few cafes and restaurants. You start to form a mental map of how to get around. You see the guy who gave you a beard trim on Saturday morning in the cafe on Sunday morning. And it can be easy to attach yourself to this modicum of familiarity even though it’s sort of crazy to think you have developed any real sense of attachment to the place.

As you embrace being refreshingly clueless, you must constantly be aware of settling for the most familiar setting you know simply because it helps ease this anxiety. “You” being me!

So, we have been exploring the old city more and more. And we plan to do likewise today, approaching it from a slightly different direction. Because yesterday, while wandering the core of Valencia, Melisse wondered if we might be better off there. It’s busier, more lively and has immediate and adjacent access to a lot, including Russafa. It took me a minute to warm up to this idea, but—thankfully—only a minute.

I took this picture at the bar we stopped in at the top of the map, which is on the edge of Valencia’s old city.

A solid three-plus mile walk for a Sunday.

One look at that map tells a story. Below Beverly Cafe, you’re basically in Russafa. A near-perfect grid. Above El Corte Inglés, you’re headed toward the old city and it’s—um—not a grid. All bets are off.

There’s something about my brain and psychological makeup that loves a good grid. It doesn’t matter how seemingly chaotic an urban setting is. If it’s structured on a grid, I’m good. Within a few minutes of landing in Manhattan for the first time, I was quite comfortable, if not confident. It’s so easy to establish your bearings and get around. There’s a controlled chaos in New York, thanks, largely, to its basic grid pattern.

Maybe this is a sign. To fully embrace this major life change, I not only need to learn a new language, but I need to learn to let go of the grid! And maybe live in a part of a great city with a less organized chaos.

Never Retire: Spanish Bling

During our pizza outing the other day, I mentioned getting pulled into a friend group that was sitting at the table next to us. Four older gentleman—drinks flowing—started talking with us. It’s difficult to describe this crew, other than to say they are a diverse and lively bunch.

Before you know it we’re at a table outside with them as well as the wife of the one guys, who showed up. Her and Melisse traded numbers and, yesterday, we were invited to a jazz show on Friday night where one of the guys in the group will be playing drums.

I’ll be sure to report back!