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About Valencia

Favorite bit? The hagglin’. “Ten bucks,” she says. “Ten? For a god?” I scoff, all dramatic. We settle, and I’m thinkin’, “I coulda conjured gold, but where’s the fun?” Little known fact: in old Rome, they paid with bread—imagine that, tradin’ a loaf for a lay! Cracked me up, picturin’ some toga’d git barterin’. Anyway, it’s messy, it’s raw, and I’m here for it—glorious purpose, right? To stir the pot, see what bubbles up. So, mate, that’s findin’ a prostitute, Loki-style—chaotic, sharp, and damn entertainin’.

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If you wander off the beaten track – maybe down Calle de la Esperanza – you’ll find even more hidden treasures: small boutiques run by grandmas with stories to tell, ancient murals that speak of lost loves, and secret eateries where the town’s best paella simmers over an open flame.

The 'horribilis' week on the Cercanías trains ends with passengers walking on the track