And then, one morning, we are up and out of the house leaving it remarkably clean and tidy, and sped back up to Valencia, where we found a funny little hotel with a great location right on the central Plaza. We had lunch and then wandered to the Cathedral, a magnificently baroque, utterly assymetrical creation of octagonal, flat-topped towers and blue painted terracotta (a signature of Valencian architecture). Inside, the ceiling was surprisingly low, but the architecture and design was truly splendid, with opulent amounts of gold and massive, moving murals, including two by Goya. And in a dark little chapel to the side, was Valencia's greatest religious treasure. The Holy Grail. Or rather, a holy grail, a breathtaking work of gold craftmanship that was apparently used at La Ultima Cena (the last supper) by Christ. Now many people have heard about our quazi-pilgrimage and exclaimed "That can't be the real grail, I didn't know that it was in Valencia!" In response I have three contentions


A) Don't believe everything (or anything) Dan Brown tells you.

B)Throughout the history of the world, whoever has the most gold, makes the rules. ergo, Spain has the most gold, they make fancy cup, they have the grail. Period.

C)Try proving that it's NOT the grail. Ha!

Anyway, the Cathedral as a whole, Goya, Grail, and Baroque architecture, was stunning.When we issued forth from under the lapis lazuli tiles of its dome, we were once again drenched in sushine, and we found ourselves in a wide open square with a grecian god lying in the center of a fountain that sent water in every direction and attracted hordes of pigeons. We crossed over the park (Valencia has, some years ago, and very cleverly, redirected it's main canal, leaving a big sunken park that circles the city at the level that the river would be at. We looked down from the bridge on orange groves and soccer fields, and then continued on to the Museo de las Bellas Artes. The entry hall was a vast blue dome speckled with golden stars, with four huge, staggering paintings glaring down from the walls. The museum was vast, and being set in a historically Very Catholic country, had almost exclusively religious art. Some of this, like gold panelled tryptchs etc. really belonged in the church, but there were some very moving, emotionally powerful versions of Mary Magdalene, the Pieta, and especially the banishment from Eden. Overall, it was a beautiful collecion, housed in bright colorful rooms, and including a lot of work we would never have seen elsewhere.

Have drank our fill of Fine Art, we settled on the pavement outside, across the park from the heart of the city, and drank our final drought of cocacola (in glass bottles) as the sun went down over the terracotta and lapis lazuli roofs. We are very lucky, we thought. We were.

Dinner was an incredible festivity. Gone were the limitations of silly little Gandia, miniature Villalonga, and off-season Alicante. We were in the big city now, the home of paella and tapas. And tapas we chose, at a little bar down a side street that served beatiful portions of iberian ham, a mouthwatering salad full of goat's cheese, ox-tail stew, and the BEST squid that any of us had ever tasted. Everything was perfectly designed, cooked, and presented. Great atmosphere with a massive central pillar made of chalk board with the specials etc. written on it (restraunteurs, especially of LUMA Petaluma, take note). It was a great place and we were utterly Merry with Mary.

We collapsed into bed listening to the Bach cello suites float softly from the ipod, and awoke only moments (maybe a bit longer than a moment but truly only a few hours) to carry mom's bags downstairs and put her into a taxi with a mini cup of coffee (with tons of sugar and vanilla flavoring and milk) and send her sailing off into the night for a 25 hour trip home. Then we collapsed into bed again, slept a few more hours, and awoke as the Valencian sun (truly we are not in California any more, and sunshine is a treasure we Seriously appreciate) beamed down through the window.