Personalized entertainment
The next day I dashed northwest, heading towards the well-known town of Riba-roja. There’s a metro line going there that smoothly transitions from underground to overground. Naturally, this setup looks a lot like a commuter train. There is a difference, but the lines are blurry. The main thing, probably, is that you don't have to transfer; you can just ride out into the suburbs even if you hopped on right in the city center. Obviously, regular metro tickets work, but considering that in Valencia you can ride pretty much anything anyway as long as you have a SUMA card, it’s no big deal. But for cyclists, the difference is huge. For instance, you can always take your bike on a commuter train, whereas on the metro during weekdays, you can only bring it on the overground sections. Luckily, on weekends it's allowed everywhere, which is why I hopped on with my bike right by my house, at the Turia station.
While riding to the station, I noticed a flyer on a pole. The text: entrenamiento funcione "personalizado". Let's test how well the general public understands Spanish 😹
To my dismay and mild shame, I was kicked off two stations short of my destination because I forgot my mask. In Spain, COVID still lives on in public transport, even though outside it seems to have already gone extinct. So, special inspectors roam around and scold passengers. And if you don't have a mask, they kick you off, even though it would be a hundred times easier to just hand out masks, which cost 25 cents here even in a store. Though I suppose there's an educational element to it. At least since then, I've rarely forgotten my mask, though it has still happened.
To my delight, the bike ride from Paterna station to La Vallesa wasn't long, only about 5 kilometers. There I plunged into a somewhat dry little forest, and actually climbed a hill instead of just rolling along the river like all normal people do. The view from the hill was gorgeous, but riding up there was absolutely impossible—the slope was way too steep and the boulders too huge. My throat was hurting more and more, and I barely made it up even on foot.
I rolled over the pebbles, then managed to squeeze through a hole in a fence and cross the railway tracks. I ended up in some sort of industrial orchard with rows of orange trees, but fortunately got out, even though I had to take a detour. Eventually I reached the town of L'Eliana, where I was looking for a place to buy some coffee. Restaurants didn't appeal to me, since I didn't want to leave my bike unattended, even with an alarm. While wandering around, I spotted a beautiful bakery, Levaduramadre. That’s the most convoluted name for a food joint I've ever encountered. It translates to "pure culture yeast". And don't ask me what that is, even I'm not nerdy enough to explain it to you.
But I can write about the saleswoman. I chatted with her while drinking my coffee and eating an impossibly huge “ear” pastry, completely coated in chocolate. Judging by the layer, probably even coated twice. She turned out to be all the way from Venezuela. I asked if it was easy to get to Europe. The answer was unexpected — besides Venezuelan, she also holds Italian citizenship. I didn't bother asking why she lives in Spain — it’s pretty obvious that it’s no walk in the park moving from currently impoverished Venezuela straight to super-expensive Italy.
About gourmands and nature lovers
At the bakery I also bought a new cola, with only 13 grams of sugar — Whole Earth Cola. Eco-schmeco, made from natural ingredients, all that jazz.
When they sell you food with "natural" truffle flavoring, there's not a whiff of actual truffle in it. Just because the flavor is natural doesn't mean it comes from truffles. Instead, they use 2,4-Dithiapentane, the compound that gives truffles the most potent part of their scent. Obviously, this is like comparing a fresh, tasty apple to a mix of sugar and citric acid dissolved in water. Sure, both sugar and citric acid are "natural" flavors, but they are further from an apple than the moon is. So here's another useless fact for you — none of us have ever tasted real truffles. Even if you try ordering a cooked dish at a restaurant and can see some pieces in it, those are more like "technical" truffles. They're cheap, but they don't have any aroma of their own. They just stupidly drench them in "truffle oil", which is usually made from literal (refined) petroleum.
The only way to try real truffles is how they sometimes do it in Italy and France. The waiter shaves them right in front of you until you say "stop". Then weighs the remainder and tells you how many grams he shaved off. For this little powder, which you can't even snort, you'll shell out more euros than for coke (we disapprove, we disapprove). I think I'll just go buy some "Golden Perlim" apples instead.
Be that as it may, I bought the cola — it's a hobby, after all. It's alright, but Kofola is cooler. Kofola, by the way, is from that very Ostrava in the Czech Republic, where you can pay for trams by tapping your bank card, which I wrote about a couple of issues back.
I rode all the way back home under my own power, since I never did find a place to buy a mask. By the way, the vast majority of stores in Spain are closed on Sundays. In general, socialism is blooming and thriving here; there are a lot of agricultural cooperatives and pro-communism graffiti. In Girona, where I am right now, they even have a coworking cooperative. If you want, you can buy a share and pay 140 euros a month instead of 180, but in return you participate in the life of the co-op. That’s not relevant to me at the moment — I can't even afford to rent a flat. As for Valencia, I returned there through giant cabbage fields growing against the backdrop of high-rises on the horizon. Probably that very La Huerta I wrote about recently.
Full track, ➡️47km , ⬆️300m , ⌚5h
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