A Sunday stroll

9th November

Wunderground had forecast a showery day so we decided to visit Valencia's art gallery. The northern and east edges of the old city are defined by the course of the old river Turia. This dried up long ago; now it provides a green space running right through the heart of the city. The 'Museo des Bellas Artes' was about half a mile from the Metro stop 'Turia'. The El Corte Ingles department store next to the station was starting its outdoor Christmas promotion complete with snow covered chalets and giant toy soldiers. In 22 degree temperatures under a bright blue sky somehow it did not seem right.

Christmas comes early to Valencia

We walked through the park. Sunday morning is clearly a sporty moment in Spain. In the space of a fifteen minute stroll we passed a girl's rugby match, a baseball match and two football matches, one six-a-side, and the other played on a full size pitch. In between we were buzzed by joggers and runners, mountain bikers and the odd skateboarder. It was exhausting just looking at them.

Baseball, Spanish style.

Our map had a small drawing of the art gallery on it, so it should have been easy to spot its twin stone towers. We got near to the place where it should have been but could not find it. In the process of searching for it we did come across one of Valencia's two remaining gates. The monumental size gives you some sense of the power and wealth of the place in the sixteenth century. From this vantage point across the old river it became obvious why we had lost the gallery. It was under refurbishment and the entire facade was wrapped-up in protective sheeting. No wonder it looked nothing like the graphic on the map.

The city gate

Gill's not a big fan of art galleries and finds them oppressive. I mentioned as we walked towards it that if, as a provincial gallery it predominantly displayed local paintings, then they might be mainly religious,and conservative as the Inquisition had controlled artistic output in Spain for hundreds of years.

A plethora of Virgin Marys interspersed with po-faced portraits.

In the event this prediction proved to be an understatement. The entire ground floor was taken up with one altarpiece after another. They developed in style from late medieval International Gothic, through paintings influenced by Flemish and Italian Renaissance artists, then for two hundred years seemed to settle into a Baroque mode with twisting poses and dramatic lighting copied from Caravaggio. Though styles changed the subject matter stayed the same - an interminable parade of brutal martyrdoms, grim crucifixions and uncanny Assumptions. You sensed the extent to which Spanish history had been dominated be the power of church and state, a heartless, uncompromising theocracy that sought to control ideas, individual expression and thought. It was not uncivilised or unsophisticated, but totalitarian and domineering. I suppose the nearest modern equivalent would be somewhere like Iran. I was pleased to have alerted Gill to the likely tone of the place, but even armed with some pre-knowledge I was taken aback; I found it oppressive too.

Just occasionally a more informal figure would sneak in amongst the stern faced saints and Cardinals.

There was one high spot though. Upstairs they have a handful of Goyas on display. The showpiece is his portrait  of Doña Joaquina Candado. Perhaps it was the effect of the previous half hour's immersion in Counter-Reformation religious ideology, but this simple portrait seemed so humane; the woman's serene beauty shone out compared to the stock  images of saintliness which previously we had endured. 

Even the dog was painted with psychological acumen!

It was painted around 1804, towards the end of the half century we now call The Enlightenment. Though it may be unfashionable now to believe in progress, it is difficult not to regard the move from superstition to a more liberal and rational vision of the human spirit evidenced in the Goya as a definite move forward. However it was not Goya's 'big picture' that truly illustrated this.

Hanging to the right of the portrait were two small genre pieces depicting children playing - tag and leapfrog. It is these pictures that are truly revolutionary. Before this time nobody would have considered a children's simple game as a worthwhile subject for art. It struck me that these two small paintings were almost exactly contemporaneous with Wordsworth's 'Intimations of Immortality' ode. It contains the famous phrase 'the child is the father of the man'. These Romantic era artists really were pioneers of modernity, you sense that they are portraying human nature as individualistic and capable of change, not something God-given and fixed. Their views about the importance of play and childhood pre-figure a more psychological view of the human mind. 

At which point we tumbled off the apex of Maslow's pyramid, landed with a bump in its nether regions of bodily need, decided we were  starving, and headed into the city in search of lunch.

Never mind the culture...let's find lunch!

After yesterday's culinary triumph in the market's Central Bar, today turned out to be a bit of a let-down. We left the gallery and headed to an old part of the city just beyond Porta de Serrans. After walking through an area of grand baroque palaces we found ourselves in a pleasant square,Placa de la Verge, just behind the cathedral. It was lined with cafés, We just made a bad choice, for the patatas bravas we ordered could not have been more different to the ones we had yesterday. These efforts were like chips covered in spicy ketchup and mayonnaise. Then there was the issue of the wandering flute playing beggars...Oh well, everything can't be top notch all the time I suppose.

Placa de la Verge

with Gill and the Triton fountain

Not even the olives were up to much.

Bridge of Sighs style bridge

beauteous lamposts

Modernista style tiled facades

shaded avenues

Ok, it's a puerile joke...

The rest of the afternoon we spent just strolling about. North of the market area we happened on the area where Valencians lunch, a warren of streets with classy looking restaurants amongst tumbled-down buildings daubed with graffiti. The city rivals Naples for the range, ingenuity and vigour of its street art. My advice, wander the streets, avoid the art gallery!

Valencia Graffiti

In amongst it all, really nice restaurants.... 

After a while we reached the ancient gate on the opposite side of the old city. This one was pock-marked with cannon balls lobbed at it by French artillery during the Peninsula War. We were both pretty weary now, and headed back to Angel Guillara metro stop.

The rain that had been forecast never materialised, well, not until we stepped-off the Metro near the Campervan Stop. Then it tipped down, so lugging cagouls around all day did prove worth it in the end. 

Three wonderful days in Valencia - a lovely city, friendly locals, great food..fascinating architecture - we loved it, definitely one of the high spots of the trip so far