A Return to Valencia: Week 18, Spain
A new chapter of our journey begins as this week we made our way south to Valencia. Continued lockdown has stirred up a sense of loneliness, but a change of scene and gradual de-escalation is lifting our spirits.
This week we left Catalonia. When the ‘Estado de Alarma’ was first announced, we were mid-way through filming a number of projects in Valencia. You may recall we ended up stranded in a marina car park, and the confines of living in a car park in a van drove us to seek refuge up north. But we’d always felt that we had unfinished business with Valencia - George and I had grown to love the city, and were fired up about the documentary we were making there. So we said that as and when we could, we would return.
Ten weeks later (!!) and we decided it was time to take the plunge and drive down south again. And so, with the generous offer of a friend’s apartment to stay at in the Valencian village of Corbera, we headed down along Spain’s eastern coast.
Driving south was somewhat risky given that crossing regional borders is still closely monitored.
Although armed with all the correct documentation, as we drove further south I was definitely nervous about crossing the border. There aren’t usually official checks between regions in Spain, but I didn’t know what to expect given the current pandemic. Despite the nerves, it was lovely to be in the van once again and have the partial sense of travelling and moving forwards. The sense that we aren’t going anywhere or progressing has been one of the biggest challenges recently, so as we trundled along the (relatively quiet) motorway I got a little hit of that travelling feeling.
(images, left to right) Leaving the vineyards of Palamos, George prepping for the long drive south, and golden hour on the road.
As I followed the blue dot tracing our movement on Google Maps, I could see that we were approaching the border between the two regions: Catalonia and the Comunitat Valenciana. We mounted the crest of the hill, and then spotted a cluster of police cars with police officers stopping and checking vehicles! This got my heart racing, and I could already feel the apprehension of having to explain our movement, not least in a different language. We had proof that we had work in Valencia, our official documents and friends’ phone numbers should they need them, but just the sight of armed officers made me quiver. Guns really are something us Brits forget about.
And yet, as we slowed to a crawl and almost rolled the window down, making clear eye contact with the officers, it became clear that they were only interested in checking traffic in the opposite direction! And so just like that, we continued straight ahead towards Valencia.
That evening was our first night camping in the van in months. And it was delightful!
I’d found a spot to stay that was as secluded as I could find, as I knew that things like camping were still technically not permitted. As with most spots I find on the Park4Night app, I know very little about where we’re headed until we actually arrive. Which made it all the more of a pleasant surprise when we turned off the motorway onto twisting roads, climbing up amid orange groves and little cottages. The evening light made it all the more magical, and it really was a reminder of the kind of moments we were chasing when we first set out to travel in a van.
(images) Our secluded camping spot, where we spent the first night in the van in almost three months.
Relatively hidden from view, we parked up next to the Embalse de Sichar, an enormous reservoir which apparently serves to produce electricity, and also as irrigation for the agriculture in the region. As we pulled up next to the water, I knew I had no more than five minutes before the light completely left and we’d be shrouded in darkness - far away from any town or artificial light. So after a hot and sticky 5 hour drive, I didn’t think twice about plunging into the water.
A 10pm skinny dip felt like the perfect symbol of a new chapter after months of lockdown.
It’s not often that you get to park up in the middle of nowhere right next to a picturesque reservoir. So the next morning, after a somewhat restless night filled with the paranoia of police or park rangers, I actually had another two swims! George thinks it’s hilarious how much I love swimming in nature, and insists that if I was an animal I’d be a labrador. I’ll take that!
(image) Another wild swim in the bag at the Embalse de Sichar.
In order to get the keys to the apartment we’d be staying in, we made our way into the city of Valencia itself, to pick up our friend whose place it is. It was lovely to see him again, and it really made me realise how little I’ve seen of anyone other than George. I’ve been craving social interaction for sure, but having a tiny taste of it once again almost brought about more melancholy than there was before.
When we arrived with Ramon into the village of Corbera, about 30 minutes outside of the city, it was a welcome sight. Not only was this little town a change of scene, but there were more people out and about than we’d seen before. The Comunitat Valenciana has been hit a little less by coronavirus than Catalonia, so de-escalation had progressed here a bit more, and there were even bars and cafes open.
The sight of things like bars and cafes open once again, places which previously seemed mundane and everyday, has been transformational. It has reaffirmed my need for human interaction, and how much I enjoy not only socialising, but seeing other humans socialise too.
The following days have been a process of acclimatisation. Whilst new surrounds bring variety and hope, they can also bring about a sense of unease, as you adjust to your new home. That feeling has been even more strange because in some ways, the two of us are used to the varied setting of life on the road, but usually with the constant element of living in a van. Now we’re in an apartment, which is a kind of funny mix between temporary and permanent (longer than a holiday, shorter than an official house move). Add to that the fact that we never want to wear the generosity of others thin, and in an ideal world we’d be completely self-sustaining, driving and living in the van (and probably half-way to Asia by now!).
(images, left to right) The van interior with the sofa rotated as a passenger seat, George driving from Valencia to Corbera and my growing collection of books in the van.
Of course, it’s not just George and I who are facing change. Everyone’s plans have changed - from school exams to university graduations, from weddings to funerals and everything in between. Even though the scientists and the climate activists told us that something was going to come along and turn our current way of living on its head, we still couldn’t have imagined what was in store for us and the intensity of its impact.
As well as the terrifying health implications of this pandemic, one of the biggest impacts that most of us who remain healthy have experienced is the social one. And whilst in the early weeks, there was a sense that we were all ‘taking one for the team’ by not seeing family and friends, I have sensed a shift in mood this last week as loneliness and isolation really takes its toll.
I’ve felt acutely aware of how isolated George and I are, and in talking to others can sense that they are struggling with this too.
There are statistics and theories out there about the different stages of how we collectively deal with challenges like the Covid-19 pandemic and associated lockdown measures. And I’m no expert on the matter, but I’m pretty certain we’re in the “okay this has gotten really rotten now and I just want to hug my friends and go to a cafe and have a beer together and not have to obsessively wash my hands” stage.
Perhaps one of the roughest things about an invisible enemy like this virus is the fact that we as humans can’t fight it in the way we’d like, with a grandiose battle, a clear winner and loser, and a huge victory party. Instead, we face the dreary comedown of ‘de-escalation’, where every social interaction becomes a calculation of risk and everyday experiences are characterised by obsessive sanitation, endless disposable plastic items and the creeping sense of surveillance.
(images) A camera roll filled with selfies is a reminder of my isolation and a documentation of life in Corbera.
One of the ways I’m attempting to tackle this social isolation is to avoid judgement at all costs. It feels like the media wants to pit us against one another, to get us to judge the people who have ‘carelessly’ broken lockdown, the people who are ‘crazy’ for still respecting physical distancing, the people who refuse to send their kids back to school or the people who are desperate for some children to return. I genuinely think (contrary to what the media would have us believe) that most of us are just trying to survive, trying to keep our heads above the water and make conscious decisions with that in mind. Sure, I’m not condoning everyone’s behaviour, but believing that the majority of folk are just people like me, facing this peculiar situation, helps me feel less isolated.
All that said, I’ve heard that people in England are taking much more disregard for the rules. Perhaps my judgement on the matter is skewed because Spain seems to have found the right balance.
Despite the loneliness, we are flooded with things to be grateful for. In fact, that sometimes makes me feel guilty for feeling negative at all! But I try to lean into both emotions: the gratitude and the sadness.
Probably the biggest thing to be grateful for right now is where we’re staying.
I wake up to the sound of chatter at the cafe beneath the flat (only serving people outdoors, with tables set apart from one another but still bustling with life) and spend the sunny days working with the windows flung open and light streaming in. On balmy evenings I walk to the shop to pick up a beer or two and pass the friendly neighbourhood feline corner where at least two or three cats always seem to be lounging around. We’ve found a 5K running route too, which takes us up towards the hills of Les Fontanelles and comes down winding through orange groves with views of the paella rice paddies.
(images, left to right) The cafe downstairs which brings life to the town, sunset over the rooftops and a bunch of old guys having breakfast together, an image which has really stuck with me.
It’s a pretty idyllic place really, and a blessing that we have Broaden to work on as well. I’m building up our portfolio of graphic design and motion graphic work so that we can get more paid work that can be done remotely, whilst finalising a documentary about Portland Cementworks that we began over twelve months ago.
But I’m still conscious that work is a way to escape from this current reality, which although set in the gorgeous town of Corbera, is spent far far away from those that I love. What I would give to be in this same spot with my parents, my university friends, or all the folk we left behind in Australia!
Life in lockdown has certainly cast a new light on the price paid for travelling, and I think these coming weeks will be filled with contemplation as I readjust to this new chapter. Right now, it’s hard to stay fired up about hitting the road again, when that would mean travelling further and further away from the ones we love. But as with the challenges we’ve already faced, I’ll try and lean into it, ready for the lessons I could learn.