Going Back for Seconds

Issue #32 · Reacclimating to the slow Spanish lifestyle.

May 27, 2024: Yesterday, I woke up at a cool 11:16am — what a luxury, right?

Well… not quite. As a diehard early bird that savors peaceful mornings with a side of caffeine, I was pissed. The sun was well up, the sidewalk restaurant out my window was already humming with people, and my mental to-do list was starting to spoil. How could I have forgotten to set an alarm and wasted my entire first morning here?! Sure, I’m dealing with an 8-hour timezone jump, but sleeping in until midday is just adding fuel to the jetlag fire.

I threw on my shoes and ran out the door, and as the universe would have it, immediately got stuck on a narrow sidewalk behind an older couple strolling at a very leisurely pace. Sigh. Just as I was about to strategically skirt around them, I paused — oh right, I’m in Spain. Deep breaths, Em, deep breaths. I mean, what are you rushing around for? It’s a beautiful day, you’re finally back in one of your favorite cities and you’re just going to the grocery store. There’s absolutely no reason to be in such a—wait. Did you say grocery store? Today is Sunday. Oh right, I’m in Spain. Alright, so the groceries will have to wait until tomorrow, along with about 90% of the other things I was planning to get done today. Hmmm, what should I do now instead? Oh right, I’m in Spain…

It was in that moment that I tossed my to-do list of errands out the window and replaced it with a large café con leche, a long bike ride to the beach, and a perfectly tangy tinto de verano — all things that rank much higher on the ‘what life should be about’ priority list if you ask any good valenciano.

There are many reasons why I like it here, but at the top of the list is the pace of life. Now, my day-to-day wasn’t super chaotic by any means prior to arriving — but there’s just something about the siesta culture, the constant días festivos (bank holidays), and the fact that everything is closed for six weeks in late summer that really wrings out every last chaotic New Yorker drop I still have within me. Here, quality of life is taken seriously, though it seems more inherent than intentional. Community bonds are strong, the (often) perfect weather is taken advantage of, and plans are never made too far in advance. Eating/drinking is a religion and work/life balance is a misnomer.

Importantly, Valencia isn’t the type of city where only the young or wealthy thrive. In fact, to me what stands out most is that it’s a playground for all ages, especially older folks. If you walk around my neighborhood at midnight, you’ll see tables full of families spanning an 80-year gap — grandparents slowly sipping a glass of Grenache with toddlers fast asleep in strollers beside them. The rest of the adults are chatting away, content to linger. Sobremesa, it’s called — relaxing and conversing over the dinner table long after the last bite has been had. Yes, they literally have a name for it (and I imagine that blitzing the waiter for the check because you double-booked yourself with other plans is a punishable offense under official Spanish law).

The consequence of this late night culture, of course, is that mornings are slow. I use the word “consequence” lightly here as this might be the city's best feature: as a manic early riser, I adore wandering through the old town with only a few delivery trucks accompanying me. Still, I always manage to find at least one open corner café by simply following the sound of clanging espresso machines or the scent of freshly baked pastries. On my healthier mornings, I join the masses of joggers, bikers and zumba-ers that ascend upon El Jardín del Turia, the narrow, yet massive park that cuts through the entire city. It’s one of my favorite places to simply exist, maybe second only to the row of beach shacks along Playa de la Patacona that serve cold cocktails and tasty tapas all summer long.

Needless to say, I couldn’t be happier to be back in the land of paella and the juiciest oranges on earth. Thanks to both the palpable sense of culture (we should all be taking afternoon naps, guys) and several intangibles (you can just *feel* that Spain is in the wrong time zone), my daily routine here is unmatched by anywhere else in the world. The funny thing is, I haven’t even spent that much time here yet, as just 2.5 months in Valencia last summer was enough to hook me (as evidenced by this love letter, something that I always intended to write when I left last September). So my fingers are crossed that my rose-colored first impressions of this city hold true as I take my second lap around — fortunately, this time I know that there’s no need for hasty decisions, and I’m already taking things at a much slower pace.

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Recommended related posts:

• In Pursuit of an Endless Summer — Reflections on my first trip to Valencia in 2023, and why my worst fear in life is wishing I had brought a jacket.

• Stacking the Happiness Odds in Your Favor — Thoughts on the domino effect that results from the decision of where we choose to live.

PS: I’d love to hear what you thought about this issue. Email me directly at hello@emilyannhill.com and I pinky promise I’ll reply back.

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