Lessons learnt: the way home is via the number "31", in fact, the answer to everything could well be, "31"...
| Take the bus from the centre of
Madrid on a Friday afternoon, around about 18:00 and you can be in
Valencia before 22:00. Depends on the traffic, but you can get there
in some comfort, at a good price (check out: http://www.auto-res.net/). BTW:
the difference between normal and express is that the
express has better seats, they both go at the same speed...
Once I got to Valencia I followed Franks instructions and got the Metro, and then Tram down to the beach front. BTW: I've been to Valencia a few years ago with my mate D, we did the City, but we didn't visit the beach, and I couldn't remember there being a metro or tram... Anyway, my first and lasting impression of the beach front was that it's lined with a few squats and run down buildings just waiting to be bought out and turned into yuppy beach front play dens. Along with the run down buildings you'll also bump into a fair number of junkies along the stretch at night. I met Frank and we took a brief stroll along the front before driving to his centrally(ish) placed flat in his new A-team Van. Within a couple of minutes a woman was begging us for some changes so that she could phone back to Germany to speak to her Mother as she'd had such a bad week, and needed to call home... she looked like she was living on the streets. It always amazes me that beggars think that Frank is a good traget to beg from. Don't they ever notice the electric wheel chair? We went out in Franks new "barrio" for a few drinks. Next Day we woke up just in time (or was he phoning us) to meet Joaco who caught the early bus in from Madrid. Saturday turned in to one of those "let's just pop out for a quick one at 16:00, and then return at, oh, 4am, totally tanked up.". The main story for the weekend involves the walk back to Franks place after the night (or 12 hours) out on Saturday. First off we leave the party zone, and walk past a group of homeless people arguing. Nothing new there until you notice one of them is waving a hammer about... I wanna just get out of there, keep on walking, but Frank does a U-turn to get a good look after I stupidly point it out. Let's keep on going, eh? The best bit was yet to come. Not exactly sure where his new place was we decided to ask a young girl who was what we thought waiting for a Taxi for directions. Excuse me, in what direction is so-and-so Street please? answer: "31". Err, yeah, what direction is... "31". Let's get closer, maybe she can't understand.. "31". I break out laughing as I think I've worked it out, and as Frank drives himself a bit closer. However he asked, the only answer we ever got was "31". Why she couldn't just help us, I don't know. Why was the price for whatever she was offering such a strange number? 31. Did she carry change? And no, no-one found out, and we got home safe and sound. Still, the walk is at least 45 MINUTES, not 20, however fast you go... eh, Frank! |
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| Twins | Frank and a very large beer. | J and F on the way home. | A beach front house. | Me, Saturday afternoon, already worse for wear... |
music: during this short trip I listened to "Hot Water Music" and "Said I Was" on the bus journey. At Franks house listened mostly to "Goldie" and "The Streets"