Pants pants pants pants ....

We're obsessed with our kid. The stats prove it. We've been taking a few photos and it's fair to say that Edie appears in upwards of 95% of them. Edie; Edie Pants; the Pants; Pantalons ... I don't know where "Pants" comes from. No, actually I do. Viv's sister Beth is responsible for it, but what I meant to say is I don't know how Beth came up with it. I was only happy that when I mentioned the photo that hangs on the wall of the Carringbush Hotel in Abbotsford of Darren "Pants" Millane in full flight (or "between drinks" as I might have put it) I was happy that Beth seemed unaware of the moniker of the late Collingwood "star" and was far from recommending him as any kind of role model.

But the "Pants" has stuck. She even recognises it as her name now. Call out "Edie" and you get nothing. And did I say we are crazy about her. I don't know why. She has no sense whatsoever.

El Parc del Turia

We're in Bilbao, having crossed Spain via Cuenca and Arando de Duero. Pants has gone and got herself sick for the first time in her life and Viv and I have got a bit of it too. I suppose we can expect this to become the norm soon enough, so I'm told, but for now it makes us a little anxious. Edie is still cheerful enough, and she sleeps well in the car - which is a blessing in itself - so we've made the trip north quickly.

Time has changed its quality again, from the day to day of life in Valencia where one day blurred with the next, to travel time, where each day stands on its own, and thinking back to last week is like remembering the distant past. But before the news of new places, one last tribute to Valencia - our home of the last 5 weeks - and in particular to the Parc del Turia.

To the north of the old city, the dry riverbed of the Turia winds its way from the Bioparc in the west, to the City of Arts and Sciences in the east, and not so far from the port. The river was diverted after the floods of 1957 to run south of the city, and the old riverbed was gradually transformed into an elongated park about nine kilometres long and up to half a kilometre wide. The Parc del Turia is, to my mind, one of the great urban parks of the world. Dotted with playing fields, fountains and with running tracks snaking its length, it is the Aorta of Valencia, and one of the great tributes to the pre-eminence of public life in Spain.
We spent some time on the Turia every day. Our place was only a couple of minutes walk to its centre. I even took up running four to five kilometres along it every day, marking my progress against the 100 metre signs that measure its length. We took a soccer ball down and Edie sat in the pram, watching the ball move between us like she was watching a tennis match. And then there were the visits to the sights of the Bioparc and Arts and Science buildings, and of course the regular walks to the Carrefour supermarket at the Western end. I cannot rave enough about the park. Along with the wide white beaches and the city itself, I have to now acknowledge Valencia as my favourite Spanish city and my first destination for a home away from Australia. Beth and John are very fortunate to be here for three years, and we were also fortunate for their hospitality in showing us around and introducing us to the best of this wonderful city.

Fallas

We arrived in Valencia twice. First during the early stages of the Fallas festival (when we experienced a mascletà and the street lights radiating from the multitudes of falla monuments being erected around the city) and finally on the day following the festival’s grand pyrotechnic finale when the various Fallas committees burnt their creations to the ground. We visited the beautiful city of Granada in between and there decided - after much deliberation - to delay our return to Valencia till after the festivities had ended. What was this? Getting old? That new parent: "is this the right thing to do, thing"? Fear of crowds? We had our reasons, most of them were to do with Edie and the prospect of sleepless and sober nights for all while tag-team baby-sitting: with all the crowded confusion, with all the firecrackers booming (and I mean booming, these are more about sound than sight). We instead took an extra day driving up the coast before descending on Viv’s sister Beth and husband John, post the event.The thing you have to understand is that Fallas is all about firecrackers.

These firecrackers are available to anyone (they even sold some to John) and are set off all around, all the time, by young and old. As soon as kids can walk in this place they’re throwing firecrackers to the ground, terrifying the thousands of unsuspecting tourists (most of the locals who aren't involved leave town). And some of these mini-bombs are designed to go off a few minutes after they’re discarded, so often you can find yourself standing right on top of one, with no one else around, and BOOM!
These Valencians have no regard for public safety at all. While we quibble about bicycle helmet laws, they hand out fireworks to toddlers and virtually set fire to their city every year. They're completely insane. I love them and wish I didn't have to leave!
It makes you wonder. We wondered at times whether we'd packed enough underpants; that if Valencia were an American city, how long it would take to evacuate for fear of terror, or terror of fear (can't remember which way around it is); or how if you ever wanted to shoot someone and get away with it, this would be the ideal time and place.
But a whole two weeks of round the clock explosions (so says Beth) can be pretty nerve-wracking, and especially for a little person.

So in our defence (for being such big new parent pikers) you have to experience the noise of Fallas (which we had, during the build-up) to really appreciate why we fled town; why so many of Valencia’s residents flee town during the festival, while those that don't flee wind up wearing hearing aids; why the city’s dogs are so much more skittish than regular dogs and why (as with Spain’s many other festivals including the bullrunning and the great Bunyol tomato fight) there’s just no doing things by halves.

We did have more brave intentions. We even got some special headphones for Edie but in the end we couldn't have people point and laugh at her the whole time, I mean look at her! Ridiculous.
Did we make the right call? Were we frightened parents or just scared tourists frightened off by crowds and explosions? Do I have to answer these questions now that I have a baby as an excuse to either do a thing or not do a thing?!

We think we made the right call in the end, but maybe I'm only saying that for future reference, being that for Edie this blog may exist as a reference for her about her first overseas trip that I can bring out later on when she says we never make any sacrifices for her ...

So take a look Pants! Check it out! Look what you made us miss out on you evil little manipulating beast!

 

If you want to know more about Fallas go to www.fallasfromvalencia.com