Every time I’m in a new place, city or country, the question I often ask myself is whether I see a home there. Not so long ago, I did this with people. Whenever I’d meet someone new, I’d step on the worn out welcome mat, creek the door open, and wonder, what if this is the one?
It took me a while, but I realized that not every swipe right was Mr. Right. I do not have to settle for that one good looking dude just because our lives intersected for a second. Somethings are meant to be temporary, for example, men or cute b&bs.
Spain, however, in five days, picked me up, laid me down, cooked me paella, and introduced me to his family. It felt like we were going somewhere with this.
Some think it’s funny how my priorities for people have now projected on the things that make me happy and develop me as a human doing rather than just a human being, like travel. I think it floats my boat just fine.
Valencia is Spain’s third largest city with a rich Arab history and has held in as the Spanish capital several times.
The culture, much like the weather, is equally warm. Valencia was everything I wanted: the Mediterranean coast, cheap coffee, music on the streets, and a ton of Oranges.
Valencia produces so many oranges that the region has attracted the name “The Orchard of Spain”. The streets are lined with orange trees but most are unfortunately bitter if you pick them right off. This time around the year, the air is filled with the heavy scent of orange blossom. Fun fact, in the 18th century, the government planted orange trees to cover up certain smells in the city due to underdeveloped sewer systems.
I spent three days eating, drinking, people watching, and dancing by the beach. There was no immense pressure to tick a list of “been there done that” even though Valencia had so much to offer. Things sort of just went with the flow, and I, with it.
Tragic I walk out everytime the feeling of “I see myself calling this home” lurks my thoughts. Because at the end of the day, its flights, not feels…. right?