I was up by 10:00 and after I packed up I went for a walk to see the sights of Valencia.
City center area
The port
City center
By 12:00 I was back at the hotel and from there I rode Spithas to the not so far bus station. I purchased a ticket for myself and Spithas. While waiting in line, out of coincidence, another cyclist was behind me. It was natural to start talking. She was not an intercontinental cyclist but a local one. She was using the bike to move around in the city and now she would take the bus to her hometown, whose name she told me but I forgot, and wanted to take the bike along w/ her. She gave me valuable info about the trip and as we were parting in a spontaneous move she took out a muffin out of her bag and offered it to me. “For the trip” she said. I could not but accept such a sweet offer. I thanked and said goodbye as she walked to her bus. He bus left right away but I had to wait for another two hours, till 13:45. After that there was a long day in the bus ahead of me. According to the lady at the ticket window we would arrive in Valencia at 1:00 in the morning the next day.
Be that as it may I had two hours to kill, so, with Spithas consent, we biked around.
Hill near the city center
Beach near the city center
Almost 15 minutes before the departure time I realized what the time was and really stepped on the gas to make it in time. I arrived puffing but in time. I asked the man who appeared to be the driver whether the bus was the bus to Valencia. He answered yes and mumbled something to the effect, there is no rush. Indeed there was no rush. The driver left for his lunch and returned 45 mins later.
We started an easy ride. The scenery around was beautiful and also reminiscent of Greece. The highway was up to almost US standards and even though it seemed that we were just cruising, we were indeed speeding.
First stop
Second stop at Lorca
The person sitting at the seat next to me was Mostafa who has lived in Spain, near Barcelona, for the last 10 years. He was originally from Nador, the last city I visited in Morocco. He was interesting and loquacious. We ended up being very friendly and he confided in me certain of his recent mishaps. Due to stress at his work he ended up having something like a nervous breakdown and he was prescribed a number of medicine pills. As a result, he said, he could lose his temper easily. However, he never became violent he just raised the tone of his voice. Unfortunately for him, that had happened two days ago as well. As he was on his way back from Nador he took the boat to Malaga like myself and from there he intended to fly to Barcelona. He had gone to the airport to buy a ticket from a company called Berlin …, there was actually a special offer and would have to pay only half the price. However, when he approached the window the lady behind the window told him that this offer only applied to Spaniards. Upon that he showed his permanent residence card, by virtue of which he could also buy at half price. The lady however to told him to take a hike or she would call the police. Mostafa refused and she did call the police who, when they arrived without really investigating in to what had happened told him to leave or he would be arrested. Mostafa told them that it was his right to buy the ticket at half price like everybody else and he was not going to go away. Upon that the policemen grabbed him, handcuffed him, and beat him, as they pushed him in the police car that drove him to jail. He still had the marks of the beating on his arms, which he showed me. He spent the almost two days in jail w/o having access to his medicine as the policemen ignored anything he said.
Mostafa repeated the story several times and answered all the questions I asked him. I concluded that, if his description is accurate, he has a strong case against the airline company and the lady at the window. In addition, he has a strong case against the police, especially for not letting him access his medicine, despite his repeated appeals. The time went by faster than expected due mostly to the several conversations I had with Mostafa.
At about four hours before Valencia, the driver was replaced and the new driver turned out to be a mean tempered one. Almost immediately I had a squabble w/ him. As he opened the doors of the luggage area, I went out just to make sure that Spithas was in good shape and when a lady tried to put her suitcase on him I moved it to the side. The new driver came and in a really quarrelsome tone of voice he asked me whether this were my bike and when I told him that it was, he said it should not be there and he was surprised that the previous driver let me put him in the hull w/o first putting him in a box. I did not want to make a mount out of an anthill so I did not answer his provocation, and sort of ignored him. When Mostafa and I attempted to walk back to our seats he asked to see our tickets. We told him that they were w/ our stuff on our seats. He walked w/ us and Mostafa showed him his ticket, whereas I started looking for the ticket allover the place. Naturally, all the time I was looking for the ticket, I was actually holding it in my hand. I even went as far as producing a flashlight and started looking in my knapsack. Fifteen minutes later the conductor just walked away saying that I should show it to him before I get off the bus. I never showed him the ticket.
We drove on and after a number of stops and a few hours of driving, we arrived at Valencia. I got off the bus, took Spithas out of the hull, fitted him right, and said goodbye to Mostafa who would be riding for a few more hours.
It was 2:00 in the morning. My next move would have to be to find a place to sleep. After asking around I learned that the best place to look for a hotel was the town center, which turned out to be a ten minute ride in the empty streets. I checked on a couple of hostels on the way and all were completely full, due to a concert that would be taking place, I was told. I started seeing clearly before my eyes the prospect of spending the night on bench near Spithas. Fortunately, however, my last call was answered. The Hostal – Residencia Hospederia del Pilar at Plaza del Mercado 19, had a room that exactly fitted my needs. The receptionist that took my info from my passport noticed that I was Greek and told me that he used to be able to speak Greek. This was totally unexpected and I asked him if he had lived in Greece, the only reason for learning Greek, that I could think. He answered that he had not but he worked on Greek ships for a few years, starting at the age of 19. It had been a long time since then, however, and couldn’t remember but a few words which he readily practiced w/ me.
Exhausted I went to my room and after I unpacked went straight to sleep.
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