Have you got any I.D?

Aging can be a very delicate subject for women.  I am only 29 and I have already been through, and seen my friends go through, several stages of this delicate matter.  I know, I know – we are only spring chickens and have plenty more to come, granny hairs, varicose veins and the skirts getting longer by the year!

 

However, what I want to talk about today is something that is now a common question asked by my friends as they approach and surpass the grand old age of thirty: When was the last time that you got ID’d buying alcohol?

 

There are the lucky ones, like my friend who is a school teacher.  She will be thirty in November and guaranteed, no matter where we go or who we are with, she always gets asked for ID – the bitch! I always joke with the bouncers, ‘do you want to see mine?’  They used to humour me and say yes.  Now they only smile politely and avoid making eye contact – bastards!

 

My last experience of being asked for ID was when I was 26.  I was working away all week and on my way in to work, I decided to get some shopping from the local supermarket.  I picked up the usual bits and pieces for the week; bread, milk, sliced ham, eggs, fruit and veggies and finally, something to drink.

 

It was August and quite a nice summer, so I decided to go for Gin and Tonic, nice and refreshing in the heat!  I picked up some limes and of course some chocolate (not the usual accompaniment to G&T, but it works for me).  Time for the till.

 

I laid out all of my goods paying little attention as the cashier beeped it all through and I robotically filled my carrier bags.  ‘Have you got any ID?’ she asked.  I was surprised but confidently reached into my handbag for my passport which I usually took everywhere with me.  But not today, by some stroke of genius, I had swapped my handbag and stupidly forgotten my passport! Red faced, I gave the woman my date of birth, but alas, to no avail, they no longer accept this story (I always got away with it when I was 17, even when I was using my fingers to count back to my birth year). 

 

The gin was removed from the conveyor.

 

I quietly packed away my goods, no longer embarrassed, but smiling as I realised that I had just been asked for ID.  Me, aged 26, mistaken for a young and flighty 18 year old.  I beamed with pride.  As I handed over my card, the lady on the till apologized, ‘no problem’ I said, ‘its quite flattering I suppose, it’s been years since I was asked’. 

 

Without batting an eyelid she said, ‘yes, we have to ask everybody that looks under 25 now.’  Gutted.

 

I left quietly with my goods, gin left sitting forlornly on the till and the lone tonic yearning for its natural companion – what the hell do you with tonic water when you have no gin?

 

Being asked to prove my age, made me yearn for a time when I was younger.  Funny, because when I was a teenager, I was so busy trying to be older, a common complaint I am sure.  I look back now and wish I’d worn mini skirts to show off my legs, low cut tops to show off my cleavage and made the most of a time when I could truly be free and when my dreams ran wilder than they ever will again.

 

I was an awkward teen, outwardly confident, inwardly angst ridden, openly angry.  I have worked very hard in my life and have been fortunate enough to make the most of the opportunities that have been presented to me.  Nobody’s life is perfect, but I believe that life is surrounded by chances to take lessons, some are not what you may have wanted, but all teach us something, the old adage, ‘everything happens for a reason’ has always applied to me and my experiences, even if it wasn’t obvious at the time.

 

I remembered, very recently, because of this adage, what it was to dream.  Life before practicality, sensibility and the day to day drudge of real life took over.  Dreams are what drive us in our youth because we have an unerring belief in what we can achieve.  Now as I remember my dreams, my visions, my ambitions in life that used to lead to me speaking in public, reading my poetry out loud and playing guitar in a band, I feel the need to re-ignite the spark of my youth, using the wisdom of my experiences to make my dreams a reality.

 

Maybe this is the big 30 lurking in the not so far distance, maybe it’s a realization of my mortality. I doubt it; Botox would be quicker, cheaper but not nearly so satisfying:  We will all have one life and for me, I have realized that pursuing my dreams is what makes me happy.  I am very lucky to know this.

 

 

A weekend in Valencia! Part 5: Our Last Night Before Home

When we woke up, we put on some music and drank a red bull to help to kick-start the evening.  I took a shower and we got ready to go out; I went for my red dress, its stunning, very fitting for Espana!  I put my make up on and I straightened my hair.  What a mistake! Girls with curly hair know that humidity, heat and sweat, equals frizz, curls and volume.  Within an hour I had seriously big hair.  Cest la vie.

We took the bus to the beach and started off by having a walk down the promenade as we had the previous evening.  We went a little further this night and found a series of market stalls with handcrafted gifts and replica football shirts.  We walked a little further down and then headed back to the main strip to find ourselves a cocktail.

As it was our last night in Valencia, we decided to go for a meal in one of the restaurants recommended by the Guide book, La Pepica.  This was noted as an excellent seafood restaurant and the amount of customers there was evidence of this.  We went for a cocktail whilst we waited at the Hotel Neptune bar.  The variety wasn’t brilliant but the classic Margarita I ordered was divine and very refreshing, also the sofas were very comfy.

We walked back to the restaurant at about 11pm and were waiting for an outside table but unfortunately it was a long time coming so we opted to eat indoors.  This was actually ok, the heat was stifling but not unbearable.

Having had a discussion earlier at the bar, and knowing that Valencia was the home of paella, we chose to go for that for our main course.  This was unusual as my man had a very bad experience with paella once before.  He doesn’t know if it was the paella or the night before which caused it, but as anybody who has been to Spain will tell you, getting paella for one is quite difficult.  For this reason, I don’t usually do paella.  Tonight though, that is what we were having.

The starter we chose was mussels in garlic with some bread to dip into the sauce.  I absolutely love mussels and seafood in general; although I didn’t come to it until quite late in life (lets go back to the last blog and remind ourselves that I don’t eat things that still look alive generally).  The waiter recommended a Valencian wine which was really tasty, medium dry, I suppose a bit like a Pinot Grigio (I think that’s medium dry).  This was a very good start to the meal.

We ordered the paella Valencia which came with chicken on the bone and vegetables.  It was delicious but incredibly filling; so filling that I felt incredibly tired all of a sudden.  Paella is not for party nights (unless it’s a paella party).

Anyway, I ordered an espresso to keep me going for the party ahead; throughout the meal, there had been a variety of girls coming into the restaurant handing out flyers for different venues.  Now, I could believe that it was because we were at the back of the restaurant that we had not been given a single one, but either way, it was giving us a complex, obviously the paella had filled us so much that we no longer looked like a fun young couple.

It was at this point that quite possibly the most amazing looking woman who I have ever seen entered the building handing out flyers.  She was around 5’9”, wearing a white greek goddess style mini dress, her tanned legs up to her arm pits, shiny brown hair and a figure to die for.  Every man in the room stopped.  Several mutterings of wow came from the room – even from the women who were struggling to keep the attention of their men.

It was like a Benny Hill sketch.  I saw three waiters nearly fall over chairs and drop crockery whilst staring at her.  Our waiter was serving our coffee and I only thank god that he wasn’t pouring it for us at the table or I fear it would have been in my lap, he was so distracted.  The women in Valencia are stunning.

We went to the club that she had given us the flyer for (mainly because she was the only one who had given us a flyer).  It was called Laydown.  We went in and were presented with a series of huge sofa come beds and lots and lots of champagne.  We stuck with cocktails though and went to sit at the back of the club next to the harbour.  The music was really good and the atmosphere was very relaxed, but then it would be in a club full of sofas.

Randomly, a sort of cabaret act came on.  There were two women, the older one reminiscent of Cher, clad in leather with long black hair.  She sang a couple of songs.  The younger one was a bigger lady, also clad in leather but not really doing much else.  Maybe I missed the point but it changed the mood in the bar and we left soon after.

Nothing lost though, the terrace where we had been the previous night was a stone’s throw away so we went there and then walked down to the club we had finished in the night before.  There were dancers on stage and the atmosphere was really good.  The place was called High Cube and I would recommend it to anybody who is looking for a good night.

Once again, we partied until three and then headed back to the hotel for some sleep before our flight home.

The next day after another big breakfast, we caught the metro back to the airport and flew back to East Midlands airport.  Two hours later I was driving up the M6 on my way to work, tired but very relaxed after a fantastic weekend away.

Valencia, I will be back.

Valencia:  The Best Bits

1. Restaurants and Bars at the beach
2. Art and Science Centre
3. Plaza de Toros and Estacion del Nord
4. Hire a Bike – Great fun in a beautiful city
5. Spanish food

A weekend in Valencia! Part 4: Sight Seeing

We had a large breakfast consisting of fresh fruit, melon, pineapple, grapefruit; strong coffee and sweet pastries; cold meats and cheeses.  As usual we ate our breakfast at about 10.30am and filled up as much as possible so that we could leave our afternoon snack until late afternoon.  Breakfast was good.

The sky was a little grey but the temperature was still up so I went for my denim shorts and a vest and stuffed my cardigan into my handbag (just in case).  We asked at reception how we could get into the old town and were told that just round the corner from the hotel was the bus stop.  The number 19 for the old town or the number 20 for the beach.

Tempted as I was to go for the beach, the old town won and off we went.  We alighted at the Estacion del Nord and the Plaza de Toros.  It wasn’t so much the architecture that astounded me, as whilst beautiful, the lack of picture perfect blue sky detracted from the overall effect, but the intricate mosaics on the clocks and various scenes depicted within the station was really unique.  Every wall and ceiling had a different mosaic, a different effect and it was a discovery every time I turned around.

We left this area and walked towards the Plaza Redonda, passing through the Plaza de Ayuntamento and on to Mercado Central.  The place heaved with smells and sounds of market day trading, bright colours of tropical fruits, heady smells of fish and meat and of course, Iberico Ham dangling from hooks by the kilo.  We had a fresh juice from the market and walked on weaving in and out of the old towns small streets with their mixture of tourist and classic shopping.

We eventually popped out near the Plaza del la Virgen where we bought an ice cream and sat down to watch the world go by for half an hour.  We continued walking spying new architecture and features wherever we went. 

At this point, the mood turned a little bit flat.  We didn’t fancy the inside of the churches as that is not our thing.  I was tired and couldn’t decide where I wanted to go.  We walked onto a main street and were planning to walk back to our bus stop and on to the hotel as Siesta time drew near. 

It was then that we walked past a bike point.  We had seen a  number of these on our visit and had even been to see what it was all about.  Basically, you hire a bike for the day by using your credit card to take a subscription.  Once this has been cleared, you remove the bike from its stand and as long as it is returned to one of the 275 stands in the city by the end of the day, you are refunded your monies for the bike, less days hire.  Genius.

So there we were with two bikes, not the most light, easy to handle bits of bicycle but it didn’t take long to get into the swing of it.  Turns out you never forget!  We double checked the map on our revised route and found that we could ride through the Jardines de Turia back down to the Art and Science Museum.  The gardens were blooming with summer, fresh flowers and trees, girls in pretty dresses and the smell of summer haze.  We rode along with big smiles on our faces, relishing the space we had in the gardens.  The cycle path was even, flat and wide which as a cyclist that has hardly cycled since being told I had a fat arse when I was sixteen (I didn’t) was quite a relief. 

We stopped for coffee with the Art Centre the view behind us along with some other Valencian skyline architecture which never failed to amaze me.  We headed back to Calla Menorca and parked up the bikes.  It was a brilliant idea and a great way to see the city and enjoy the nice weather.

We went to the department store near our hotel which could be described as Selfridges or similar and I treated myself to a new handbag.  Possibly inspired by the freedom riding a bike had given me and the reminiscence of my youth, I chose a very colourful handbag with words to the effect of ‘keep on dreaming’ etched on it in gold.  I felt like it belonged to me instantly.

We arrived back at our hotel at around five o clock and headed straight for a Siesta with only one thing on our minds……..no, not that!  The thought of the fantastic atmosphere down at the beach, which we would wake up to later that evening.

 Coming next…………A weekend in Valencia! Part 5: Our last night before home

A weekend in Valencia! Part 3: Best Lightning Storm Ever

When I woke up it was still light outside but the wrong side of nine o clock. The temperatures were in the twenties even for the late hour and so in anticipation of a night of food and fun I slipped into my long light summer dress, applying my make up but not bothering to straighten my curly hair. We drank a beer and a red bull while we got ready listening to me music on the iPod to get us in the mood. We took a taxi to the beach (only six euros) where our guide-book had reliably informed us of some good food, cocktails and all night parties. We were not to be disappointed.

The choice of bars and restaurants was vast with menus to suit all budgets and tastes. It was busy at around ten o clock when we arrived so we opted to wait to get a seat outside at Gabbana, a contemporary bar and restaurant that enticed us in with its great platters of seafood. Personally I enjoy a good margarita, mojito or a martini but we started with a mimosa – all the m’s!!! Basically a posh buck’s fizz made with orange juice and cava. It made a delicious start to the meal. Unfortunately, and it may have been somewhere in the translation, our menu didn’t appear to have any seafood on it like the great platters that had our mouths watering. Maybe it had gotten a little too late as it was eleven when we sat down to eat?  After considering the menu, we decided to share an octopus starter and then chose a tuna steak and courgette frites and an Argentinean beef steak to follow. Fortunately we share similar tastes so we tend to pick from each others plates or do a wholesale swap at half time.

The Octopus was delivered to the table and I remember in the recesses of my mind having this when I was seventeen in a restaurant in Southend on Sea. That time, it was chewy and had obviously been defrosted and overcooked. But the one memory that kept creeping back up on me was tentacles. I am one of these people who can eat chicken, meat, fish etc. all day long – but make me have to kill it/ pluck it/ fillet it/ cut off its head/ claws/ eyes (delete as appropriate) and I become an instant vegetarian. So why on earth I chose something with tentacles I don’t know. One other thing is that I hate to waste food, so when it came out, two curly inch thick strands of octopus legs, I braved it and ate it anyway. It turns out that if you can close your mind to the tentacles, it tastes not half bad. I couldn’t though and washed mine down with copious amounts of wine which seemed to do the trick.

The tuna was delicious, rare and meaty. Unfortunately the steak was fatty, in fact, there was more fat than meat on it in the end – a bit of a disappointment for eighteen euros! The wine however more than made up for it and we happily drank a bottle between us.

We walked down the beach front and on to the harbour aiming for a place called thirty-nine degrees but never really knowing if we made it or not. We chose a series of bars near the America’s Cup building on a huge terrace. It was so busy but we fought for the bar and I got my margarita. Before long a lightning storm had started. The scene was slightly erotic, the busy terrace full of people dancing, swaying their bodies to an almost ethereal beat which matched the lightning, the sky illuminating the scene in electric blue.
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The rain started but only very briefly. The terrace bars had no real cover but everybody tried to pack in to the small space, squeezing and pressing against one another increasing the spark of the atmosphere which was building in the storm. The rain stopped and the crowd flooded out onto the terrace still dancing in the amazing blue flashes.

This continued for hours until it was time to go back to our hotel. We left the dancing and our last cocktail behind at around three thirty am and on the way to the taxi rank we stopped on the harbour wall to watch as fork lightning shot out over the sea and city beyond!

What a night and what a storm! Taxi por favor, Buenas noches…..

Coming Soon…..A weekend in Valencia! Part 4:  Sight Seeing

A weekend in Valencia! Part 2: The Beautiful City

Part 2:  The Beautiful City

Oceanografic Science and Art Centres

The metro from the airport was simple and uneventful – exactly what we wanted except we saw nothing of the city except the people.  Spanish language flowed past my ears and instead of struggling to understand, I relaxed.

For the first time I think in my whole adult life, I relied on a man to get me where I was going without even a hint of a clue of our general direction – now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a bra burning feminist, but I do work with a lot of men in construction, so naturally, I am an independent woman, who knows how to get something done without relying on those around her, in fact, I think you could say I am something of the Mum of the group, the organizer – but not this time.  This time, I let myself be led through the wide city streets.

I’ll be honest, I had a moment of doubt but in no time at all we had walked to the Hotel Melia on Calla Menorca.  First impressions were good, gorgeous room but absolutely no character at all and a bit of a funny smell…the bed looked so inviting after my night shift and sleepless flight though! Sigh! We got changed out of our sweaty travel clothes and went straight out. 

The city was clean, with contemporary architecture and wide typically Spanish streets.  Opposite the Hotel was a large shopping centre, a department store and a short walk was Wow! the Art Centre and Science Museum – an amazing set of structures, another example of Gaudi’s influence on the Spanish skyline – these were the buildings that we wanted to go and see and we weren’t disappointed, the guide-book didn’t do it justice nor do the photographs. 

The thing is with Spain, especially Valencia that we found during our stay, was the pace.  Everything slowed down, but in a good way.  I was relaxed, tired, yes, but simply happy.

Of course time had moved on and our stomachs moved us away from this wonderful sight.  My man, once again leading the way, had already checked out the local restaurants and looking to be romantic led the way to the Oceanografic.  Unfortunately, we found that we had to pay to get into the Spanish version of the sea life centre if we wanted to eat there so we decided to walk elsewhere.  Ok, they had penguins, but I have lived in the Falkland Islands, penguins may be cute, but I’ve seen my share of them now – for life!

Still hungry, we continued walking down the road in the hope of walking towards the best restaurant in the whole of Valencia.  It wasn’t to be and of course, on our return, we looked at the map and decided to take ‘a shortcut’.  Oh dear.  We walked off the beaten track onto a dirt track that ran alongside the water that was a feature of the Science Museum’s architecture, we headed back in the direction we had come following the dirt track behind the Oceanografic.  We had our doubts, it was hot, we were hungry but we carried on.  Yes, you guessed it, it was a dead-end.

Back we went.  Traipsing down the dirt track, back to the pavement, stomach’s nagging, tongue’s gagging.  I get grumpy when I am hungry and now I was getting grumpy.  We finally got back to civilization and found a mirage in the desert in the form of a drinks cabin on the side of the road – a bitter lemon crushed ice drink, cold, refreshing and sweet.  Back to über relaxed with two euros of crushed ice, ah, this is the life.

We felt better but couldn’t find anywhere to eat,Valencia, being less busy or more traditional than Barcelona, has a proper Siesta – after about 4pm food just isn’t available.  We had a coffee, but to be honest, the big glasses were covering up my rapidly closing eyelids – I was exhausted.  We decided to go the mall opposite the hotel and grab something from a café to take back with us to the room but not a single take away was open.  I wasn’t giving up: out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign, Mercado, supermarket, even I can translate that with my (very) limited Spanglish.

When we got back to the room, my man-made me the tastiest ham and cheese baguette I have ever eaten before letting me drift off into a deep slumber for a few hours of much needed rest.  When in Spain, do as the Spanish; Siesta.

Coming Up…….A weekend in Valencia!Part 3: A Night to Remember

A weekend in Valencia! Part 1: The Journey

Part 1:  The Journey

When my favourite holiday website had an offer for a 5 star hotel in Valencia, I decided it was too good to miss.  We decided on two nights because I am currently working 5 nights a week and chose the flight with Ryanair from East Midlands airport.

I arrived home at 07:30 and we needed to get to the gate by 08:55 – eek!!! I literally ran straight into the shower, shedding clothes behind me as I went, shouting to the other half to empty my case out on the floor so that I could fill it again with sexy summer outfits….

I got back downstairs with an armful of bikinis and summer dresses to a bemused smile from my man – I should probably explain, though we have been together for a while, I have been out of the country for eleven months and we don’t live together so he doesn’t usually see the ‘disorganised’ Brandi, or as my friends call it, normal.

Passport, keys, boarding passes, money and its 07:45am and we were out the door! A new record (even though I forgot to brush my hair and my teeth and had to do this at the airport)!!!

I love the airport at East Midlands, it’s easy to get to, easy to park and they have a nice selection of shops and food without making me feel overwhelmed with lights and perfume and sweets.  We made it through the long queue and arrived at the gate to the final call.  Being the first week of the summer holidays it was fairly busy on said flight and as we waited, and waited, and waited people started to mutter realizing that the plane wasn’t actually on the ground yet – even though we had the final call? Baffling!

Even that was ok though, I was looking forward to a sleep on the plane, a couple of hours of rest after my long night shift to build up some energy for our weekend adventure.  No such luck.  I hadn’t realized that budget airlines now offer commission to their staff to sell ‘everything’!  Food, drinks, duty-free, scratchcards, duty-free, food, drinks. Guaranteed, just as I was nodding off, bam, the annoying voice of air hostess number one offering me something else I didn’t want – bless those waitresses of the sky. 

It’s fair to say I was grateful when we landed after two hours to realize it was glorious sunshine, even if it only meant I could put on my oversize sunglasses and hide the bags under my eyes.

Coming Up……..A weekend in Valencia Part 2:  The Beautiful City