After the energetic pulse of Barcelona, we headed south toward a city we didn’t know too much about but were quietly excited to discover: Valencia. We had heard it was lovely, but nothing prepared us for just how beautiful and welcoming it would be. It surprised us in the best possible way—not loud or overwhelming, but calm, sunny, and graceful, like a smile that grows slowly until you can’t help but smile back.
The drive from Barcelona to Valencia was smooth, and the landscape along the way slowly shifted—less crowded, more open. There was a sense of space, a feeling that things moved at a different pace. When we arrived, the sun was still high, casting warm light on soft-colored buildings and wide, tree-lined boulevards. Valencia felt like a breath of fresh air.
We stayed in an apartment we booked through Booking.com—more like an Airbnb-style place than a hotel. It had a little kitchen, a cozy living area, and a feeling of home that you can’t quite get from traditional accommodations. I had every intention of cooking, especially since Valencia is known for its fresh seafood and produce. I even imagined us picking out fish at the market, maybe making a simple grilled dish or even paella. But in the end, I didn’t cook a single meal. I slightly regret it—just a little—because the kitchen was there, the ingredients were all around us, and the city seemed to invite that kind of experience. Still, my husband isn’t a seafood fan, so maybe it was for the best. We decided to enjoy every meal out, and that became a little adventure in itself.
Our first big outing was to the City of Arts and Sciences, one of the most iconic sights in Valencia. Even before we got close, we could tell we were in for something special. The architecture looked like something from the future—curves, glass, and reflections dancing in pools of water. We didn’t go inside each building, but honestly, we didn’t need to. Just walking around the complex was an experience. Each structure had its own character—the Hemisfèric, shaped like a giant eye; the Museu de les Ciències Príncipe Felipe, with its rib-like supports; the Palau de les Arts Reina Sofía, standing tall like a white blooming flower. The surrounding landscape, with its peaceful water features and well-kept gardens, gave the whole place a quiet, dreamlike feel. We spent hours there, just walking, admiring, and taking photos that never quite did the place justice.
Another highlight of our time in Valencia was visiting the Mercado Central—one of the largest and oldest running markets in Europe. The moment we stepped inside, we were surrounded by color, scent, and sound. The stalls seemed to stretch endlessly, each one more vibrant than the last. Piles of fruits so ripe they looked like jewels, trays of fresh seafood, meats, spices, cheeses, and local sweets. I kept thinking about that kitchen back in the apartment and what I could’ve done with even just a few things from there. But instead, we sampled bits and pieces along the way—fresh juice, a small cone of jamón, a flaky pastry filled with something sweet. The architecture of the market itself was stunning too, with ironwork, stained glass, and a soaring domed ceiling that let light pour in. It wasn’t just shopping—it was culture, history, and life all under one roof.
From there, we wandered through the Old Town, where time seemed to slow down. Narrow streets opened into sunlit plazas. We saw the Valencia Cathedral, with its mixture of Gothic, Romanesque, and Baroque styles, and walked past the Micalet Tower, which offered views of the whole city for those willing to climb. We also passed by the Lonja de la Seda, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that once served as the silk exchange. Its delicate stonework and peaceful courtyard made it feel more like a cloister than a trading hall.
Everywhere we went, there was something to admire—orange trees lining the streets, people sipping coffee in shaded cafés, kids running through fountains. Valencia had a rhythm that was slower than Barcelona but just as rich. It was less about ticking off landmarks and more about how the city made us feel.
Evenings were our favorite time. We would head out just before sunset, when the light turned everything golden and soft. The air was warm, and the city seemed to glow. We’d find a restaurant, usually tucked into a quiet side street, and share plates of whatever looked good on the menu. We weren’t after fine dining—just honest, local food. One night we had a simple paella, not from a fancy place but from a spot filled with locals, and it tasted like comfort. Another night, we sat outside with a bottle of wine and just watched the world go by.
There was laughter, there was rest, and there was that rare feeling of being fully present—grateful for where we were, who we were with, and how this city, which we hadn’t known much about before, had managed to capture our hearts so effortlessly.
Valencia didn’t demand anything from us. It didn’t overwhelm or rush. It just gently offered its beauty and waited for us to notice. And we did. Again and again, in small, lovely ways. It was the kind of place that feels easy to return to—not just physically, but in your memory. A warm breeze. The sound of footsteps on old stone. The soft hum of a content city.
After a few days, it was time to move on—Madrid was next. But as we packed up and said goodbye to our temporary home, I felt that quiet tug of not wanting to leave just yet. That’s how I knew Valencia had left its mark. It surprised us, held us gently, and then sent us off with full hearts.
