Imagine, after the 1974 floods of Brisbane, the Council forefathers went: “Right, that’s it!  We’re going to redirect the river so that terrible flooding doesn’t happen ever again“.  It sounds inconceivable doesn’t it?  But that’s exactly what happened in Valencia after the floods of 1957.

The floods devastated the city and 81 people died.  So at the location where the Turia River reached the outskirts of Valencia city (imagine, say, Mt Ommaney in Brisbane), they split the river into two parts and redirected it around the city.   The old riverbed is now a green, sunken park called the ‘Garden of the Turia’ (Jardín del Turia) and is oft described as the “Pride of Valencia”.  I’ve included a picture of the river in flood (1957), plus a map of the city and garden (which also shows the diverted course, to the south).

The Turia Garden is full of bike and pedestrian pathways, numerous fountains, shady trees and colourful flowers.  There’s even a few football (soccer) pitches and a baseball diamond.   On our bikes, we travelled under ancient stone bridges and marvelled at the huge expanse of the former river – up to 200m wide in places, edged in stone walls and full of people.

Valencia and Brisbane are similar in many ways – similar population, international airport, sub-tropical climates etc.  But, of course Valencia is more compact.   Like most European cities, it’s not afraid of apartments and 6 storey buildings (vs Brisbane’s penchant for the detached one-storey home on a large allotment).

We’ve had our hire bikes for 2 days and have explored so much of the city and its adjacent marina and beaches.  Bike riding is the preferred means of transport in the city, and bicicletas (bicycles) are prioritised with over 120 km of bike lanes ….. everywhere! So we’ve really had the most awesome couple of days. 

Everywhere in the city, there are bike-sharing stations by a company called “Valenbisi”.  They’re actually the same company that does all the city bikes in Brisbane (they provide this service in dozens of cities around the world). The bikes are used by locals and visitors alike, and with a bike station at almost every second corner, it’s a convenient way to get around the city, dropping off the bike wherever you end up, and picking up a new one later.

There was even a station right across from our hotel, but despite trying numerous times, and I mean bloody numerous, I couldn’t get the evil little Dalek to work. For non-Doctor Who readers, the Daleks are merciless cyborg aliens, bent on conquering the universe and the extermination of inferior races.  AND THAT INFERIOR RACE IS ME!!   I tried not just one machine, but two (in case the first one was malfunctioning).  To rub salt into the wound, others were coming up to said Dalek, swiping a card, and happily riding off into the sunshine with puppies and / or bagettes of bread in their front bike baskets, singing Viva La Espana.

Ross tried to make me give up….but this was war and I spent over an hour trying to outsmart the little bastard. I tried different credit and debit cards, and three alternate language options (I failed in English, French and Spanish)!  I went to their web site, I downloaded the app, I even called the help line (all the help options were in Spanish, so I dialled 2, not that I knew what the number correlated to, but ya know, what else to do?)  When I finally got through to someone, they only spoke Spanish.  Inward sigh (I am in Spain) “de nada, gracias” (no problem, thanks).  I even thought about ringing the help line in Brisbane (it is the same company after all), certain that someone there would speak English – and if it hadn’t been midnight in Brissie, I probably would have.

Finally, right at the point when steam was gently coming from my ears, Rossco dragged me away from the Dalek and into a bike hire shop. It took less than two minutes to hire two bikes, get a map and be on our way. Outward sigh.

For the next 48 hours, every time we passed a bike-share station, Rossco would helpfully point it out to me and laugh. Clearly, #boatgate lives on.  There’s part of me that wants to pop downstairs tonight and work the little Dalek bastard out, but it’s a lose-lose situation.  If I get it to work, I’ll be sooooo cranky, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll be really cranky.  Dalek 1 – Kari 0.

So anyway, we’re back in Spain after our sojourn to Portugal.  We cut our time in Albufeira short, because, although stunningly beautiful, it’s very Anglicised to the point where it has lost much of its essence.  The Portuguese of Albufeira are very friendly and they all speak excellent English.  They have gone out of their way to provide venues catering for the tourists (ie English breakfast, Indian food, burgers, cocktails, wall-to-wall football games – icky).  However, there’s a fine line between being tourist-orientated and providing an authentic and charming experience in a foreign country.  The Algarve coast just didn’t feel that foreign to me (but if you want to go somewhere beautiful and warm, lie on the beach all day, eat western food, drink cocktails – then go for it, you’ll love it).

So after another bus trip, 24 hours in Lisbon (what a fabulous city, really need to go back there), a flight on a plane with PROPELLERS (not jet engines), we’re back in Spain.  #VivaLaEspana #deathtoDaleks