Fallas, Costumes and Paella

Not far from Albocasser there is a striking hermitage called Ermita de Sant Pau.  In a long somewhat narrow space Montse, a previous radio presenter, used to run a small bar/café.  It was here, under the cloisters that I met the colourful Nacho from Valencia along with his mates. He has a factory that produces silk threads and cloths that supply specialist stores including the most select fallas costume shop in Valencia.We got to talking and laughing.

Montse brought out plate after plate of her delicious homemade “almuerzo” and the beers and wines were flowing. The tables mood rose all around and suddenly in a fit of expansive euphoria Nacho embarked on a surprising flamenco-soaked singsong with Montse taking the lead. I did an appalling video. All this inspired Nacho to invite me not only to visit this fallas shop, but also to go to La Albufera, the birth of paella, and where the best paella is  still to be had.

And so it was that the next Saturday I picked up two of Nacho’s friends from a petrol station in Val d’Alba and then drove to La Lonja silk museum by the Mercado Central in Valencia to meet him. What better place to start the day than this evocative 13th century trading emporium arranged around an orange tree filled courtyard? Nacho gave an enthusiastic tour, pointing out some of the more provocative stone carvings and intermittently exclaiming “baw”.

I think this means “wow”.

After about a hundred of these exclamations we settled down around the corner for the first of the guys many beers of the day.

I drank a small wine.

Then Nacho marched me to Espai Ripalda .

More than a shop, this was really quite extravagant with its costumes and rolls of colourful materials and display cabinets, expensive jewellery and even an in-house hairdressing salon!  A book of  photos showed the final effect that all this put together created – an unreal creamy dream.

Not surprisingly the silks were not cheap, the hand woven ones about 1200 euros per metre. The manager Raúl pointed out the difference between the ranges – the top ends used finer threads and were denser. This reminded me of the very expensive raw silk caftan I commissioned la few years ago. I had this romantic image of floating around my masia to flamenco and classical guitar music, the gentle silk robes flapping in the breeze. But it was so scratchy and badly cut as to be un-wearable. Not so this silk, it was as soft as, well, as silk should be!

The made-to match women’s shoes were to die for, of vibrant colours like exotic birds of paradise, very feminine. There were also a few styles for the boys, sort of like Tudor court shoes and nearly wearable by brave females with fat feet. They could actually become quite the thing in the right year.

There was a section with antique costumes and veils which was a bit like a mini museum, only some items could be bought. One little white lacy handkerchief thing had a price tag of 2200 euros. I understood it was 400 years old.

Raúl told me that the cheapest outfit was circa 1000 euros – after all they are all made by hand. And some people spent 100,000 euros, he added. When I gasped at the thought, he simply stated that there were those who save up to buy a Mercedes, and others for a fallas costume.

Luckily I save up for neither.

 For those of you you do not know,  The Fallas of Valencia is a five-day much celebrated event that takes place in March and allegedly dates back to the middle ages, although it has evolved much along the way. I have witnessed it – briefly – and can say that it is VERY noisy with constant partying, fireworks and imaginative float displays. At the end of this celebration, the displays are burnt! Thankfully the Fallas costumes are retired rather than destroyed – either permanently or until the next year, depending on the owner’s budget.

Costumes aside, with all the accessories, fans, jewellery, hair-dos and photography, the excess did not bear thinking about.

Musing on what all this meant in the present day and age, I left the costume shop, glancing in amusement at the real world sticking their heads through fake cardboard costume cut-outs near the main entrance. A sure sign of Espai  Ripalda’s fame. A few metres further on my chaperones were in fine fettle at a small pavement bar. Clearly they had had a beer or two or three or even a carajillo. Being the chauffeur, I firmly declined the offer to join them and shortly after we set off for the much heralded paella feast on the edge of La Albufera. Quite apt really as this dish is one of the culinary highlights of the Fallas.

Situated in the Parc Natural de la Albufera, La Albufera is a huge fresh water lagoon bordered on one side by low flat plains where the famous round-grained paella rice is grown and on the other by the sea. It is very green and a host to hundreds of bird species, including rarities such as the pectoral sandpiper, collared flycatcher and blue-winged teal. Nothing like the rest of Spain and so for the Spaniards in my car, an exotic visual feast.

Getting through the area was quite a task. One road in and one road out with an endless stream of cars, probably due to it being the summer holidays. After what seemed years we came to a little village on the coast, a higgledy piggledy collection of modern holiday blocks and villas, and a few old fisherman houses fashioned like rounded white tunnels.

We walked down the short road to the paella restaurant, Mare Nostrum. The vista in front was flat with dunes and grasses and inland estuaries. And the sea beyond of course. It was hot. About 38 in the shade and very humid so it felt hotter. We were shown a table and there was Isabel, an extremely thin exotic creature with a beguiling jumble of expensive tinkling jewellery and an unusually wide mouth. She greeted Nacho effusively and we all sat down.

And so passed an extremely pleasant afternoon at a down-to-earth, but high-quality eatery with lively animated out of this world company. There were so many starters (all fish and very fresh) that by the time the paella came I could hardly eat more. But eat I did because one half of the table was only picking – they were  too busy smoking, nattering and drinking beers, brandies and diet cokes (Isobel). Not wanting to insult the cook, I decided to make up for it but a few forkfuls in even I was defeated.

They asked for a few doggy bags and I went to look at the kitchen.

I also came across this rather striking fisherman who reminded my somewhat of Harry Belafonte, one of my favourite singers. He had very white teeth!

At about 5pm we staggered away from there, but not before I snapped the original owner catnapping in his car and the Nacho pack in various juxtapositions.

The heat was momumentally suffocating and I was exhausted by a day of photography, heavy equipment and lack of intoxicating diversions. Actually I could hardly breathe and my dress was plastered to me in a less than becoming manner.

I begged leave. Isobel could drive!

Several days later I heard that the quarto carried on with its revelries and ended up down on the beach rhapsodying with the fishermen. That must have been a sight as Isobel’s heels were high and sharp with delicate ankle straps.  She bought a very large fish that she placed in the boot and forgot about. Her apartment building called her a few days later about the smell, thinking it was a body. So quite a stink!

Nacho tells me that Isobel is looking for a new car. I just wonder if she ever eats…

To see more photos from this day please click here