Spain's quiet gem: Valencia, Spain

Half an hour after stowing my bags in Valencia, I was drinking a cappuccino at an outdoor cafe with oranges at my feet. On this last day in January, the fruit was falling off the trees. Oranges littered the polished stones of the plaza, tumbled onto sidewalks and bus shelters, dotted shop-lined lanes and medieval church squares.

It was as if the town itself was dropping its guard. Valencia's wild spring festival, Las Fallas, featuring the burning of huge papier-mâché sculpture on the streets, was nearly two months off. So was bullfighting, which takes place in the Colosseum-like bullring in Plaza de Toros. During this quiet time, the city — Spain's third-largest, but unsung — seemed accessible, revealing its authentic self, fallen fruit and all.

I'd come to visit friends already spending a month here; they'd chosen it because it is warm, on the Mediterranean Sea and has a good Spanish language school. They had rented an apartment, with an extra bedroom, in the Ruzafa neighborhood, a dense commercial and residential area just south of the Old City. It was gritty, but thick with great restaurants and little surprises.

One Sunday afternoon at a restaurant by the sea, a great heap of paella arrived sizzling at our table, steam swirling with the scents of saffron and seafood. The flavor was complex and pure Valencia; the rice, meat and seafood stew is said to have originated in the city.

Later that night, we went in search of another rich cultural offering: flamenco music. Our destination was Cafe del Duende, where we'd been told we would find the most torrid flamenco in town. But the further we wandered from the Old City, the narrower and darker the streets became.

Block by block, street life diminished. Shuttered shops replaced bright restaurants. In apartments above the stores, few lights burned. I've long believed in the adage that when you travel you're never really lost, but as the sound of our own footsteps replaced the hum of traffic and voices, that theory was being tested. Clearly, we at least weren't headed for any trite tourist trap.

We turned down unlit, nearly deserted Carrer del Turia — a street name in Valencian, a dialect of Spanish — where we believed the cafe to be. A few people idled before an unmarked doorway on the sidewalk ahead, a little suspiciously in our eyes.

We approached and hesitantly asked, "Cafe del Duende?"

"Si," one said. Then he opened the door to a bar and performance space that exploded with light, chatter and the heat of a capacity crowd. We paid 10 euros each (one drink included) and slid into the only seats left — chairs under the coat rack — as Isabel Julve burst into song and dance.

Accompanied by a guitarist, a bassist and a younger, more flamboyant but aloof dancer, Julve put on a magnetic performance. She peppered the floorboards in her black high heels, decorated with red hearts, while delivering seductive songs in a voice seemingly worn with pain, indignation and delight. The rhythms were frenzied and exotic. Julve's fans leapt in, clapping with unexpected drive and improbable emphasis, and sweeping us up along the way.

We found it all thrilling and exhausting. Turns out, it was just one of many delights in Spain's largest little-known city.

Facing the Mediterranean on Spain's east coast, built and occupied in turn by Romans, Visigoths, Moors, then Christians, Valencia today is a busy port city. But it is overshadowed in the minds of most tourists by Barcelona, Madrid, Granada, Seville, even Bilbao. That may be about to change, with the May release of a new Disney film, "Tomorrowland." The film stars George Clooney and Hugh Laurie, but the real show-stealer may be Valencia's futuristic City of Arts and Sciences, a cultural center and architectural powerhouse, whose white, skeletal-looking buildings were designed by Valencia-born and -schooled Santiago Calatrava.

Cheering with the locals

On my second day in town, we had walked only a few blocks before we stumbled across a small street fair with baked goods, jewelry and vendors in Renaissance period costumes, one of whom was hand-cranking a small merry-go-round of bucket swings for children. "Rapido! Rapido!" his tiny riders cried, their voices drowning out the metallic squeaks of the unmotorized ride. To their delight, the driver tore off his outer shirt and cranked harder, sending the riders into higher and wider circles. Their ecstatic chanting followed us through narrow lanes as we headed for the Plaza de la Virgen.

The plaza has been the heart of the Old City for centuries. The city's oldest landmarks cast deep afternoon shadows on the central fountain when we arrived. The 13th-century cathedral, which houses what is believed to be the Holy Grail, and whose octagonal tower is one of the city's most distinctive monuments, occupies one side of the plaza. The cathedral stands beside the 17th-century Basilica de la Virgen de los Desemperados, which honors Our Lady of the Forsaken, the worn-down madonna who, it is said, once appeared in the city and is now Valencia's patron saint. She appeared to us, as well, right around the corner, where a bakery was displaying "Geperudeta con almendra y calabaza" — Hunchback With Almond and Pumpkin — delicious pumpkin pies with Our Lady's image outlined in powdered sugar. The 15th-century Palace of the Generalitat, a sort of local community government center, stood sentry on another side of the plaza.

We glanced at these wonders, but were seeking out something else entirely: a place to watch that afternoon's soccer match between mighty Barcelona and upstart Valencia. The bar slowly filled with Valencianos, who seemed to grow more interested in their cerveza than the game until a couple of lucky turns gave Valencia an upset victory and the crowd erupted in cheers. We couldn't help but celebrate our own luck, too.

The next day we rented bikes and rode 40 minutes through the city on a combined sidewalk-biking lane that eventually led to a broad beach. There, on a sunny Sunday afternoon in early February, wide sidewalks were crowded with strolling and bicycling families. Sand sculptors stood by a pair of massive works, including a life-size replica of the Last Supper, their tip jars filling fast.

Just off the walkway was a line of restaurants, many with doors flung open to let in the breezes and customers. We stopped at Restaurant La Rosa, where we ordered our paella. The dish is seemingly available in every storefront in Valencia — but this one, possibly by being paired with a view of the Mediterranean, was uncommonly delicious.

Catching the must-see sights

We spent much of our time living like locals, but we did not miss the must-see sights. We grabbed kitchen staples and street food at the Central Market, a stunning, domed bazaar where vendors sell meat, fish, pastries, cheese, fruit and more every day. By some accounts it's the largest fresh-food market in Europe, and it's located, appropriately enough, on Carrer Calabazas (Pumpkin Street).

Across the way, we strolled through another spectacular monument to mercantilism: La Lonja, or the Silk Exchange. The hall, featuring a 60-foot domed ceiling supported by spiraling, palm-tree-like columns, was built during Valencia's Mediterranean dominance in the 15th century. Today, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Acting on a tip from another Minnesota friend, we visited the National Ceramics Museum inside the Palacio del Marques de Dos Aguas. It was worth the price of admission (3 euros) just to walk through the entrance, a wildly ornate, carved marble tribute to the Marquis of Dos Aguas, original owner of the 15th-century palace. The museum itself is a quirky collection of royal carriages, paintings, sculptures, drawings and, of course, ceramics, and holds a beautifully tiled antique Valencian kitchen. Be alert, though: one small display case, without calling any attention to itself, holds five plates by Picasso, one of which shows a dedication to the museum in Picasso's own hand.

Valencia seems to want to make sure that visitors don't get stalled by art and antiquities.

A short walk north of the Plaza de la Virgen, the Old City ends at the Rio Turia. The river that wrapped the Old City almost like a moat was rerouted after a 1957 flood killed at least 81 people. Now, its former course is a curving collection of gardens, parks, soccer fields, palm trees and trails passing between centuries-old stone containment walls and under ornate bridges.

The water is gone, but a sense of time's passage flows in the Rio Turia. One day as I jogged its pathways, I left behind churches and palaces built in the Old City atop Roman and Moorish ruins. Before me rose the Pont de l'Assut de l'Or, the swooping, lyre-like suspension bridge designed by Calatrava.

The bridge forms the spine of Cuidad de las Artes y Ciencias, or the City of Arts and Sciences, a complex of science and culture centers designed mostly by Calatrava. The Valencian architect also designed the flapping-winged Milwaukee Art Museum and was briefly promoted as a candidate to design a replacement for the Interstate 35W bridge in Minneapolis after its 2007 collapse. In Valencia, his cluster of epic-scale structures — most of them in stunning white concrete, with sweeping arches, spiny columns and roof­lines bursting like blossoming flowers or ladybugs — has in less than 20 years become the city's modern face. The bridge, dedicated only six years ago, is the city's tallest structure, and moviegoers will likely get a big glimpse of it and its futuristic neighbors in "Tomorrowland."

But will the buildings do for Valencia what Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Museum, dedicated in 1997, has done for Bilbao, Spain, transforming a former industrial waterfront into a world-class destination?

Today Calatrava is anything but Valencia's favorite son. The city is suing him because, among other problems, the skin of mosaic tiles covering his 25-story performing arts center, Palau de les Arts Reina Sofia, have been falling off. On my visit, workers were scraping off the rest by rappelling down the steep, curved roof with power tools, a breathtaking maneuver that in itself was attracting spectators.

Of course, those flaws aren't likely to show up on the big screen, where this dreamy white utopia could make an even greater impact than it does in real life. Look for it in May, when Valencia comes to a theater near you. Although being there in real life in February was, I'd argue, escapism at its best.

Bill McAuliffe of Minneapolis won a Lowell Thomas Travel Journalism award for his 2013 Star Tribune story, "Hitchhiking in a New Age."