Valencia diaries II – The Scorch Trials…

Scorched-Earth
“The Scorch Trials” – What James actually meant was my world!

I still have 4 more days to physically start my adventure in Valencia, but I am constantly reminded how the weather is going to be there. For the past week, Ankara has been trying to match Valencia in terms of heat. And today, for the first time, my hometown has surpassed my destination in terms of humidity. Valencia is a coastal city…Ankara is landlocked with a couple of crappy, tiny, nearly dried-out lakes. How is it possible that Ankara is more humid? It’s pretty clear that I am being tested…I hate being tested…

My dislike for extreme heat dates back to my infancy when I used to stare at the contents of the open fridge with only my underwear on. As I had never been a person of lightning decisions, I became immune to extreme cold but vulnerable to mild heat right on the spot. I managed to survive until now…

So, in the light (or heat) of my newest discovery, my preparation process for my Valencia trip took a huge detour. Here are the changes:

  • I am no longer going to pack any clothes!
  • I’ll be looking for shades, where the sun isn’t felt much in the city instead of chic cafes.
  • I’ll be writing about my experiences late at night as intense heat cripples my creativity as you can see.

One last thing:

I’d be grateful if anyone who knows the city suggests how to overcome the issue of heat in Valencia. I’m wide open to suggestions!

 

Hell on Earth: Commuting on an air-tight bus in the tropics

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45 souls tightly stuffed in a tin can, breathing hot air in harmony in my direction (and no, I’m not describing human smuggling across the border). Droplets of sweat form on my forehead with each sip I take from my tiny but precious water bottle as perspiration becomes an instant reaction to almost any action besides thinking. I wipe my forehead with a dirty soaked rag and hold it in my hand to be able to absorb my own moist.
I shout to the cardigan wearing driver to switch on the air conditioning. He gives me a confused glance, as his hair is brushed aside with the wind coming from the only open window on the driver’s side. I hear an old woman’s amplified voice coming from the back of the bus, protesting about my rightful demand. She says it’s the breeze that makes her sick. Other voices arise all against me. I give up as the intense heat steals my will to fight and I pass out.
Going through hell on a mechanical hell hound every single day makes me truly wonder why people choose to live hell in life and yet they are scared stiff to go there in the afterlife.