Humanity and camaraderie in Valencia are the most beautiful things I have ever seen
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If you had told me in October 2023 that in a year’s time I would be living and working in Spain, I would never have believed it. But, as I have observed over the last few days, things can change quickly and, well – one, two, skip a few – eight months later I was signing a rental lease for a flat in the centre of Valencia city, or as it is fondly known here, La Terreta.
And if you had told me in July 2024 that much of La Terreta would be a scene of absolute ruin which resulted in three days of national mourning, well, I wouldn’t have believed that either.
It is an easy city to fall in love with: The architecture is stunning, the food is delicious, the beaches are clean, the coffee is cheap, and there is a deep appreciation for art and culture. The city itself is just a sight to behold, and the locals are some of the warmest, friendliest, and most open people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.
More than anything else, Valencia prides itself on community values; there is always something to do here and there are always events being organised – often free of charge – primarily with the goal of bringing people together, making friends, exploring cultures, and sharing traditions.
And while there was a change in atmosphere in Valencia this past week, those values remained at its core.
I work in an English language academy with fellow expats, many of them Irish. Early last week, we joked around our staff room that the weather warnings issued were “a bit dramatic” and “sure, at home we just call this ‘Tuesday’”. That evening, phone alarms rang out in the academy as a government-issued ‘civil protection alert’ appeared on everyone’s phone.
Teachers stuck their heads out of their classrooms to consult. “Do we have to go home or...?” one asked. We looked out the window: A little drizzle, but nothing out of the ordinary (sure hadn’t it been raining on and off for the last few days?) – people were going about their business as usual. We followed suit, and we continued working.
As I was heading out the door to walk home at about 8.30pm, another colleague said she had just seen a video of a bridge collapsing and being washed away. I looked up at the sky and up and down the street: It was dry, although a little windy – it must have been a tiny old, frail wooden bridge, I assumed.
How wrong I was.
The bridge in question was Puente de Paiporta, which I’m sure many readers have seen the footage of by now: A sizeable modern bridge giving way under the force of the water that roared around it.
That was the first indication, for me, that things were about to intensify. Group chats and social media fed me videos of the havoc that La Dana was wreaking across the city’s outskirts. Entire shop units, cars, lorries, and furniture were floating down roads as if they were pieces of styrofoam. Motorways had water levels up as far as the overhead road signs. Underground, the Metro stations resembled gigantic drains, with water coming up to the entrance steps.
Outside my own apartment, sirens screamed and helicopters hovered. Little did I know, it would be a long night of destruction.
In the city centre the following morning, you’d be forgiven for assuming nothing major had happened. With much thanks to the construction of Jardin del Turia (which was, famously, completed after the majority of Valencia city flooded in 1957, claiming the lives of 60 people), floodwaters did not have a huge impact on the centre.
However, many shops, including Lefties, Primark, and JD Sports couldn’t open presumably as staff couldn’t travel in on the Metro or train lines (on Sunday, Primark still hadn’t reopened), but smaller shops, pharmacies, and cafes were turning the signs in their windows from “closed” to “open”. Other minor things that indicated some sort of a difference were the fact that water pressure in people’s homes had diminished to a trickle, and waste disposal points were not being emptied on the streets.
Still, there was a slight air of hostility about the city. The first reports of loss of life were coming in, and mounting – people of all ages. At the time of writing, La Dana has claimed over three times the amount of deaths that were recorded in the flooding of 1957. Many more are still missing.
Back in our staff room on that Wednesday morning, we agreed that – other than quickly checking in with students to make sure everyone is OK – we wouldn’t dwell too much on the devastation that had unfolded the night before: Some could be sensitive to what happened.
However, students inevitably ended up discussing the storm – what with weather being the natural topic of conversation regardless of who you are.
One student told me about her colleague’s friend.
“He wash away in the water,” she said. It was not the time for grammar correction.
“He die, and only has 27 years old,” she added, before she self-corrected: “Ay! Sorry, IS only 27 years old.” Twenty-seven, that’s a year younger than me.
I didn’t know how to reply. I didn’t want to be insensitive by moving the conversation on, and didn’t want to double-down on the topic either. It was a long day of topic hopping, navigating classes like a minefield.
On Thursday night, few people dressed up for Halloween. There were no scary masks, no skimpy outfits, no fancy dress.
Instead, people wore mud-stained trousers, work boots, high-vis jackets, and rubber gloves.
You wouldn’t have looked out of place carrying around brushes and buckets either; for the past five days or so, people have adorned them as casually as a handbag or a backpack.
Many businesses across the city including cafes, bars, shops, and gyms set up “puntos de recogidas” (collection points) on their premises, meaning we could drop off non-perishables and sanitary supplies while going about typical daily routines.
Thousands upon thousands of people turned out on Saturday to help Valencia’s restoration. A lot of the debris had already been cleared by amazing volunteers who worked tirelessly, day and night, since late Tuesday and early Wednesday.
In fact, so many people were turning out to help that on Saturday night, councillor Vicente Martínez Mus ordered that volunteers stay out of a number of the affected areas on Sunday as further rain was forecasted which could “further complicate the situation”.
People were urged to help if and where they could from the centre. Items at the collection points needed to be organised. Hospitals became overwhelmed during the week, so clinics were set up to donate blood. Animal shelters needed people to foster pets who strayed during the floods. Help was still needed.
Emergency services have truly been put to the test here over the last few days. Others have voluntarily risked life and limb to help both neighbours and total strangers alike.
But that’s the spirit of the Valencian people; this is a city built on that aforementioned community ethos.
Last Tuesday, in just a few quick hours, swathes of the stunning city that I have fallen in love with were completely torn down and washed away; the devastation of which will be felt locally and nationally for years to come. But the humanity and the camaraderie that was displayed in the days that followed – now that is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.