The summer I went to London, I lifeguarded at my college's pool to earn a few extra bucks and live for free on campus. The days were long, and the water zumba class proved to be more entertaining than the rest of the pool's schedule. The instructor favored a song that repeated "vamos a la playa" over and over and eventually one of my coworkers translated it. (Do it now if you're not in the know.)
So yesterday, when we went to Valencia, I couldn't get the tune out of my head.
Vamos a la playa!
Valencia has been a loose plan since I got here. After agonizing over how we'd get to the beach, one of my friends found a deal to go with a college-aged tour group on a bus. A few of us were in. On Saturday, we met the group at the crack of dawn at Plaza de Toros.
On paper, we were leaving at 7:45 a.m. to embark on our three-hour bus ride. We left late, and the first part of our ride was quiet, with everyone catching up on their rest.
The second half turned into much more than a half, complete with singing to various Justin Bieber and One Direction hits from the kids in the back. After six hours on the bus, we made it.
We promptly left the group, who were off to eat overpriced paella, a rice dish that was created in Valencia. Part of our subgroup left to view the city's center, but my friend, Melissa, and I decided we just needed a day at the beach, so we swam all day in Mediterranean.
And, let me say, as a swimmer who hates jumping in cold water: it was just right.