Give this a try
Your Stag Do Valencia style starts with a bang on the door, the call to arms. Day Two has arrived but you can’t quite recall day one ending. The head hurts and your eyes are dazed from the sunlight pouring into the room via a crack in the curtain. A groan and a lumbering roll onto your back, head hurts a little more. You reach for your watch. 9:30. Another groan. You’ve been asleep three hours. The door bangs again. Time to move, things to do, beer to be drunk. The groan becomes a giggle, memories of last night creeping in. Giggle becomes a laugh. The door bangs again. You’re up, you’re ready to go. This is how you Stag Do Valencia Style.
The limo ride from the airport to the hotel in Rio Turia. Nice gaff but there was no time to lose. At the end of the day, it has a bed, a bar and a shower. That’ll do for now.
You dumped your bags, convened in the bar for a throat loosening Cruzcampo and then it’s off to the Mestalla. If you’re a football lover, it’s got to be done. There’s more to Spanish football than Barca and Real, after all. Valencia’s home. Where the David’s played: Villa and Silva. Where Gerry Armstrong’s goal helped Northern Ireland beat Spain at World Cup 82. Proper football stadium.
After that you headed back into town, another rendezvous at the hotel bar and a meet up with the local dude for pub crawl briefings. A few looseners to get the evening started and then it’s into town.
Which is where things start to go a bit hazy. A few names you recall, a lot of laughs.
La Taberna Reina, Cafe Negrito – the beer replaced by shots somewhere around 11. More music, more moving to new venues, a constant pulse. Friday night in Valencia – stags and hens in the streets, the locals arriving late to bid adios to another working week.
Because this is how you stag do Valencia style.
Breakfast served, stomach lined. Which is just as well because you’re blob jumping all day. WTF is blob jumping? The question you all asked, before you left. Now, you’re about to find out.
You go first, stand on the blob on the lake. Your team mates high above, waving from the platform. Maybe waving, maybe some other hand gesture. Can’t tell from down here. Then they jump.
The 5m leap onto blob, no time to back out as you’re propelled skywards. A scream – bit girly to be fair – then a plummet as gravity takes hold.
This is unique way to cure a hangover.
You spend the afternoon blobbing, everyone launching into the lake like cows from the French Castle in the Holy Grail. Battered and tired, laughing at your ungainly friends. It must be time for a beer.
Back to town, a review of the day with golden refreshment in the bar. Some tucker and into town. Valencia starting to come alive around 1030. Really coming alive as Saturday becomes Sunday.
It’s a bit of a club crawl, a lay down in Laydown to gather your energy for the final push towards dawn. And then onto Noise, living up to its name, pulsing sounds as you spend your final reserves of energy among the throng of the busy dance floor. Night is becoming day and the call of the bed finally comes.
Three more hours before the bang on the door, the call to arms.
And the flight home.
Because this is how you stag do Valencia style.
