An extended weekend in Spain's third city, ranked in the undiscovered gem category by Guardian™-writing types, but that's not why we're here.
A friend and her daughter were trying to navigate their way back to a campsite from a busy ring road a few years ago. Frustration was rising despite the random pointing at signs and repeated directions of 'Bal-en-thee-ya'.
'Mother! Now is not the time to be phonetically accurate.'
It turns out to be not quite what was said, and knowing the pair well, 'tis a tale that will always make SlyBob chuckle.
Pinpointing where this happened in an airport cab is as good a reason as any to visit, maybe? Well, that and a nine-kilometre-long park, a maze of medieval lanes and a big pan of paella, but more on all that in a minute.
Undiscovered it certainly ain't, and a large number of those of a similarly nosey and navigationally challenged nature sound Spanish?
Not that we'd know, this pair's polite but sub-par phrasebook attempts are backed up with a well-rehearsed 'Lo siento, no hablo español.'
'Neither do I mate, I speak Valencian!' is what they might reply, a variety of Catalan, but the linguistic minefield shouldn't put you off. We've all managed and enjoyed a couple of nights in Glasgow, right?, and there's always resorting to pointing and shouting 'Chips!'
Enough with the wordy waffle, already, we've survived the first night of an early-evening arrival in the safety of the bustling grid of carrers, a stone's throw from the lodgings and where airport cabs aren't allowed.
It's a bit of a tourist trap but, get this, we're tourists and, get this, who doesn't enjoy the occasional tapas?
Not that the area is saturated, South American and Far Eastern varieties cater to a younger audience and the German doner kebab receives a notable nod.
As for the traditional, their prawns might be a cut above, but the patatas bravas are no better than those being trotted out in your local El Torero.
Central accommodation with a tiled terrace floor that's too hot to walk on come lunchtime. You can take in the fumes from the fireworks up here, which appear to be because, well, any excuse in Valencia.
Rival football fans present a taunting, three-fingered gesture to Valencianos, a reminder of the habitual blowing off of digits deemed surplus to a hand-held firecracker.
This is likely to happen during Las Fallas, an explosive, five-day festival in March, modern-day opinions on which seem to be divided.
SlyBob suffered something similar in Alicante, where the ignition of industrial-grade incendiaries in close proximity was met with the more traditional two-fingered gesture.
The Plaça de l'Ajuntament is home to fine, turn-of-the-20th-century architecture, not least Valencia City Hall and the ' Palace of Communications'.
The 'Palace' was a pioneering hub for the new-fangled telegraph, something even the fat cats at City Hall saw as progress, probably.
Fans of a sort can now visit the former Post Office, and they might let you up the metal tower via a rickety spiral staircase, yeah, that's happening.
Nothing too adventurous as yet, then, besides, their famous market needs to be found.
Looking at fish and meat in a city of this size is a must, and by 'looking' it's not meant in a 'UURGH! What's that!' or 'AARGH! They eat those bits here?' kind of way.
No, that stage has well and truly been passed, and there's often some good lunching with the locals close to hand, and neither inside nor out of El Mercat Central disappoints.
You'll find the market in Ciutat Vella, the circular centre of the old town, and a very different visible vibe on a Sunday.
The market may be closed, but the outside stalls trade in everything collectable, who knew so many Pokémon™ cards were printed, should you wanna catch 'em all?
Aw man! If only there was something similar in South Tyneside in the '70s. A young Bob might actually have filled one of his annual Panini™ football-sticker albums.
Lima, the city, is home to a near half-dozen restaurants ranking highly worldwide, Japanese 'fusion' the key concept not poshed-up guinea pig on a stick.
A Mediterranean version here in Valencia isn't as corny as imagined, and the ceviche twist is a welcome relief from, quite frankly, tiresome, traditional tapas.
Hidden in a square just down from the market means they've no customers, so they'll happily seat you outdoors when nowhere else will accommodate for a steady stream of small plates with a South American zing.
A maze of lanes leads off opposite the market, bringing you, somehow, to the back of Valencia Cathedral.
The bell tower is a clue you're close, and, unlike the unexciting Saxons at home, exotic Visigoths and a Moorish mosque play a part in the history.
Not to be confused with the misleading Church of Santa Catalina, both are worthy of a reverential review of the interior, they say, and all the architectural styles are covered.
The cathedral even has, get this, the Holy Grail in it, they also say, but no time for none of that today.
No, there's a nine-kilometre-long park to track down, remember?
The Jardín del Turia might well be nine kilometres long, but it's largely less than 200 metres wide, because this is the former course of the River Turia, of course.
Eastern Spain is no stranger to heavy, autumn downpours, and a deadly event in 1957 triggered the urban transformation. The river was diverted to the south and plans to dual carriageway the dried-up bed were met with protests for a public park.
The solution seems to have been successful, but in October 2024 the surrounding area wasn't so fortunate. A few hours saw the equivalent of a year's worth of rainfall, and more than 200, yes 200, people died in the unimaginable flash flooding that followed.
A museum of beautiful arts is usually worth a look, if only to clock proper paintings and none of that modern nonsense you think you could do better at, eh?
A lot of it, mind, is old and religious, and by Valencian School artists you've never heard of, neither, so it's good to see some Goya.
A mention, though, for its fine building facing the Turia and the superior park next door. The Jardines del Real boasts sculptures and fountains and a right, royal layout, but they won't let SlyBob in beyond the pond!
The unknown festival, for which the fireworks are presumed to be for, has it mostly fenced off, despite the temporary fleshpots not opening until sundown.
Anything with 'BIO' or 'ECO' in its name is normally right up right-on SlyBob's street, so BIOPARC Valencia must be a must? All of the guides say so, including someone who sits near one of us at work.
You reach it by walking through the Turia Garden for longer than you might like until it runs out and you're forced up to a road to trudge a tad farther. Finally, there's a big clue outside to the real ones inside before crossing a bridge over and down to the repurposed river bed.
They're 'Creating artistic environments, where we show diverse ecosystems and the endangered species that inhabit them.' I think we've been a bit naive here. Is this a zoo?
Rocky reproductions and simulated savannas are a minimum expectation, these days, and the conservation credentials are no doubt credible, but, it's a zoo. Yes, we've gone on holiday and went to a zoo.
As much fun can be had reading what advising trippers have to say, largely concerning the food, and somebody's hot dog was disappointingly tepid. Another gripe is with the missing wildlife, sensibly seeking shelter from the Spanish sun, although you might get lucky and see one of these fellas up a tree.
Don't be super surprised, though, it's a zoo!
The BIOPARC can be got at via the Nou d'Octubre, the closest underground station, but you'll still be getting plenty of steps in afterwards. The Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias, however, is a push for this pair's plodding, so that means submitting to the local transport system.
The City of Arts and Sciences is top of the pops of things to do, all of the guides say so, and a train takes you right to it at the opposite end of the Turia.
Opened in stages between 1998 and 2009, it's newer than it looks, and they did a Doctor Who here with the futuristic backdrop featuring Capaldi flashing his magic MacGuffin.
L'Umbracle is a raised, walk-through garden full of Valencian fauna and parrots, and other highlights include an IMAX™ cinema, an opera house, and a science museum.
Remembling the skeleton of a whale, they say, that's lost on the party of posh, English teens, one of whom has lost his phone in all the excitement. Teacher really isn't happy, neither, and this is supposed to be a perk of the job?
There's time for a quick orxata, as they call it here, a milky beverage made with sweetened tiger nuts, although she's all out of sugary fartons to dip in it. The jury's out, by the way, as it is on visiting aquariums, yes, SlyBob's gone on holiday and went to an aquarium.
The Oceanogràfic de València is the largest oceanarium in Europe, no less, which just means a big aquarium, really.
Whatever your thoughts on captive belugas, those guys couldn't cut it on the outside, we're told, and it's no thanks to the dancing dolphins. A resounding yes, though, to the unfamiliar birds in a recreated area of wetlands, not shown, and hoorah to the hypnotic display of Medusozoa, maybe?
A certain two-year-old in the family is fascinated by this fishy snap, but, sorry my lovely, we're not sure. Baby, Mommy, Daddy? Well, you can imagine how that half an hour went.
A spanking new crossing, the Pont de l'Assut de l'Or, heads north over what's still the dried-up Turia.
El Cabanyal might have a marina, these days, but the no-nonsense and good-value caffs opposite represent an old-fashioned area once full of fisherfolk.
It's what they now call 'quirky', since the hipsters moved in, with the traditionally tiled dwellings ripe for renovation.
Museums of the rice, really, and shipyard varieties remember the maritime, the rice more for the prawns in your paella, perhaps?
The shipyard, though, dates from the 14th century when the sea was a lot closer. The sea you say?
Just like their fellow Catalans in Barcelona, locals are being spoiled with a big old beach, and, if you squint, the busy port isn't too off-putting.
Two-and-a-half miles the sands run for, and it's good to see the trade in tat isn't exclusive to the UK. This temporary setup, however, gives way to something that is exclusive, the all-inclusive Las Arenas complex.
Looks as though the whole area isn't just a day-tripping Valencianos destination. No, here be a proper resort with hotels and restaurants in it where guests are unlikely to be handed leaflets for the museum of rice.
If it's beaches you're after, head south over the diverted Turia to where the golden stuff runs for, like, forever. It's far less accessible, and some nuddyism may be noticeable, but it abuts the Parque Natural de la Albufera, with woodland walks and a big old lagoon waiting.
Binocular-brandishing birdwatchers and romantic boat trips at sunset abound in this agricultural area, the source of the grains for all authentic paella. Albufera is said to be the birthplace of the famous dish, so we should have more to say on the subject.
The buses, however, are rather irregular, and it's way too hot, anyways, so catch an episode of the Catalan version of Countryfile™ if you're really that curious. Paísfitxer?
Barcelona is known for a rambling thoroughfare, on which you're guaranteed to get mugged, and Gaudí's never-ending cathedral. Valencia, apart from the paella, isn't particularly famous for anything in particular, it's just a wonderful place to bumble around where medieval city gates sit alongside the workaday.
One torre leads to another, then a botanical garden whose collection of exotic shrubbery is owned by the university although we're not sure on them ditching the Linnaean system of plant classification for Endlicher, right categorisers?
The signage is incomprehensible, so we remain ignorant of all things exotic and botanical, not unless you're talking about a clear bottle with 'London' or 'Plymouth' printed on it.
It is, however, best described as 'tranquil', the shade is a welcome respite from the 30°C+ sun, and the lavs are a relief having given up waiting in the café opposite.
So, this paella then? Well, there are three authentic varieties. Rabbit and snails are the main ingredients in valenciana, whereas de marisco is full of the fruits of the sea. Mixta is a combination of both, which means there are really only two authentic varieties, really.
Not that we'd know, traditionally it's a lunchtime dish and routinely eaten on a Thursday. The closest was a street waiter trying to flog us a pan at 4 PM, and would likely have been a microwaved sachet of Batchelor™s savoury rice.
Sorry señor, heading down to the hoods of Colón and Russafa, where the young 'uns hang, to bag an empty table where someone will soon serve something tasty. How about an Iberian take on Italian porco, heavily herbed, very thinly sliced veal, all washed down with a tiny, Spanish beer, yes please.
Too much time on the Tikky-Tok™ means the kids have embraced globalisation, and fusion is at the forefront of foodie fashion, foremost in a remodelled market.
It's not as if we're feeling our age, not the case. South Tyneside in the early '80s could hardly be classed as a cuisine capital, but see the youthful queue for a doner kebab that's nearly round the corner?
Bob's been tucking into those for over 40 years man!