The man from Miami, on the bus from Alicante to Valencia, had been travelling around Spain and Portugal for a month.

"You people really know how to live!" he said, generously including me, as a European, as one of "you people". He went on to praise the good food, great wine, and gorgeous women of the Iberian peninsula.

I removed my jacket. It felt strange to be so warm in January. The temperature display on the bus said 21C. In Ireland, that´s a summer temperature. I was of course expecting it to be hotter in Spain, but not so much so. The landscape outside reminded me of "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly", which, like so many Westerns, was actually shot in Spain. My Miami friend told me it reminded him of New Mexico.

Off the bus, I took the easy option and grabbed a taxi to the hostel. Just as well, since the centre of Valencia is quite a maze and I would have been wandering quite a while otherwise.

I was expecting the hostel to be empty, on a Sunday in January, but a circus group were taking up most of the rooms. There appeared to be only 4 backpackers in the place, so we were placed in the one room. I dropped my bag and went in search of food. 5:30 in the evening is not really dining time in Spain, and to avoid being the only person in the restaurant I bought a takeway pizza.

Wandering around the side streets of Valencia in search of a random eatery is one thing. Finding my way back to a specific hostel on a specific street was another. I took another wrong turn, and despaired of being reunited with my bags ever again, when I came out onto a familiar sight.

No, not the hostel, but the square I remembered from my previous visit to Valencia. The Plaza de la Virgen. There was the church, there was the statue of a bearded Greek god reclining in the fountain, there were the children chasing white pidgeon, there were the old ladies coming out of church and the old men drinking coffee. Perhaps the people were a little more wrapped up than before--the old ladies wore fur collared coats--but the last time I had been there was October. The trees that now sprouted tiny satsumas had been autumnal brown.

I had promised myself, that October day, that I would be back. And here I was.