Sometimes I forget how close Valencia really is until I hop on the train and roll into the city like it’s my personal playground. This time, it wasn’t for family or flamenco—it was for something a little different: a weekend Lindy Hop event that a few friends roped me into.
Now, Lindy Hop isn’t my natural habitat. My comfort zone has a lot more heel stamps and hand claps. But that’s kind of the point. Every now and then, you need to throw yourself into something that feels a little weird, a little fast, and, honestly, a little terrifying.
The venue was this big open hall near the Turia Gardens. When I arrived, the place was already buzzing. You could feel the energy from the street: swing music pumping, people laughing, sneakers squeaking across the floor. There were dancers of every level—from people who clearly lived and breathed Lindy to complete beginners spinning wildly like human tops. I slotted somewhere in the middle, faking confidence.
I got paired up with a woman named Clara for my first dance. She was Valencia born and raised, completely fearless, and within 30 seconds had me doing turns that I’m pretty sure weren’t in the beginner syllabus. “Relax,” she laughed, seeing my face tense up. “If you mess up, we just keep going.”
That basically sums up Lindy Hop: joyful chaos. It’s like a conversation where neither person knows what they’re about to say next, but somehow it works. The footwork is sharp, the music’s fast, and if you overthink it for even a second, you trip over yourself. Which I did. Several times.
By the end of the first night, my legs were wrecked, my shirt was soaked, and I was completely hooked.
Saturday afternoon, between workshops, I wandered around Valencia a bit. The city always feels alive but without trying too hard. I grabbed a quick horchata in Mercado Central, watched kids kick a football around in Plaza de la Virgen, and just soaked up that soft Mediterranean vibe Valencia has nailed so perfectly.
The second night was even better. The live band kicked in around 10pm, and everything just clicked. I stopped trying to get the steps perfect and just let myself get carried by the music. The floor got packed, the energy built, and for a few hours, we were all part of this swinging, spinning machine fueled by trumpets and laughter.
Afterwards, a few of us spilled out into the night, still buzzing. Someone suggested one last drink at a little bar tucked away near El Carmen. Sitting there, surrounded by new friends I hadn’t even known 24 hours earlier, I had one of those quiet moments where you just think: yeah, this is exactly why I do this.
Dance has taken me into so many corners I never expected. Even in a city like Valencia—where I’ve been a dozen times—there’s always something new when you let the music lead you somewhere unfamiliar.
Let’s dance!
