Global craft ale culture zinged into existence like an impish ball of light, bent on the idea of turning what was once the post-work pursuit of responsibility-evading old men in flat hats into a maniacal fluffy bunny of an activity that held you at knife point and made you scream, ‘Yay!’ while getting you wangdangled on a dangerously delicious new breed of hoppy beers that scraped double-figure percentages.

And thus vibrated into being a whole new world of globe-spanning watering holes that, while not quite pubs, aren’t quite bars in the 1980s tracky-top-and-perm sense, either, but something altogether more cartoonish. Like Tyris Craft & Creative Beers (AKA Tyris on Tap) on the edge of the El Carmen neighbourhood of Valencia’s ciutat vella, whose interior and exterior walls are adorned with a cutesy, comic book-like take on Keith Haring-style street art and whose slim but comprehensive enough menu of own-brand brews will floor you both on flavour and, if you’re not careful, well, on the actual floor as well. The one under the table.

All the flavour boxes are ticked in each of the brewing styles covered, though there’s little about the somewhat ironically named ‘Original’ blonde ale that stands out from its British counterparts. The Paquita brown ale has a robust American style with a level of sweet maltiness to offset the rather heavier level of hops than one might be used to in a beer so determined. On this occasion, I forego my usual VIPA session ale, which is a fruity, almost sweet little bugger (described dubiously as English-style) that allows you to drink three pints without texting your boss to tell them what a good boss they are, and head straight for the real deal: the Amor Amargo, an American-style IPA dedicated to the ‘Elvis of Spain’, Bruno Lomas who died in a car wreck in 1990. Which is as good a symbolic warning as any not to drink more than one of these things, because, boy, do they pack a punch.

Outside, in the fresh 20-degree warmth of a late January evening (the place opens at 6pm and immediately fills), a clientele of multinational English speakers with American accents teach each other tongue twisters (“She shells she sells sea sells… Nope. Wow, that is hard!“) and talk about their jobs in tech start-ups and their postgraduate studies. The vibe is mellow humble-bragging and the sense that you’re going to get glassed in the face if you look at someone the wrong way is notably absent. A homeless guy wanders through the tables, having sniffed out the whiff of possible loose trust fund change. He probably saw the price list and figured, ‘these people are packing wonga!’ Yes, for a Valencian bar, Tyris Craft & Creative Beers is globalism-embracingly expensive.

In preparation for writing this piece, your humble narrator had a little trawl of the company’s website, which features some of the finest examples of comic Spanglish you’re likely to encounter this side of a Duty Free re-run. Random example: “This is how was made one of the bigest (sic) brewerys (sic) of Spain”. What it reveals is that, whilst they could almost certainly use the help of a highly experienced native English freelance copywriter *hint hint*, they are, contrary to their indier-than-thou aesthetic (reminiscent of the UK’s Magic Rock Brewery in West Yorkshire), definitely not one of the smalest (sic) brewerys (sic) in terms of ambition.

Tyris beers have popped up all over Valencia and you’ll see the logo sticker in the windows of most of the city centre’s bars, now. They also claim to be wholesaling to 8 countries around the world, too, so there’s a good chance that, if you’re a craft ale kind of person, you’ve already had a slurp of their product. However, if ever you happen to find yourself in Valencia for an evening or two, it is very much worth sampling as much of their range as you can. So long as you don’t expect the luxury of a sampling tray (which they would be well advised to incorporate) or to walk away with your rent money still safe in the bank.

Visit the Tyris brewery website.

The All Saints’ Fair at Cocentaina started all the way back in 1346 as a regional and agricultural cattle market. Today, it presents itself as a showcase for traditional farming activities and crafts but, in reality, it’s a kind of independent traders’ free-for-all. If you’re the type who likes a quiet evening stroll through a quaint old town where you can take it easy, stumble upon a little bijou restaurant and enjoy some real you time, you might want to choose an alternative source of entertainment. Because, let me tell you, it is as busy as all hell broke loose.

The town of Cocentaina is located high up in the region of Comtat in the Alicante province, part of the Valencian community. And it’s cute enough, alright, what with the endless bunting streaming across the plazas and up every street. You just don’t really get to see a whole lot of it, thanks to the hoards of visitors the fair attracts. It takes place every year during the week of 1st November, which is, of course, All Saints’ Day. We arrived at around 6.30pm on Saturday 2nd, right as the temperature was beginning to drop and the throng was starting to gather on what was the final – and, so busiest – evening of the week’s festivities.

Warned to, “keep an eye on your wallets,” we stuffed our hands into our coat pockets and kept them there as we trudged slowly behind hundreds of Valencian families, all intent on making it out the other end in one piece as they took in the sights and sounds of this cute, often bizarre hyperreality of agriculture, craftsmanship and exoticism.

A whole strip of one of the flatter streets dedicated to classical dressage, with scruffy farm lads wrangling dainty moves from breathy horses. A troupe of Arabic drummers idly strolling through one of the hillier streets, pounding away polyrhythmically, dressed in shiny, multicoloured silken robes. Giant barbecues filled with hundreds of smoking ribcages of unidentified beasts, filling the air with a sweet, meaty tang. Trinkets as far as the eye can see. And, every once in a while, somewhere to grab a drink and catch your breath before stepping back onto the cobbled travelator of human traffic.

By the time we stopped to quench our thirsts, the liquid equivalent of hanger had kicked in (hanger being the point at which hunger turns into anger) due to a lot of hithering and thithering on the part of our in-laws, who led us every which way but toward a bar. And so a pint of cheap, flavourless beer was gulped down as a kind of amuse bouche before taking a little bit longer on a rather gigantic tinto de verano (a cold, wine-based drink, similar to sangria, that substitutes the orange juice for gaseosa or fizzy lemondade as we Brits call it).

Our alcoholic pit stop, however, did not allow us a place to sit due to every last undesignated bench being taken up by families with the same brilliant idea. So we walked through the streets, supping at our plastic pint glasses with bewildered gladness as families bumped into us, sending our drinks sloshing down onto the cobbles, until we’d circled the entire fair three times in fairly quick succession and decided that a fourth tour might just be one too many, strangely exciting as the whole thing had proven to be.

To find out more, visit the town’s website.