Photo gallery of the opening partyKEY POINTS:
Right now, late Friday night in Valencia, New Zealanders wandering in the narrow streets of the ancient city centre will have turned it into a Kiwi colony.
Hardly anybody in Spain dines before 10pm. Everyone tucking into paella at the outdoor tables earlier in the evening would have had familiar accents when they said forget the shrimp, go for the sausage.
Tomorrow, or late tonight our time, the horde from home will feel like invaders as they take the metro to Maritim Serreria, last stop before the port, and transfer to the modern tram that takes them the last kilometre or so.
The natives will be friendly, but perplexed by the excited strangers in shorts and black shirts that proclaim the city 'ValeNZia' and say, "let's bring it home".
But once at the waterfront and past the ever-present x-ray security screening, they will be surrounded by the banners and buzz of the "32nd America's Cup".
And it is then they will realise the scale of the enterprise we mean to bring back to Auckland.
Valencia has built an America's Cup harbour that must be four or five times the size of the Viaduct. It is an expansive bulb, the bulbous end backing into the land and the shaft running into the ocean.
The syndicate bases are all in the bulb and the shaft forms a canal down which the race boats are hauled to and from the day's match.
One side of the canal is a vast public space containing cafes, bars, kiosks, the big outdoor screen and entertainment stage and a three-level concrete edifice which gives a view of the race course from the higher balconies.
Racing can also been watched through binoculars from an elevated walkway out into the ocean, or visitors can just sit in a bar overlooking the sea with the big sails not too far away.
And behind the syndicate bases is another big screen inside an older wharf building where the commentary is in English and the Kiwi crowd congregates for the race. They call it the woolshed.
Not long after the Louis Vuitton finals, the Alinghi organisation took a full page in a European English-language newspaper to explain why the America's Cup must not go back to New Zealand.
It was not quite as blunt as that but it might as well have been. It presented the defence as a contest of professionalism against nationalism, with dire consequences for the cup if it was taken from the commercial riches of Europe to the obscurity of the South Pacific.
The piece carefully explained that the America's Cup was probably unique in awarding the winner not only the trophy but the right to change the rules and format of the next event.
If Alinghi won, one commentator said, "the cup will likely continue on its new, Formula One-inspired path, with nationality becoming increasingly irrelevant and corporate sponsorship and the quest for a mass audience remaining the priorities.
"If Team New Zealand wins, the cup is going back to Auckland and its quainter past as a symbol of a wrong redressed and of a small, seafaring nation's capacity to keep sailing above its weight."
I read these sentiments on a plane from Spain still high on the pride of the Louis Vuitton finals. The antagonism to Alinghi seemed to have been well buried among the Kiwis around me, though I read later that the Swiss syndicate boss had a different impression.
Mock antagonism is a big element in our bloke humour, especially against adversaries we fear and respect. Ernesto Bertarelli may not realise that.
But what really worries him is a suggestion that if Team New Zealand reclaim the cup, it will invoke the original terms of the deed as a contest between nations, to restrict the employment of Kiwi sailors by other syndicates.
If that suggestion has seriously been made, it should be scotched.
We are bigger than that now, and if we win tonight, we may need to start thinking even bigger tomorrow.
