Alicante and the Costa Blanca
This is not a destination I planned, but a friend invited me to stay at
an apartment he'd rented for the week in Alicante with another friend, it was
still summer, and I didn't think I'd fulfilled my full quota of holiday. Five
days in Greece is jut not enough! It was a case of going out late and joining
them for a couple of days, then fending for myself.
The apartment was fairly basic, 180 euro for the week, but it did the
job. It was the real Spain, rented apparently by a very nice lady in a very
ordinary side street just on the edge of the city centre. So ordinary that
where the block met the main road there was a hole in the wall behind which a
man lived! We did not venture to find out more, but Spain is not the wealthiest
country in Europe and has a frightening unemployment rate.
The apartment had two bedrooms, a lounge/dining area which merged into a
kitchen, a bathroom and outside area for washing machine. I slept in a bunk bed
when I arrived whilst my friend gave up the bunk for a mattress on the floor in
the lounge. The windows to the street outside were protected with iron bars,
comforting if anyone wanted to break in.
The Easyjet flight from London was a little late, but we experienced
significant buffeting on the descent to Alicante, although the turbulence
wasn't so bad that we were flying up to the ceiling, just that slight
uneasiness one feels when the aircraft loses that smooth 'we'll get you there
in one piece' feeling. Alicante airport was big and proved infuriatingly
difficult for finding the bus into town. After going up in a lift and going
back down whilst asking people I finally found the right place.
The bus was packed out and in the end I gave up my seat in anticipation
of alighting at the right spot. Talking to folk on the bus for directions, a
middle aged couple assured me not to worry, we had further to go and I just had to get off where
they got off. The highlight had to be when the lady asked me whether I had come
all the way from Australia that day! To enlighten the reader I have a certain
Aussie twang.
When I arrived my two associates were seated on the edge of the main
beach at an outside cafe somewhat feeling the heat, and we decided to retire to
the Hotel Melia Alicante to wallow in the air conditioning and enjoy a cool
drink, while I caught up with the exploits of my friends. I think both were
coveting the extreme luxuriousness of the hotel and bewailing the extreme
ordinariness of the lodgings they were about to introduce me to.
We sought a restaurant for the evening already visited by my two
friends, but we found that it was closed. So we headed to the seafront and fell
into the trap of eating at a typical tourist joint, one of several strung out
with endless table and chairs along the seafront promenade. My course was
glorified chicken and chips, with a touch of vegetables thrown in. Adequate but not very Spanish.
Alicante would perhaps have given me preconceived ideas from what I've
heard about Spanish package holidays. In fact it's a pleasure to visit, with
some really elegant old architecture in the centre, fountains and squares,
graceful old lamp posts alongside the boulevards and a hulk of a castle to keep
watch over the beach and harbour. It's no recent Mecca purely raised up to
cater for the post-war tourist boom, but a settled city with a long past and
established tradition.
We wandered the city centre on my first morning, stopping at the tourist office and deciding
to visit the Marq museum, set in an old hospital to the north east of the
castle mound. Unfortunately it was closed when we got there until later in the
day, so we had lunch at a cafe high above the beach, then spent the rest of the
afternoon swimming and sunbathing on the main city beach, a substantial swathe,
both wide and deep. Here the water is very shallow and incredibly warm, very
safe for children, and stretches of open beach vie with more regimented patches
of umbrellas and sunbeams. A couple of topless bathers insisted on doing
various gym exercises at the water's edge, which must have provided
entertainment for anyone within sight. I snorkel with zero success, not seeing
one fish, possibly my least rewarding expedition ever.
Later as eveing approaches we began the considerable climb to the castle from the beachfront,
but this is worth every step, as the views are brilliant. Ours ascent snaked up
the southern side, then whipped around the north side of the mound into the
castle itself, whose fortifications mantle a huge area. On the way up we
encounter young people running up and down the slopes. What madness is this in
these temperatures? They turn out to be police, perhaps cadets doing their
training, overseen by a couple of what can only be described as 'sadistic' trainers! Thankfully we find a water fountain on the way up, as we are running
out of water.
The fortification is incredibly well preserved and meanders over a wide
and undulating area. There are also two welcome cafes just below the summit. A
large flat area at the top gives wonderful 360 degree views up and down the
coast and over the city inland towards the mountains. We stop at a cafe and
discover the sangria drink. I see a group drinking the deep red juice and want
it for myself! We are now hooked and sangria is an everyday essential!
I booked a pension late in the evening with one of our mobiles. Tomorrow
we will leave the apartment, deposit my friends' bags there before their flight,
and enjoy a last day together. The next morning we follow the sat nav on my
friend's mobile and cannot find the new accommodation. It deposits us in the
city centre but wildly away from where we are meant to be. Something has gone
seriously wrong. However we have the address and eventually between the mobile
and the map manage to find the pension tucked away neatly at the corner of an
elegant square right up against the seafront in the centre of town. A perfect
location! I have to admit I was becoming a little stressed by the insistence on
the part of the destination of making it virtually impossible for us to find it
up to this point. However, all was not over yet, for the receptionist, an
amenable young chap, couldn't speak a word of English and seemed to have no
awareness that I had reserved a room. Thankfully I was able to show him my
reservation on my phone, but he still had to use his English Spanish translator
on his phone to make contact. This was a method of communication I was not
familiar with, speaking English into a phone which then translated your words
into Spanish. We got there in the end as I handed over my 60 euro for two
nights.
The room was fine, with decent bed and TV. The bathroom was a touch
poky, especially the shower cubicle, one of those designed for a person twice
as small as whoever is using it. In addition the shower doors were decidedly
dodgy, insisting on coming off their hinges on the odd occasion. On top of
this, as one was showering, on both occasions I used it the bathroom light went
off to leave one showering in a midget person size compartment in the dark.
Standing on one leg to wash one's feet is doubly difficult in the dark, as one
feels more inclined to lose one's balance and crash against the side of the
unit, like one's internal GPS has folded. Infuriatingly, drying yourself in
this weeny space almost always ensures banging against the shower sides as you
manoeuvre the towel over your wet curves. Meanwhile, security of the bathroom
hangs literally on a small hook that ensures a slide door protects your modesty
from the outside world, but the real sting in the tail is leaving the bathroom,
as it's a step down into the hall over a tiny ledge, and twice I stubbed my heel
on this wretched architectural anomaly. Whatever possessed the designer to not
ensure the floor of the bathroom was flush with the floors of the outside
corridor?
The tram takes us to El Campello the next day, a reasonably close
destination given that my friends are returning to the UK that evening. It's
just a short ride up the coast north, and boasts a fine beach and a great tapas
restaurant (Restaurante Cavia) on the seafront where we enjoyed an abundance of
courses. I was set for lunch, but the amount of food provided made it the main
meal of the day. There was bread and sausage, some sort of fish sauce with a
tiny spoon to sup with, potatoes, a splendidly presented egg salad, a crispy
pancake dish, and a couple of fish dishes, one of which I must confess looked
like fried lizards from the near distance, but on closer inspection must have
been fish. The people at an adjoining table I would have bet were Spanish, but
lo and behold turned out to be Brits, The beach was a fine stretch, rather less
occupied than the Alicante city beach. The water here proved to be much less
shallow than Alicante. Not much of a spot for snorkeling though.
A late afternoon, early evening return to Alicante was called for as my
friends flight home was imminent. We said our goodbyes at the airport bus, and
I was on my own. Slightly deflated, I took a walk around the harbour and
contemplated my next move. The harbour is a good place for an evening stroll as
the setting sun casts mellow hues over the bobbing boats and calm waters. There
is a photogenic old sailing ship rigged up at the waterside with its own
restaurant. I soon moved into the smooth rhythm of the Englishman abroad
however, and before you could say 'Bobs your uncle' was consuming pizza, coke
and cheese pasta at a fast food joint.
The day after my friends flew home I decided to take a trip to Altea, a
good journey up the coast by the tram rail car which plies up and down the
Costa Blanca. It was about an hour and 10m to Benidorm, then a bit of a wait
before a 17m ride to Altea, so you have to allow for a couple of hours. You can
catch the tram at Mercado, an underground hub just up from the Alicante seafront.
Line 1 goes to Benidorm, line 3 to Altea and Denia by the same route. The trams
are modern and comfortable, and the line twists and turns out of Alicante,
seeing daylight beyond the castle mound, before hitting the coast and following
a lovely long beach up to El Campollo. After that the line plies through more
country, the landscape as dry as dust, between numerous settlement strewn up
and down the slopes and down to the sea. I have had a quiet ride so far, then
an older gentleman gets on and sits opposite me and strikes me as a little
weird. He has a green hat on and has an array of what look like lottery tickets
pinned down his front above a man bag. He seems to sing or talk to himself as
we progress, and I do not look at him too hard
in case he engages me in what could be a fruitless exchange, given the
sparseness of my Spanish. He reminds me of a dwarf character that has just been
mining for gold in some fabled mountain.
Before we arrive at Benidorm we know it is coming up. It represents a
striking incongruity with the surrounding landscapes of dusty Spanish villages
and rain starved countryside. A huge array of giant apartment blocks fills the
near horizon over a large area. One such remarkable block looks as if it has
been plucked from Dubai and set down in southern Spain. It has two legs
stretching up to form an arch at the top. What is all this? A Spanish dodge
city? A Canary Wharf for the tourists? I am not particularly tempted to go into
the town, and wait on the connection. Maybe it's a bit like visiting Blackpool,
there is a strong element of curiosity, but one visit's enough.
Altea is only about five stops later, and the landscape becomes much
more green compared with further south. Altea is definitely worth a visit. The
best part is on a hill looking down over the railway and coast, and the town is
set between two headlands in the far distance making for an attractive beach
location. However the eastern end of the seafront is out of bounds as some sort
of big construction redevelopment is going on. After spending some time having
lunch and visiting rather a quiet beach, I take a walk in the evening up to the
top of the hill, where I admire the views and take a few shots. Jammed with
quaint climbing alleyways, steps and thoroughfares, this is the best bit.
Restaurants and shops spring up like flowers as you approach the top which is
crowned by a lovely square on which sits a large church with a couple of
attractive blue domes. If I had more time I would stay, but the train I am
aiming for will not arrive back in Alicante until 9.45pm. I descend the hill to
the station, where I have a coffee before enjoying the ride back in the company
of my novel. By now it is dark.
The next day I try to book an extra night in Alicante. Gives me a chance
to visit the Marq museum, the church and perhaps visit the lovely looking beach
north of Alicante. However all that is left is a 40 euro private room and I
decide to move on, it will be Torreviejo today. I walk along the seafront along
elegant tree lined walkways to the bus station west of the port. Here I buy a
ticket for 4.50 euro for the 1pm bus to Torreviejo.
We arrive at Torreviejo about an hour later and I am struck by how big
the town is, with a population of 100,000 plus. This is no small resort but
quite a sprawling urban area catering fully for the tourist and beach lover.
There are a lot of British people here and not for nothing is it called the
'Costa Del Yorkshire.' Accommodation has to be sorted out so I sit in a cafe at
the bus station mulling over where to stay. I order a snack in the form of a
bacon and cheese baguette which turns out to be a rather cardboard offering,
possible the worst baguette I have ever had! Hotel Cano sits at the top of the
list of possibilities, a £30 per night hostelry that has already been mentioned
by a friend who has a flat in the area. Meanwhile should I look for something a
bit cheaper? Some reading this might be mortified that I might be unhappy at
paying the meagre sum of £30 per night, a sum which would barely get you a bed
and breakfast in many parts of England, save perhaps somewhere like the Black
Country. Having a nose for budget travel, I know I can find
a £15 per nighter,
but it was the thought of spending possible hours finding such a place when one
has limited time and the possibility of spending a scorching afternoon on the
beach as a tasty alternative. It was a no brainer, I booked online and
literally walked a block or two to arrive at the Hotel Cano.
a £15 per nighter,
but it was the thought of spending possible hours finding such a place when one
has limited time and the possibility of spending a scorching afternoon on the
beach as a tasty alternative. It was a no brainer, I booked online and
literally walked a block or two to arrive at the Hotel Cano.
The Hotel Cano proved to be a shrewd move, the accommodation was getting
better the more the holiday progressed, although the guy at reception was a bit
glum. I had a lovely big room with two beds, ensuite facilities, free wifi and
everything spotlessly clean. What a joy to be back in a bathroom where you
could swing a dozen cats, step into the shower without bashing your elbows on
ancient and decrepit shower doors, and even have the luxury of a bidet, an item
I have never used and was not intending to use! Alarmingly there was no fridge after the previous two
inferior accommodations having one. Sadly the view from the window looked out
over the inside of the hotel rather than an inspiring stretch of turquoise
coastline. However, the bed was 100% comfortable, and a decent bed is the most
important thing about any hotel.
I had four days to spend and soon got into a daily routine of having
breakfast in the rather attractive Placa de la Constitution on which sits a
fine looking church. I split my time between two cafes to consume my coffee and
croissant. Downtown Torrevieja is a myriad grid of parallel streets which pour
down to the main shopping area and the beachfront. It's no more than a standard
and quite pleasant beach resort, still very busy even in September, with plenty
of children around. My general routine in a place like this is beach in the
afternoon after about 2.30 or even later, and with my snorkel I was quite keen
to find some rocky cove to explore rather than frequent just the town beach.
Mornings can be used for diverse activities like visiting the tourist office,
getting ones bearings, dropping in to the odd church or museum, or simply dilly
dallying at the hotel.
On the Sunday morning I walked to the Torrevieja Christian Fellowship
which I had spotted from the bus and which my friend frequented when in the
area. It proved to be a pleasant enough experience, most of the communicants
being middle aged or older ex pats with a sprinkling of Africans and evidently
locals. The minister, a Welshman and a bit of a comedian, was due to retire
soon but led the service and preached with gusto. I sat next to a friendly
Scotsman and his wife, who looked after me after the service and and guided me to
the proverbial cup of tea. We sat outside afterwards together with a middle
aged lady who claimed to be the child bride of an older man, and a New Zealand
couple who were doing Europe and heading for Barcelona.
Torrevieja has quite a good selection of beaches but the main one is the
Playa del Cura which sits not far to the east of the harbour. Scattered along
the coast to the east and west are a range of beaches, some larger and more
general purpose, others small rocky coves with far less people, basically a
recipe to suit all tastes.
Another day I hired a bike from an outlet on Avda. Gregorio Maranon, and
paid a visit to one of the two salt lakes (Las Salinas) that border the town.
If you cycle to the rather well to do suburbs north of the town centre where
clouds of bougainvillea and other exotic flowers tumble over the white walls of
expensive looking villas, not much further on you can find a gap and cycle out over scrubland to
this large inland lake which shimmers with a red hue in the midday sun. Bend
down at the waters edge and you see enough salt crystals to keep your spice
racks filled for generations. Out from the shore people are bathing, or more accurately
sitting or reclining in this giant shallow pool, presumably for the benefits to
the skin afforded by siting in this giant salty bath. Not quite your average
Mediterranean beach. In the distance you can spot mountains of salt extracted
for commercial purposes from this quasi lunar landscape.
I also paid a visit to Torrevieja's old station, now disused but decorated with bright colours alongside an old stretch of track. There is also a submarine museum, the 'Museos Flotantes' down at the harbour (Muelle Pesquero), but I gave that a miss. It hadn't been that long since my last submarine experience at Portsmouth dockyard.
Later on I cycle out south from the town centre to find another beach,
preferably one where I can snorkel. After a slightly tortuous route I find a
little cove with some promising rocky highlights. Unfortunately the sea proves
a little feisty. Not fancying a rogue wave smashing me into a rock headfirst,
and with no one on shore to look out for me, I ditch the snorkel and make do
with getting into the water and riding the waves.
Evening was quite fun in Torrevieja town as its like some giant has
picked up the town, given it a good shake, and sent everybody flying into the
town centre. Here they promenade up and down in their finery or sit at one of
the plentiful supply of restaurants strewn along the sea front and
catering for every taste. Most nights a
young guy in a beret did a puppet show and always got a good crowd. Every night
he used the standard three characters, an Elvis type cool singer, a
corresponding female singer, and a friendly dog. The children would sit right
on top of the puppets and the guy would tease them by bringing his puppets up
close and personal. Part of the fun was seeing how the kids reacted, either
smothering the puppet or jumping out of the way.
Sirvent is an evening highlight and well worth a visit. This is the
daddy of all ice cream parlours on the sea front with an overwhelming choice of
flavours. I got into the indulgent habit of making it my dessert stop after a
delicious restaurant meal. Take your pick and then sit at one of the tables and
do a bit of people watching. The last night there things were a bit quieter but
one chap was enjoying his beer. He was already indulging when the waitress
brought out another bucket of beers for him to enjoy.
On the last day I popped to the casino on the seafront and just shy of the main square with the fountain. This building has a rather splendid gilded interior and is well worth a visit.
Easyjet took me out. Monarch took me back, but at cruising height we hit
a lot of turbulence in the Spain/France area. The soothing words of the typically English captain
addressing us as 'ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls' assured us they were
doing their best to negotiate the pockets of turbulence and that it should be
over in fifteen minutes. In the end it went on for quite a bit longer but we
can forgive him, the professionalism of the cabin crew was welcome, and the
landing at Gatwick was excellent!
Restaurante Cavia C/ San Vicente, 43, tel 96 563 28 57
Hotel Cano - C/Zoa, 53 (Esquina A, Machado) 03182 Torrevieja (Alicante)
Tel: 96 670 09 58 96 571 76 97
info@hotelcano.com. www.hotelcano.com
Torrevieja Christian Fellowship, Avenida de las Cortes Valencianas 68
Tel: 966 700 391
info@tcf-spain.org www.tcf-spain.org
Torrevieja Christian Fellowship, Avenida de las Cortes Valencianas 68
Tel: 966 700 391
info@tcf-spain.org www.tcf-spain.org
