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.

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