I am sitting in the sunshine, squinting at the Mediterranean and wondering whether it would be wise to have one more copa before taking a dip. Toddlers in sun hats are splashing hand in hand with their parents, locals play beach volleyball in their swimwear and couples paddle along the sands. This is mainland Spain and it is twentysomething degrees — in November.
I am in Alicante, a city that barely troubles the top ten of Spain’s most popular weekend break destinations. And yet it is a wonderful city, with numerous budget flight connections from the UK and all the beach culture, tapas-bar obsession and Moorish heritage of its more popular siblings farther along the coast. Yes, this is the gateway to the high-rise resorts of the Costa Blanca (almost everyone on my flight was heading for Benidorm), but don’t let that put you off — there is plenty of Spanish charm to be found here, particularly out of season.
My first stop proved just that. At La Taberna del Gourmet I grabbed the only vacant seat at the buzzing bar, balancing on a stool at a tiny table bolted to the counter and staring straight into the tiny kitchen. The two chefs carved slices from the obligatory leg of jamon and arranged freshly cut Spanish cheeses just a metre or two away. Naturally I ordered both, curling the jamon on to slices of bread slick with tomato paste and devouring manchego with slices of grape and apricot.
Sitting at the bar it was easy, if not obligatory, to chat to the staff, and soon I was knocking back glasses of wines I had never heard of (Alicante produces some cracking unoaked chardonnays, it turns out) and ordering more dishes — a saffron rice dish with prawns, a montadito sandwich with juicy fillet steak — with the sort of abandon that always seizes me on the first night of any trip to Spain.
My evening continued with a stroll around the old town, homing in on bars where the chatter on the terrace was all in Spanish and the wine list featured the words DO Alicante. I was told I must try fondillon, a local semi-sweet white allegedly loved by Shakespeare. It proved to be delicious.
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Unsurprisingly, the next morning started languidly, with a stroll along the waterfront esplanada to that sun-soaked beach. This is a quintessentially Spanish tiled promenade, between two towering sets of palms.
After an afternoon on the sands I retreated to the chiringuito (beach bar) for a cold beer and to plan my attack on Alicante’s castle. This former Moorish stronghold stands sentry over the city, perched about 170m up on lofty Mount Benacantil. It can be reached with a hike up the wending pathway, or by lift from the street right behind me.
Laziness seeping into my bones with that Spanish sunshine, I decided on the lift and crossed the street to the entrance. I was surprised to find a tunnel stretching several hundred metres into the rock, quite a feat of engineering just to save the leg muscles. I was glad of it, though, stepping back out into the sun a few minutes later and staring down over Alicante from the chunky sand-coloured walls.
I timed my visit for sunset and wandered happily around the Islamic citadel snapping sun-drenched pictures of the yacht-packed marina below and marvelling at the height of the mountains just outside the city. My next visit to Alicante, I decided, will be a longer one, and I will bring the hiking boots.
The walk back down was easy, the path keeping me away from the traffic that was making its way up the zigzagging road. Back in the old town, I decided it was time to try some of Spain’s traditional festive sweet, turron; Alicante is said to be its birthplace. At Turrones Espi I was invited to try the full range of hard and soft, dark chocolate and light, and told that Alicante’s typical variety is the hard turron.
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There was more food to discover at the city’s vast covered market the next day. I spent a happy hour discussing types of jamon (cinco jotas, I am told, is the best) and which region of Spain makes the best cheese, before leaving with armfuls of olive oil, saffron and chorizo — things I rarely seem to be able to leave Spain without.
At the airport I was reunited with those Benidorm weekenders. They had obviously had one hell of a party, but I couldn’t help feel they had missed out on something. To them, Alicante is a gateway to somewhere else. To me, it is a contender for one of Spain’s best weekend break destinations.
Need to know
Helen Ochyra was a guest of the Region of Valencia (en.comunitatvalenciana.com). Numerous airlines, including Ryanair, Easyjet and Jet2, fly from the UK direct to Alicante; the airport is an easy 20-minute drive from the city centre. Prices start from £29 return off-season. Car hire with Holiday Extras costs from £60 for three days (0800 1313777, holidayextras.com)
The budget hotel: Melia Alicante
All rooms at Melia Alicante have a view of the water. You’ll either overlook the beach at Playa del Postiguet or the yachts in the harbour from your balcony, and breakfast is served staring out to sea through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Salon Gran Postiguet. B&B double rooms cost from £68 (00 34 965 205 000, melia.com)
The luxury hotel: Hospes Amerigo
This is surely Alicante’s most stylish hotel, housed in a beautiful 16th-century blackfriar’s convent a 100m walk from Playa del Postiguet. The rooftop pool and spa have views of the castle, and bedrooms are chic with dark wood floors. B&B doubles cost from £114 (00 34 965 146 570, hospes.com)