Viva Espania! Taking the Tram to Altea

 

Thursday started for Tony & me with a tortilla (omelette with pan-fried potatoes and onion), whilst Jon stuck to his favourite broken eggs and ham eaten in the cafe we'd eaten breakfast in previously, served by the same beautiful woman.

Declining a second coffee we walked up to the Mercado tram station, purchasing tickets to Altea from the machine in the main entrance hall. Altea is 30 miles away from Alicante and a return ticket costs €8.25. The tram station was immaculately clean with mask-wearing mandatory both in the station and on the tram. The 10.12am tram arrived a couple of minutes early and left on time.

We had to change at trams at Benidorm station. Although I loved the TV show and, if you remember, even saw the stage play at Birmingham's Alex Theatre on my birthday a few years ago, none of us was too bothered about spending time exploring the highrise resort popular with British pensioners so just nipped to a little bar opposite the station for a coffee in the sunshine while we awaited our connection.

All of a fluster Jon asked the waiter for cafe con Carne causing hysterical laughter on all sides.

We arrived in Altea two hours after leaving Alicante and headed straight to the beachfront for a wander. 

Often described as Spain's Santorini, Altea is a charming seaside town, popular with tourists since the 1950s for its labyrinthine streets with whitewashed housefronts and sparklingly clean beaches and, because the town is protected on the north by the bluffs of the Serre de Bernia mountain range, it has a particularly mild micro-climate. 

During the Moorish domination, the land around Altea belonged to the Taifa of Dénia until recaptured by the Christians in 1244 under James I of Aragon. The town was quickly fortified, and walls were erected to enclose what is now known as the Old Town.

 Sights include the church of La Mare de Déu del Consol ("Our Lady of Solace"), easily identifiable by its picturesque blue and white domes, tiled with glazed ceramics.

I couldn't find much out about the history but, like all the Spanish churches I've visited, I loved the over-the-top opulence, gold leaf and statues even if I am a bit scared of being hit by a lightning bolt when god realises I'm an atheist.

Did I mention the cobbled labyrinthine streets? I can see why Altea is compared to Santorini, the old town feels so Greek with its welcoming, laid back vibe and the abundance of pot plants. Tony decided there and then that he needed to retire here. 

All that exploring had made us hungry so we found a suitable spot in the town square, ordered ourselves a beer and studied the menu, settling on Caesar salads for the boys and melted cheese, apple and honey on toast for me - which was enormous.

Chin, chin!

After another hour of wandering Altea's pretty lanes and choosing which house we'd like to live in, we headed back to the station just as the Benidorm tram was pulling in. 

After a sprint across the city & back to the hotel, we grabbed our hats, scarves and gloves and headed up to the roof for our customary sunset beer.

What better choice for our last dinner in Alicante than a vegetable paella? It was delicious! (As were the mushroom croquettes, Padron peppers and patatas Bravas we started with.) 

Alicante only gets around twenty days of rain a year but we'd just finished eating when we felt the pitter-patter of raindrops. We paid the bill and moved on to the town hall square where we shared a bottle of Alicante red under the shelter of a big umbrella.

The last instalment is coming very soon!