Alicante
Curious about why there are international travel posts on my American blog? Start here.
Day 1: Getting there
Whiteout conditions in Keflavik
My first leg out of BWI was delayed for no specific reason. By the time we landed in Keflavik, Iceland for my layover, we were further delayed due to extreme snow and whiteout conditions. Nearly 19 hours after starting my journey, I arrived in Spain and and made the remainder of my journey by city bus to my Airbnb on Calle San Telmo where my host Martin was standing on the balcony awaiting my arrival. My stay at his was my very first Airbnb experience, and he really set the tone for what to expect from hospitable, knowledgeable hosts. Ultimately, the journey was worth the wait.
I took a short nap but woke up very hungry and decided to venture out for food. It was 7PM and I was an idiot abroad - no one in Spain, especially in Alicante, eats dinner before 9PM at the absolute earliest. By the time I’d finally gotten over my jet lag on my last night in the city, I waited until 10:00 to get dinner and even still people were walking in at 11:45 to sit down.
When I asked Martin for recommendations about exploring, he gave me some pretty sound advice that I most certainly would not have thought to do traveling alone in a foreign city, he said “take any and every alleyway, and if you see a set of stairs, walk up them.” This is perhaps what makes Alicante so special, the town is built into the mountain, woven as though it is part of the landscape, not just plopped on top. Forall its little (and very steep) stairs, its nearly impossible to get lost. After exploring and coming across closed business after closed business* in Ville Caille (Old Town), I made my way to the central district.
*I should point out, there were a handful of open restaurants but they were Italian, English, and every variety of Asian. I’d made a rule that in any given country I was not going to eat food from a country I was later planning to visit or had already visited unless I was completely out of options.
I ate a few tapas at Le Portal, a slightly bougie choice which kept running hours between lunch and dinner for newb tourists like me. On the plus side, everything was positively delicious. I had a serving of hummus so large and disproportionately accompanied by six carrots, that I was able to take it home and eat off of it for the remainder of my stay. Because Alicante is a coastal city, I opted for the scallops which were cooked to perfection, served over an impossibly creamy and complex cauliflower and potato puree, topped with crispy ground sausage crumbles. And because, when in Spain, I ordered the Patatas Bravas - by far, the sauces were better than any I’ve had in America (yes, I’m looking at you José Andrés) however, I have come to appreciate the perfectly crisp fried edges before you bite into the pillowy potato center, which I did not experience with these. My drink was a perfectly portioned Hendrick’s and tonic in a beautiful crystal highball served with cucumber. Mostly because I was having some struggles knocking the cobwebs off my Spanish vocabulary, I opted in to dessert and I’m glad I did. I’ve never been a huge fan of bread and chocolate, despite there being a cafe by the same name in the Reston Town Center growing up, but this very simple dish made me change my mind. I was presented with a single toast, crisped with olive oil, topped with four milk chocolate ovals drizzled with olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt. Ab. So. Lute. Per. Fec. Tion.
Day 2: A Long Walk
History and Strangers
I’d gone to bed early the night before hoping that between the time zone change and restless overnight flight sleep from my journey, that I’d magically jump right out of bed at 7AM. So, when I got of bed at 10AM, I’d missed all of my morning plans. Then I remembered, being on my own time schedule was one of the many benefits to traveling alone, so I went on with my day as planned sans breakfast (praise be for leftover hummus).
The weather was positively gorgeous so I threw on a t-shirt and capris and headed to the beach. In the first block alone, I realized I probably looked more like una turista than I did the night before banging on closed doors. Every Spaniard I walked past was wearing some combination of winter coat, hat, scarves, gloves, and sunglasses. It was 60 degrees.
I went for a walk along the beach. The sea water was the kind of cold I’d normally whine about if I were in the Atlantic, but there was something about how impossibly clear the water was and how peaceful the beach felt that made it all alright. Martin gave me another tip about taking the pedestrian bridge from the beach to a tunnel and up an elevator that would bring me right into the heart of Castillo de Santa Bárbara (Santa Bárbara Castle) so I set out to find it.
The pedestrian bridge was easy to spot with its modern design. As I was turning on one of the double backs, I stopped to take a picture of the beach when I heard a man say “Great view isn’t it?” It took me a second to realize he was speaking English before I turned to respond. He introduced himself as Richard, born in Switzerland but a lifelong Alicante resident. Once he confirmed I did in fact speak English, he asked where I was from. I reflexively said Washington, DC (there were 8 good years where that was a notable affiliation), Richard did not hold back. “DC, huh? Fuck Trump.” Thus began my chorus of “Mmhmm”s and “Yeah, I know”s. The Parkland, FL school shooting occurred the previous day, so gun control was Richard’s next soapbox to mount. The man made incredibly valid and well-educated points including our government's tethers to lobbyists and the fact that “Obama was a great man” this didn’t start with Trump, “but he certainly won’t be the one to fix it, either.” I made a feeble attempt to change the subject to weather - BOOM! Richard leapt onto a Climate Change soapbox. When he was boy, February meant rainy weather and grey skies everyday, the current conditions were due to climate change (obviously I agree, but it just led to another segue about Trump being a denier).
At this point, we’d crossed the pedestrian bridge and though only 3 minutes had elapsed, I really wanted my solo time back, plus I had no idea where this tunnel was. Desperately I exclaimed, “Oh, well, I’m going this way, adios!” But before letting me go, Richard took my hand and said, “All we can do is pray, are you a Christian?” I responded affirmatively thinking we’d finally found some common, noncontroversial ground. . . Guess again! “Well, you see, Christianity is also the problem, people are taking The Bible too literally and it’s only making matters worse.” And with that, I shook Richard’s hand “thanked” him for the conversation and scurried down a flight of stairs. When those stairs ended at the street level near where we’d begun our journey, I realized Richard probably figured out I was running away from him. But I wish him well and would sponsor him for political office in America, he’s far more informed than an uncomfortable majority of our electorate.
I took a deep breath of fresh sea air and traversed the pedestrian bridge again, this time taking a turn in the alternate direction to try to track down this tunnel. Long story short, short cut long, I didn’t find the tunnel and ended up hiking 610 km at a majority 20% grade to the top of the Castillo. (Once inside, I found out the elevator was closed for repairs through the end of the month, so it was ultimately a good thing that I never found the tunnel.) The structure is positively phenomenal, it was built in the 9th century by Muslims and has taken many forms since but now serves as a point of historical reference and the best views of Costa Blanca. You can read about the history here.
Realizing I’d spent almost two hours exploring, I didn’t want to run the risk of missing out on lunch by the time I found my way back down to town, so I ate perhaps the worst meal of my trip - straight up microwaved pasta - but with an incredible view which made it worth it. On my descent, I bumped into a couple in their late 50’s named Nigel and Julia who’d only just arrived to town from Northam, England to spend a long weekend in Alicante. We chatted a bit on the walk down and when we reached Ville Caille they invited me to join them for a beer. They’d already proven they were going to be better company than Richard and shared they had kids my age, so I happily accepted. We had a brilliant time talking and sharing for a couple hours. Julia was so sweet “Here, we’ve knackered on telling you our whole life story and you’re probably thinking I’ve got to get away from these old blokes!” I assured them I couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend the afternoon. As it turned out, their daughter went on a two month excursion through South East Asia ending in New Zealand (my original plan until I found myself with a free round trip ticket to Europe). While in NZ, she got a temporary job in hotel events and marketing - work she’d been doing at home - and was just recently offered a sponsorship to stay on for another year. Nigel and Julia had pretty much resigned themselves to the fact that she’s never coming home.
“AGL: Above Ground Living - living life while you’re alive.”
Perhaps the most poignant part of our conversation was when I shared I’d just been in New Orleans. Julia has a friend who is getting ready to retire and has had a deep fascination with New Orleans due to her love of jazz music. In making my recommendations about the best times to go as well as other cities to consider, Julie shared her friend’s motto is AGL: Above Ground Living. Even though she’s not set to retire until the end of the year, she wants to get out and live life while she’s alive. It made me truly grateful that though my current journey is a full decade later than I would have liked it to be, it is happening now and I’m making the most of AGL.
I managed to siesta and head out for dinner closer to 9PM. I forgot it was a Friday and wedged myself into a seat at the bar at Boca de Vin between my Spanish peers enjoying post-work drinks. Fortunately, the bartender spoke English and was patient with my Spanish. Despite burning a gazillion calories, I wasn’t exceptionally hungry so I opted for the burrata served with heirloom tomatoes. If the burrata in Italy is even half as good as what I had The Red Hen may have lost a customer. My other dish was essentially glorified scrambled eggs, but they were glorious! Folded with asparagus and oyster mushrooms, the pairing had zero to do with the cheese, but both stood up beautifully on their own.
Additional Alicante Shots
