In Benidorm When I Was Younger

Me and Maggie came to Benidorm on 26 February, staying in a great Aparthotel on the Platje Poniente side of the resort and out of the way up the hill a bit. We’re lucky to have chosen this place. We’re even luckier to have chosen that date for our holiday from a weather point of view. The first two weeks were beautiful, up to 27c, and we loafed around in the sun and ate well in the hotel and in restaurants in the hills and down in town. It’s great this time of year, without the crowds and the hotel being mostly empty.

Maggs went home for a week and I got the opportunity to walk up into the higher mountains. My first walk was from Sella, a small village clinging to the side of one of the highest and longest ridges in the region. I intended to climb up it and walk the length of it along the top of the ridge.

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The sun was hot and I had enough water to manage the walk. I followed the way marked path up a valley but the markings, usually a yellow and white painted stripe, disappeared. The path ended up at a deserted house and then petered out. I knew I should be over hills to my right to regain the route but the ancient terraces on the hillsides were high and difficult to climb up. I wondered why the Moors who built the terraces 600 years ago didn’t build paths to let farmers access each terrace easily. Later in the day I saw farmers carrying light ladders made from tree branches. So that’s how they do it!

The route I chose seemed to steer me West when I wanted to cut up North. When I aimed North there always seemed to be a barrier of gorse or pine trees clotted together so thickly that I couldn’t get through. I finally ended up on a col looking down towards Alicante and back towards the hills above Benidorm. Stunning views from alpine meadows with almond trees in blossom on the terraces.

I had veered off course a lot and scrambled up and over the crest to the North, climbing over farm fencing on the terraces to finally make it to a road that I should have hit a couple of miles back. Nevertheless the views had been worth it. I dropped down to the bottom of the ridge that towers above Sella and tried to reach the top, but again the way markings disappeared and I ended up forcing my way through thick pine forest and gorse which tore at my legs and arms. At least the forest gave shade from the scorching sun.

I tried for three hours to get through, until the sun was falling. Again when I could get to the edge of the rising ridge the views were fabulous.

Reluctantly I turned round, scrambled down the way I had come and made for Sella. En route I found the elusive path and made a note for another day.