Sometimes the weekend is just epic. We're on the Costa Blanca, favoured holiday spot of literally millions of British people every year, plus a whole load of other northern Europeans in need of a shot of Vitamin D, or more likely in search of sun, sangria and, let's be honest, sex. Most of them are here for everything that happens within a hundred metres of the beach. But just a few kilometres further back, there are some quite dramatic mountains, rising over a thousand metres, looming in the background, providing some added drama to the daily sunset show as the heat of the day gives way to the sultry night. Oops, back to the blog Milton.
We figured out what this mountain was, and that unless you had a full mountaineering rig with you, you were not likely going to the top, likened as it was to the mythical Cuillin ridge on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. However, we did find a tantalising route around the mountain, and so off we went on Saturday morning, parking the car around 600m altitude and heading off up.
 |
A pleasant enough start
|
 |
Pretty flowers
|
 |
| Somehow our hike was 10km |
The first half was hard; steep and rough, culminating in a short scramble up some shiny, damp rock, before arriving at the entrance to a tunnel. There was a short queue of other hikers waiting to shimmy through the cramped 20m passage to the light on the other side and dramatic views sweeping across the agricultural planes towards the seaside resort of Benidorm and its forest of tower blocks.
 |
Into the tunnel
|
 |
| Out of the tunnel |
Things got a bit easier but a bit hotter, now that the day was getting on and we were on the south side of the mountain. We didn't have quite enough water, partly because some of it was still frozen (Darwin award?), and there was still a little more uphill, which did cause Toby to have the day's only major mini-meltdown, which was not totally unjustified.
 |
Much easier going down
|
 |
Nice picture although this was peak heat and there was a little tension in the party
|
 |
| That’s better: the final descent |
Mercifully, the last leg, which was also one of the prettiest parts, was downhill and increasingly shady. We drove straight back to the beach, stopping only for icecreams and chilled water, before celebrating back home with that oh so Spanish classic, steak frites.
Valencia, Sunday
One big day does not always make a weekend, and this was after all, our final weekend in Spain. A day trip to Valencia, Spain's third largest city, and just a little smaller than Ottawa, seemed like an appropriate yang to yesterday's mountain yin. I enjoyed the hour and a half sitting still in the air conditioned car, bought some tickets to the aquarium, and revelled in the kids choice of 80s rock on the radio (Purple Rain et al).
 |
| Valencia is full of cool architecture spanning many, many centuries |
These big tourist attractions are not my natural habitat. We have a picture of us sitting on a bench eating our packed lunch under a no picnic sign. We paid $150 to get in here, darned if we're buying your overpriced hamburgers, and, seriously, this a museum full of information about the damage we've done to the oceans and you are peddling plastic by the bucketload. This should be the first place to go plastic free. It drives me crazy. On the plus side, Felicity and Toby were riveted by everything, all day long. Sharks and dolphins and jellyfish and sealions, flamingos and penguins, belugas, turbot, sting rays, you name it, they loved it. I know Sea World has had a rough go of it with exposee documentaries and whistle blower tell alls. I don't know the details, and I don't know what role modern zoos and aquariums play in terms of research and conservation, but at least here was a solid five hours (times two) of educating the next generation of little people, who will one day decide how to live their lives, and how to direct their energy.
 |
The revolution starts on a (no) picnic bench
|
 |
In Europe’s longest aquarium tunnel
|
 |
Beautiful
|
After the aquarium we had our sights set on the fine arts museum, partly because it was in the old copy of the Lonely Planet that we had found in the apartment, partly because it was free and partly because it was something completley different. On the way we walked through the Jardines del Real, crossed the Jardines del Turia, the extraordinary linear park that occupies the old river bed, happed upon dinner at hasta la pasta just off the beautiful Plaza de la Virgen, which was the centre of Roman Valencia, before finally entering the cool, austere sanctum of the Museo de Bellas Artes. It was full of terrifying and disturbing depictions of the middle ages' obsession with the fear of God and the ravages of plague. We somewhat rushed the kids through to avoid the modern ages' fear of children's nightmares, pausing slightly longer to enjoy the ancient courtyards, devoid as they were of blood, gore and grim reapers.
 |
Street art on the way to beaux artes
|
 |
| Jardines del Turia |
 |
| Hasta la Pasta |
 |
| Plaza de la Virgen |
 |
| Courtyard at the fine arts museum |
That was it, the end of the weekend, 36,000 adult steps, surely considerably more children's steps, a lot of water, a lot of new experiences and a welcome bed to sleep it all off. Monday was a slow start.
Comments