Betara to Xabia

10th November

72 miles

We took the motorway around Valencia just to speed things up. In many ways the countryside looked the same as that to the north of the city, mile after mile of citrus plantations with the occasional glimpse of pale grey serrated mountains to the south and the sea to the east.  After Torrent, once we were back on the N roads, progress proved slow. Not all towns were by-passed, long queues built-up at each set of traffic lights.

Most of the places we passed had ASCI campsites, but they looked unappealing. We skirted Gandia, it seemed drab and industrial. To the south, Oliva was a sprawling ribbon development. A Dutch couple we had met recommended a big campsite just to the south of here - Kikopark- but the coast looked like one long line of high-rise hotels so we pushed on. The impression of the area is hardly improved by the prevalence of roadside prostitution.

Once we started to climb towards the mountainous promontory near Denia the area began to look more attractive, or at least less insalubrious. We stopped at Lidl to stock-up, then somehow ended up driving through the Ferry Port. Our journey to date has been somewhat plagued by the wire spiral binding on our road atlases. Our progress down the entire Rhone valley seemed beset by trying to navigate through places that had been split in half by the spiral. Today was similar, the road between Denia and our final destination- ten kilometres south - at Xabia, was entirely swallowed up by the road atlas binding. The result, an impromptu trip through Denia's marina. We passed some very swanky British registered yachts, the kind more usually associated with Marbella, or St Tropez. All of them all closed up. I assume their owners are either in Wormwood Scrubs, or in hiding trying to avoid it.

Having fallen through the gap in the map book we really were lost, just following road signs. I took a right hand turn at a sign saying Xavia, 9 kilometres, quickly followed by another saying 'bends for 8 kilometres. Inadvertently we had taken the picturesque route through Montgro National Park. It was very beautiful, a twisting mountain road with hairpin bends and precipitous drops which afforded spectacular views of the sea far below.

We found Camping Naranjal  eventually, but not before making a brief tour of Xabia's historical centre on streets banned to motorhomes. The camp site is about two kilometres from the main town, set back from l'Arenal beach behind a few rows of low-rise apartment blocks. The Lonely Planet Guide was spot-on. There are as many ex-pat Brits as locals, every other shop does seem to be an estate agents, and yes, it's quite pleasant in its own way. 

Once we had settled in we took a walk down to the seafront. "It looks like Milton Keynes by the Med," I observed. "But with palm trees," Gill added. A group of locals walked past. Judging from their accents and the chat wafting from beach side cafe tables there must be very few over sixties left in Dagenham.

Roundabouts, uninspired architecture - it's Milton Keynes with palm trees...

it's got Subway and everything....

and an Indian take-away.

j