Moraira to Altea - the scenic route.

45 miles. but only 17 in theory.

17th November

First a quick run-down on our progress today. On the basis that by simply nipping around the headland from Xabia to Moraira we achieved an astonishing change of point of view - geographically, culturally, sociologically and every other 'ally' you might mention - we decided to try to pull the same trick again. Altea is only 17 miles from Moraira, but has good public transport links to Benidorm. The place has such an appalling reputation we decided we had to go to see it for ourselves.

However, we also wanted to visit a camping supply shop so the very helpful receptionist at Camping Moraira supplied us with the leaflet for Campingshop International in Albir, situated conveniently three kilometres from the ACSI camp site in Altea. We had no urgent need for the shop, though the two pin electrical hook-up adaptor bought years ago in France was proving too long for most Spanish boxes. Furthermore, for reasons neither Gill or l can fully explain we appear to have lost our kitchen sink plug. Now this you would think would be a minor inconvenience, since we have plugs for the wash hand basis and shower tray. Why anyone would want a plug for a shower-tray in a motorhome I can't quite imagine. So why not just purloin it and use it in the kitchen? Of course you've guessed it, I can predict you have imagined the next sentence even before I have written it. The three sink plugs in the van all are differing sizes. No worries, judging from the leaflet Campingshop International would come to the rescue, it was clear from the advert that they stocked everything for the camper; the warehouse must be huge.

But first we had to find it. Google maps, usually so reliable had no entry for either the nor the centre commercial in which, allegedly, it was situated. Gill, using her legendary skills in map reading, the GPS on the Moto and the the somewhat fuzzy map on the advert worked out exactly where the shop was. So, with Muriel set for Albir, off we went in pursuit of a 3cm. diameter sink plug.

The journey took us along the winding coast road past Calpe. Its setting is truly spectacular with the 1000 foot rock of Penyal d'Ifac jutting up from the sea like a rough hewn pyramid. Sadly, the town itself is butt-ugly, a cluster of uninspired 70s tower blocks and shabby looking shopping centres. However it does have a lagoon right in the middle of it with wild flamingos, which I suppose lifts it out of the total dump category - like Basingstoke, Doncaster and Lens, and raises it towards being merely depressingly tawdry.

On we trundled, past the road to the campsite at Altea where we planned to stay, and onwards towards the delights of Campingshop International. Altir came up quicker than we anticipated, and of course I shot straight past the turn-off. Now we were on the Benidorm by-pass. Silhouetted spiky high-rise blotted any view of the sea. Its towers looked impressive though, like the first glimpse you get of Miami Beach or Atlantic City from the landward side.

There was nowhere safe to turn around and it took a detour of 10 kilometres or more until we could find an interchange. 'Should we just press on?' We debated. After the somewhat manicured delights of Moraira, the area looked very built up. In the end the prospect of purchasing a sink plug proved just too alluring, so round we went and soon were parked up in the centre of Albir, almost exactly at the spot where the camping superstore should have been. After wandering about a bit we found a small retail outlet in an arcade of shops with the words Campingshop International in underwhelming sans-serif above the window. The window itself was full of floral print dresses and vintage nylon ski-pants. A large hand written notice was taped-up, it said 'Cancer Research'. The place had become a charity shop.

Charity Shops. We could feel a growing sense of dear Blighty in the air. Soon we felt really at home. Outside Albir's discount supermarket a row of mobility scooter were parked, the place sold cheddar cheese and digestive biscuits at exorbitant prices and a copy of the Telegraph and Sun was available by the checkout. I began to feel glum, perhaps we should have pressed on. Instead we drove to the Altea camp site. It was still early afternoon. The astonishingly efficient girl in reception who appeared equally proficient in Dutch,Spanish and English confirmed that yes, there was a regular bus to Benidorm, the stop was just around the corner, it was only €1.50, it took 35 minutes because it visited all the ocal places in-between.. She even managed a bit of English style humour, "A whole tour of the area for just €1.50, that's not bad!" She joked. Gill and I looked at each other, "Let's do it!"

So next post... why Benidorm is just like the Rhondda Valley....