Palm tree Med, Umbrella Pine Med

Over the years we have travelled almost the entire length of Europe's Mediterranean coastline. The only places which remain unvisited are some bits of the Adriatic and the northernmost stretch of the Aegean sea. It has gifted us rich and varied experiences, we have discovered there are many 'Mediterraneans' though we still tend to refer to the place as if it were one thing - we need to "head for the Med' is our mantra on grey cold days at home, as if the south was never grey or cold. So for me the place, or at least the idea of it, is a kind of safe haven, a hideaway from life's difficulties; a 'blue Med day' is my achievable personal utopia, and yesterday was just one of those perfect days we dream about back home.

Though there are many Mediterraneans it does have two distinct looks, which I suppose must reflect different climatic conditions. In patches, south of the 38° parallel, the place takes on a distinctly North African look, an arid, dusty landscape with clumps of palm trees and boxy whitewashed pueblos.

Elsewhere it is greener; umbrella pines predominate, a classic blue Med scene of azure seas, red rocks and dramatic cypresses and pines. The Riviera is like this, the Cinque Terra, the Amalfi Coast, Corfu, the Costa Brava and Cezanne. Citrus fruits and exotica like mangoes come from the first landscape, vines and olives predominate in the second.

In Spain, Alicante is a kind of fulcrum. Thirty kilometres to the south of the city the country is still quite desert like. Elche has the biggest collection of palms in Europe, a forest of them. Things change dramatically to the north. A couple of days ago we took a winding road along the coast from Calpe to Moraira. Dominated by the unforgettable outline of Penyal d'Ifac, Calpe is unquestionably a very rocky place. Ten kilometres north as you approach Moraira the narrow road snakes through a forest of Mediterranean pines; you glimpse small rocky coves and the sparkling sea below you; there are swanky looking, minimalist white villas in the forest, hidden behind security gates. You could be driving the corniche between Monaco and Menton. It is an alluring transition, a delight if you are hooked on travel, as we are - hopelessly addicted really.

I posted something the other day titled 'Just because it seems the same doesn't mean it can't be different.' Today proved that the opposite can be true: just because something looks totally different doesn't mean it cannot be the same. On the face of it Calpe and Moraira look utterly different. Calpe is a seriously unattractive place in a stunning location. Penyal d'Ifac is like Gibraltar, a spectacularly shaped rock jutting into the sea. Calpe town at its foot does a good job of ruining the view, a random collection of ugly high-rise hotels interspersed with garish retail sprawl. It's Benidorm's ugly twin that nobody mentions.

Moraira by comparison is quite posh, but in an accessible way, up-market rather than exclusive. It is a small low-rise resort set in pine tree covered hills at the back of a series of coves. It feels relaxed and welcoming. Somewhere around the marina is probably the vestiges of an old fishing village, but in the main the town developed in the latter part of the last century and judging by the amount of estate agents and builders trucks it continues to expand. So although it looks entirely different to Calpe and Benidorm, sociologically and economically it simply another mass tourism venture. It looks understated because unlike its tabloid neighbours which grew upwards, Moraira spread outwards. 

The fact that we like the place, and have returned three times in as many years, may well have as much to do with us occupying an appropriate cultural niche and conforming to demographic expectations, rather than it having anything to do with the place's unique charms. Nevertheless, on this lovely winter's day, under a blue sky, the sea sparkling and the grey silhouette of Penyal d'Ifac across the bay, none of this really matters, it's just nice to be here.

A pleasant 20 minute walk along the foreshore takes you from rom Camping Moraira to the town centre. The place does not really have outstanding monuments, but the rock formations are interesting and the modern sculpture scattered around the promenade manages to avoid being an embarrassment.

Maybe the most unexpected thing about Moraira is it provides a minor footnote in the history of twentieth century American literature as the obscure resting place of Chester Himes.

Himes is a significant figure, a rare example of an African American writer who broke through poverty, imprisonment and racial prejudice to establish himself as a major cultural figure. He spent his later years in Moraira, and died here in 1984, aged 75.

We decided to unload the bikes and ride across to the next bay at El Portet. It really is a picture perfect Mediterranean cove, complete with turquoise water, a stunning view and beachside cafes able to supply the requisite late afternoon drink.

As for the campsite itself, we cannot understand why it is not more popular. Maybe the pine-trees  makes it too shady for winter travellers, or the walk into town puts people off. The place is somewhat quirky, it's woodland setting and Buddha statuettes giving it a bit of a left field 'wellness' ambiance. That's ok. I've written about its remarkable toilet block previously...

Two weeks and we will be back home. Later this morning we are heading for Valencia, one of our favourite cities. I like Moraira too, not all holiday resorts are horrible, I can imagine us returning, but not sometime soon. We need to get back on track with our mission, to boldly go where we have not been before.