Spine

Boris keeps wittering on about dear old Blighty becoming a vassal state of the EU post Brexit. Aside from the thought that this might be preferable to any vision of our futures dreamed up by mop head and Mr. Mogg, really it is quite normal for neighbouring countries to be interdependent, and in some cases for an aspect of one country to become a dominant presence within another. Which brings me to the covert country within Espagna - the land of Spine.

Spine is a series of small vassal states within Spain with sworn allegiance to Essex, not geographically, but culturally, seemingly having been entirely colonised by Towie's fan base.

Surefire signs include:

1. Menu di Dia replaced by all day English Breakfast or beef stew and dumplings with creamy mash.

2. Marmite, Mcvities Chocolate Digestives and Cathedral City cheddar available at the local Coviran.

3. Parked in Calpe Lidl - a white Merc convertible with plates from 'Roneo Prestige Motors, Romford'. 

 4. Area Camper El Campello Beach - completo - rammed with Autotrails/Swifts/Baileys outnumbering Hymers/Cathargos 2:1. 

5. Noonday raucous laughter emanating from a seafront Irish Bar selling two litres of Sangria for a euro,"Oh-my-gaaawd!" screeches the gaggle of 'on it' 'emosh' wepskinis clustered under a parasol.

6. Calpe has a branch of Specsavers....

There is no doubt about it we are ensconced in Spine's heartland, a sliver of territory shadowing Tram Metropolitano De Alicante's lines 1 and 4 running along the coast from the city centre north to Benidorm, Calpe and Denia.

It's not horrible where we are, halfway between Alicante city and El Campello. The beach is stunning. It's no surprise that the tram stop just to the west of us is called Costa Blanca, this is our first truly white sand beach for more than a hundred kilometres, most south of here are distinctly greyish, reflecting eastern Andalucia's volcanic landscape.

It is easy to see why mass tourism flourishes here. The places themselves have been more carefully developed than the sprawl between Malaga and Almeria. The villa complexes and shopping malls inland have the over-designed, manicured look of a new town, a tad soul-less, but pleasant enough.

As for Alicante itself, unlike Spaintree to the north, it is a more cosmopolitan place, an international resort city which still manages to retain some authenticity. The barrio Santa Cruz beneath the walls of Castillo Santa Barbara has not entirely succumbed to AirB&B domination. The upper streets in particular appear to be inhabited by locals, with kids playing football among the pretty flower decked houses 

Further down the hill it is more overtly a tourist trap. Described in our Lonely Planet guide as 'colourful' the sight of people actually queueing to take selfies beside a particularly azure tinted house is inadvertently funny. I presume the spot gets a mention on TripAdvisor.

Still old Spain prevails among the new. As we approached the Plaza Major we could hear drumming. Within the square itself it was deafening. Fifty or so drummers, dressed in different liveries beating out a regular, military sounding rhythm. We presumed the uniforms belonged to the city's various confraternities; perhaps the event presaged the forthcoming carnival week. Whatever the reason the effect was visceral, the air itself pulsated to the beat.

We were on the lookout for a place to have lunch. So many on offer it was difficult to choose. We finally settled on a place that had good reviews, was tucked away on a backstreet, inexpensive and had seats in the sun. We prevaricated a moment too long and lost the last free table. There was nothing for it, we were going to have to pay the tourist rate in the cafes near the central square. 

We studied the menu. Gill fancied prawns in garlic and chilli. The food was ok, our waiter from Istanbul very friendly and the flamenco guitarist across the street really good. It transpired he hailed from Jerez, so the real deal. Alicante is a nice place to be in on a sunny Sunday in February. It feels European, rather than particularly Spanish, and given the circumstances back home that in itself seemed something to cherish.

We wandered towards the harbour. The esplanade is more overtly touristy. The grand architecture and super yachts in the marina reminded me of the Cote d'Azur. It's a bit more tabloid, a string of burger places and Irish Bars line the seafront.

Tourism has other downsides. Within a couple of minutes of sitting down at a bar or café you will be assailed by young guys from West Africa hawking handicrafts. They are not pushy, but a constant annoyance. More upsetting are the local beggars. The able-bodied prostrate themselves in theatrical poses of spiritual devotion hoping to be rewarded with a euro. Sprawled across the kerb of a pedestrian crossing a disabled man begged for change overtly displaying his deformed limbs. It felt uncomfortable and shocking. It only occurs in Spain's tourist hot-spots, it would be unusual to encounter this in an ordinary Spanish town. Somehow it harks back to a vision of Spain as impoverished and socially backward. It is difficult to reconcile it with the news today that the country had overtaken Japan as the world's healthiest country in relation to diet, effective treatment of major diseases and life expectancy.

I am pleased we took the time to visit Alicante rather than simply flying into the airport then heading elsewhere. Nevertheless, it is not among our favourite cities in Spain; I am uncertain we would make the effort to return, there are other more alluring cities, such as Valencia. We are heading there in a couple of days.