Escaping Belgium’s wettest year for Spain’s winter sun

For all the many times I have visited Spain, and the many places I have been since I fell in love with Madrid on my first visit more than 25 years ago, I have never once set foot on the Balearic Islands. Plenty of people told me that it wasn’t all high rise hotels and package holidays. That there were small villages, unspoiled landscapes and pristine beaches. That local culture persisted despite the tourism onslaught. Yet, it took until now to cross from the mainland.

This break with a quarter of a century of tradition was the result of a travel article about a town, just across the deep blue Mediterranean, on the notoriously touristed Costa Blanca. Alicante is a place with a reputation that precedes it, one tied to mass tourism and package holidays. It’s not somewhere I’d have normally thought about visiting. This, it turns out, was very shortsighted.

It was winter and, having suffered through Belgium’s wettest year since records began in 1830, the thought of blue skies and sunshine was irresistible. A trip idea formed, first a visit to the Balearics, a few days in Alicante and then a train inland to the historic town of Murcia. It was to be an eye-opening experience, debunking quite a few misconceptions and (personal) prejudices about this bit of Spain.

It became a trip that will spawn return visits, and none more so than to Mallorca. We only had a few days, so we stuck to the island’s capital city, Palma de Mallorca. I’d seen photos of the dramatically located cathedral and former palace for Mallorcan kings, the Palau de l’Almudaina, but nothing prepared me for their scale, beauty and grandeur reflected in the still waters of Parc de la Mar. It is stunning, especially at sunset.

The Palau de l’Almudaina may have been home to the islands Christian kings, but this was once a Moorish fort, itself built on top of a former Roman fort. No doubt they built on top of a Carthaginian structure, who controlled the island before them. Today, it serves as a reminder of the history that has swept this splendid city, and the role it has played in the life of the Mediterranean.

We did make one foray into the Mallorcan countryside, taking the rightfully popular century-old narrow gauge train to the pretty hill town of Soller. The 27km journey passes through olive and orange groves on its way into the Tramunta mountains before descending into Soller. There is little better than a scenic rail journey in an historic train, and this is one we absolutely loved.

Arriving in Alicante a few days later, we found a town determinedly reinventing itself and bringing its ancient history to the fore. There are some monumental eyesores (looking at you Hotel Gran Sol) that were somehow granted planning permission, but the town is filled with attractive buildings, has good beaches, and is crowned by a massive 9th century Moorish fortress.

There’s even a lovely promenade that runs for over 2km along the waterfront. It is perfect for a stroll on a warm evening. Greeks, Phoenicians, Romans and Moors have all called Alicante home, but the oldest surviving area of town is Barrio de Santa Cruz. A jumble of narrow streets leading steeply uphill to just below the castle, is filled with pretty blue and white painted houses and hundreds of colourful plant pots.

The Santa Cruz district came as a real surprise, but Alicante has a lot more to offer. In the centre, this includes pleasant car free streets, ancient churches and a couple of excellent museums. We surprised ourselves by how much we enjoyed our few days here. Next up, we took the train to Murcia. It’s not an inspiring train journey, the landscape scrubby and dotted with bleak looking towns, but we eventually arrived in Murcia.

Despite its proximity to the fleshpots of the nearby coast, a well deserved reputation for excellent food, and a long history that has bequeathed it an array of ancient buildings, the town of Murcia feels far off the beaten path. The food scene is helped by the vast fruit and vegetable gardens that surround the town. Known as the huerta, these date back to Moorish times.

Murcia is a sleepy provincial capital, but we soon found ourselves adjusting to the relaxed pace of life. It’s one of those places where restaurants stick to traditional hours which aren’t always discernible to outsiders. We still managed to eat remarkably well. A couple of days exploring the Old Town, strolling through narrow streets and pleasant squares away from the hectic coast, were wonderful.