From the research I did on the Internet prior to my trip, Alicante, located on the “Costa Blanca” (translated, “White Coast”) of southern Spain, is supposed to be home to some of the whitest beaches in all of the world. Since you can’t believe anything you read on the Internet these days, I felt it was my civic duty to beach-combing fanatics across the globe to conduct a full on-site review of this “alleged” coast flanked by visions of white. Hey, everyone has to take one for the team every now and then.Traveling to Alicante also marked the first time in the trip in which I was truly “on my own”. On Thursday morning, nearly a week into my 40-day journey, I successfully took the five-hour RENFE train from Barcelona to Alicante without a hitch; however, I ran into a little bit of trouble getting from the bus station to my hostel. After traversing a few wrong buses, I finally managed to find it thanks to the help of several sympathetic locals who not only told me where to go, but physically walked, yes walked, me there too.
One man actually got off the bus we were on (the wrong one for me), walked me to the “right” bus stop and then made sure the bus driver would tell me when we had reached the stop I needed to get off at. And that was that. I got on the correct bus and he carried on his merry way, presumably to go get back on the next bus coming on the line that he was on previously with me.
“Well that was really nice,” I thought to myself after showering him with about 25 gracias-es and a final, “Adios!.”
Once I was dumped at the right bus stop (the beach within sight, only 30 paces away!), I was then faced with a maze of narrow alleyways criss-crossing and dead-ending at every turn. Not yet having a map, all I had was an address and the extremely detailed set of directions provided on the hostel’s website. “We are two blocks from the Plaza Puerto Del Mar bus stop.” This proved to be about as helpful as saying, “We are somewhere in the town of Alicante.”
Graced by the good will of an old man, who I swore might keel over and die any second, I made it to La Milagrosa Hostel, only after he insisted upon walking me the entire three blocks to the address. Even after seeing the sign for it, he still walked me all the way to the doorstep. All I could think was, “Please dear God don’t let this man have a heart attack while walking me here. I could never live with myself if this man dies because of my hopeless lack of directional intelligence.”Having heard a share of hostel horror stories before my trip and having experienced a pretty downright terrible one (my first hostel ever) the night before in Barcelona (No AC, room the size a closet, four beds, three stinky dudes and me – hugging my purse for dear life), I checked into my hostel in Alicante fully expecting the worst.
Instead, I lucked out with a place that was, as Borat would call it, “Very niiiiice!” I had a SINGLE room for two nights at only 20 Euro a night. The shared shower, was, get this, a rain shower (the shower head that “rains” straight down, as opposed to your typical angled shower heads) – only my number one request for the bathroom in the house that I will eventually have built one day in the far, far distant future. Boys, are you paying attention? It’s all about the little things. A day by the beach and a rain shower and you’ve got yourself a happy lady.
Since I have now been traveling for more than 30 days (sorry for the lag!), I have realized that single rooms in hostels are, first of all, few and far between, and if you do find one, you are going to pay an arm and a leg for it. From some of the travelers I’ve talked to, it sounds like these types of deals (cheap, good quality single rooms) are common in the lesser talked about cities of Europe such as Alicante or perhaps, Bourge, France for example, but are practically nonexistent in the main tourist city centers we all inevitably flock to on our Euro trip excursions.
It’s the big cities, such as Barcelona or Rome that you get the 10-bedroom, mixed dorm, bottom-of-the-line, questionable facilities that pack backpackers in like sardines and all for a pricey (in my opinion) average of 30 Euros a night. Why? Because they can. These hostels can get away with charging higher prices and offering less amenities than places in more remote areas because, bottom line, there will never be a shortage of people looking for beds in Rome.
Don’t get me wrong, communal living is great when traveling because it’s a great way to meet people, but every now and then everyone could use a night to themselves.
So, a little dispensable advice from yours truly, the novice nomad: If you get a chance to take a two-day jaunt to a smaller town along the way that piques your interest – do it! It may be a good relief from the lack of privacy and nasty showers that don’t exactly leave you with the squeaky clean feeling you’re used to getting at home. I was pleasantly surprised and decidedly, spoiled during my short stay in Alicante. What La Milagrosa Hostel lacked in adequate directions to the hostel, they made up for in pleasant accommodations. I’ll take that opposed to the latter any day!
So, what of the beaches? Conveniently following my long morning of travel, I walked across the street to the main and most visited beach in Alicante, Playa del Postiguet, literally a two-minute walk from where I was staying. I have to be honest here. I expected more.
The beach was nice, the water was clear and the sand was indeed white, but not the fine powder white I was expecting. It didn’t take my breath away the way some places have on my trip thus far, but it certainly was beautiful nonetheless and more importantly, it served the purposes of allowing me to decompress and spend a little time relaxing and writing. If given the choice over to take the extra train rides to Alicante between my visits to Barcelona and Madrid, I wouldn’t have done anything differently.Also overlooking this beach was the Castillo de Santa Barbara (picture b
elow), which I hiked the next morning. A great hour and a half hike round trip, it felt good to get some exercise and take in the impressive view from above. However; unfortunately, in the journey up, there was a lot of restoration and construction 
going on near the top, which I didn’t necessarily have a problem with. What I did have a problem with was the offensive cat calls from all of the construction workers as I tried to maneuver my way through their work sites. There’s a similarity for the books – in Spain and America, construction workers are equally slimy, patronizing and downright gross. I guess some things are universal everywhere you go.
After the hike, I decided to venture to the other, less crowded beach in Alicante, Playa del San Juan. Now an expert on the buses in Alicante, I made it there with no trouble and scoped out a nice spot to sunbathe for the proceeding hours. Without even thinking twice, I followed suit (haha, no pun intended) with the other ladies on the beach and tossed my top aside. Ironically, in those three hours of topless solitude on a remote beach off the coast of Spain, I have never felt less self-conscious about my body or about the person I have grown into over the past 26 years. Not to get deep or anything, but it is fair to say I had a bit of a moment on that sultry Friday afternoon in Alicante. Not one I will soon forget.
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