Moraira, Spain is an R&R capital, though there are ways to keep busy if needed

Regular followers of this blog, particularly American ones, may be amazed that I was in need of a holiday. Wasn’t I just on vacation in Tuscany two months ago? 

Yes, dear reader, I was. But this blog only covers the pleasant bits of my life, never straying into the work that pays for the pleasure. And that work has been a good deal more time-consuming and anxiety-inducing than normal. To combat the stress and poor working conditions that have been building over the past year, I’ve been burning the proverbial candle at both ends, packing the summer with even more travel, culture, opera and merriment than usual. The accumulated result, frankly, was mental and physical exhaustion. I needed to step out of the whirlwind for a while to sleep, loiter in the sun and find stillness.

There are few places better for that than Moraira on the east coast of Spain.

Little has changed since I wrote about it here five and a half years ago, besides our friends who live there improving their Spanish and nuances of international politics and taxation increasing the number of Dutch residents while decreasing the Russians. (They still own property along the coast, they’re just not there as much.) It remains an upscale retirement enclave populated by immigrants who default to English as a common language. White-walled, red tile-roofed villas creep up the hillsides around the town centre, surrounded by semi-tropical gardens, dotted with swimming pools and protected from outsiders by the aimless meandering and hairpin turns of the roads through the neighbourhood. It reminds me a lot of Palos Verdes Estates, California. In town, a broad harbour welcomes those coming by boat. There’s no denying it: this is a place for people who’ve already won life’s lottery. Or are lucky enough to have friends who have.

It’s NOT a place to base yourself for sightseeing, history, or rigorously local dining. But I didn’t have the energy for that. It IS a place to lie in the sun, appreciate pretty views, tuck in to beach reading, and drink and eat at fashionable restaurants that are international with a dusting of Spanish flavour. If you like to cook and your friends have both a fancy gas grill and an outdoor dining table, it’s a place to throw something nice on the BBQ and what the light fade as you get gently pickled on bargains in Spanish wine.

I wasn’t entirely comatose. I went to visit the stable where my friend keeps her horse and drank in the local equestrian vibe.

I did a bit of water colouring, including an attempt to capture our hosts’ house.

I wandered around Moraira’s town centre and coast before heading inland to the weekly market in Teulada. (Unless you’re buying veg for a week, not worth the trip.)

We went to Xàbia one day but hadn’t researched in advance or we’d realise that by late afternoon the church would be locked up, the well-known indoor market would be closing down and all the shops would be shuttered for siesta. It was a pretty place in its historic centre, with lots of long, traditional streets and interesting architecture. 

It has quite an unusual church: flat-roofed and pierced with arrow slits and gun loops because it doubled as a defensive stronghold when the locals were threatened by pirate raids. (This bit of Spain is directly across a fairly narrow bit of the Mediterranean from Algiers, a notorious base of pirates who raided the European coast for slaves for centuries.

Like so many Spanish towns, this charming heart is surrounded by an ugly body of characterless modern architecture. Once you cross this brutal wasteland, there’s a pretty bay with a smooth sand beach and a string of fun restaurants. Shout out to La Bamboula with a big, various menu (Sushi! Pizza! Spanish classics!) Western “happy hour” timing finds you enjoying an excellent singer but with minimal crowds.

Feeling a bit guilty by Friday that I hadn’t done anything noteworthy, I drove to Dénia, historically significant as one of the oldest places on the coast thanks to its foundation as a Greek colony. (The modern name is a bastardisation of the goddess Diana’s name.) But, to be honest, the 10 kilometre drive on the motorway to get there with its jagged hills and lonely watch towers was more visually stirring than the town itself.

This might have been because I arrived in a downpour of epic proportions that had me remembering news reports of recent flash floods and gave me no incentive to leave my car. 

From what I could see, there were a couple of gracious, tree-lined shopping streets and some charming restaurants across from the port. The castle … the only modern sight mentioned in guidebooks … has some impressive outer walls but the building at its heart looked like a warehouse thrown up late in the last century. 

Like Xàbia, getting to any of the more attractive bits requires driving through miles of strip malls, industrial parks and ugly apartment complexes. Honestly? It’s not worth leaving the pool for. An excursion just around the bay from Moraira to the cove at El Portet is as far as it’s worth going, and that’s for the joy of long, uninterrupted sea swims across the small bay there. 

Only one excursion deserves more than a brief mention here. I’ll write about my exceptional birthday meal in the next article.

Once established in Moraira, there is simply no reasons to leave. Relax. Recover. Retire from your worries. Once you’ve revived your energy levels, you can contemplate a more energetic holiday. Which is what we planned for Week 2. Of that, there’s more to come.